Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Goal (1)
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'My hard-earned 300 TP...!!'
I wanted to demand a refund right then and there, but unfortunately, no such option existed. I'd already checked before.
[Cola 1L] - 30 TP
'If it weren't for these damn tariffs...'
My heart was pounding.
A fortune that could've bought me a whole pizza tomorrow night had just vanished before my eyes.
"Should've just sent it to the Manager instead."
Or maybe to that gallery user who'd given me the most detailed sword advice over the past week.
Telling him to stay here forever is a curse lol
Ah... You should savor that slowly...!!
So... so jealous... Why not me...
So what's it taste like..?
Gonna go insult Newbie too
"Another one?"
I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief.
The corners of my mouth refused to go down. This level of sycophancy was an art form.
If this anon had gone overboard with sincerity, it might've been weird, but thankfully, the result exceeded my expectations.
'See that? With just 300 TP, I became his sky.'
This more than made up for the price of a pizza.
If I had more TP, I'd have sprinkled even more, but I needed to regress soon to cut down on tariffs.
I wasn't planning to spam mindlessly, but the current amounts felt too stingy.
'This is the best I can do for now.'
All I could do was regret not being able to tell them that.
[Post Writing]
'This should do it.'
I skimmed over the drafted post and hit submit.
Don't need that crap, switch to dual wield NOW!!!
Make swords with fire magic and slash with wind magic, swordsmen viable?
Ding-!
I chuckled at the nonstop notification chime.
'Thanks to that anon earlier, the reaction's great.'
I liked it. Strike while the iron's hot—they said. The synergy with the sycophant post was beyond expectations.
'Spending another 300 here...'
A bit of a waste. The tenfold tariff—not even a fine—was killer.
I had no obligation to give away TP, but steady goodwill-building was effective.
'Not a bad idea if I want ongoing help.'
I hadn't gone completely without help that week.
The mockery on my first stance photo was around a hundred; by the end of practice, it dropped to ten.
Some gallery users even posted photos and videos directly.
'TP keeps coming anyway.'
Just think of it as skipping one pizza. No big loss.
"...!"
Whoa.
Wh... What??
This is weird. This shouldn't be happening.
"Guhk..."
A shrill scream escaped my gaping mouth.
It hurt. I felt like I was dying.
I'd sprinkled another cola in the gallery, passed out from exhaustion, and woke up to something off.
'No way that bump from earlier...'
My body wouldn't move. Even a little force felt like it'd shatter me entirely.
"Hahk... Hahk..."
I gasped raggedly.
It hadn't been this bad before sleep, but cold sweat poured like rain.
Lying still was fine, but the slightest twitch sent me straight to hell.
'No hospitals or anything...'
The tower was empty except for me.
No one to help if I got hurt like this.
"Ah..."
I recalled the Manager's notice: getting hurt is the worst—no hospitals, just time ticking by while trapped doing nothing.
Wait for natural healing in this state?
No, would this body even heal naturally?
Yesterday's extreme exertion plus post-sleep aches piled up, sure...
But even accounting for that, I doubted it'd recover in a day or two.
It was pathetic that an anonymous community was my only shot at help.
But I had to try. Maybe a good idea would pop up.
'Even in pain... even in accidents... true gallery trash posts first...!'
Ding! Ding!
'Can't even check comments...'
Lifting my head or twitching a finger was hell.
This was the worst pain of my life, I swear.
'No, wait.'
Throwing myself in front of a car because of that orphanage director hurt more, maybe.
I barely remembered, but yeah, about that level.
"Sob sob..."
I gritted my teeth somehow and checked the comments—
'All useless fucks...'
I hadn't expected much, but it still bummed me out.
Sleep it off or go die.
Meanwhile, some anon was telling me to sprinkle cola again, like yesterday.
'You're memoed, fucker.'
Even if I survive and get rich in TP, nothing for you.
"Eek, my ass..."
Ding ding—
Notifications kept coming, but I didn't wanna see them.
No help anyway, and even glancing hurt.
Ding!!
I wanted to ignore it, but the pain made even the sound grating.
Turn off notifications and sleep more—then I opened the gallery, thinking that.
'...Huh.'
The elf's comment made my eyes widen—why hadn't I thought of that?
Forgetting even a thank-you reply, I dived into Star Bang like enchanted.
[Bandages] - 30 TP
[Cold Medicine] - 100 TP
[Hemostatic] - 500 TP
.
.
.
[Panacea] - 4,500,000 TP
[World Tree Dew] - 100,000,000 TP
"Ughk..."
'Medicine' search brought up a flood of items; I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Fucking expensive..."
Shouldn't have eaten that pizza yesterday.
[Spray Plaster] - 50 TP
[Painkiller] - 500 TP
[Muscle Relaxant] - 700 TP
Thud.
Biting my lip, I bought it, dropped the phone, and closed my eyes.
Five minutes. Just hold out five minutes.
Not sure if it'd fix me, but it was the best option.
Portable nanites, World Tree dew... crazy expensive unheard-of stuff.
'Hold on, Han Seol...'
Better to save TP even if recovery takes longer.
Section timer had weeks left anyway.
Grinning at thoughts of new weapons or skillbooks with leftovers—but no, couldn't overspend.
Wish there was insurance...
"Hoo..."
Shivering as I endured for a bit.
Ding-!
Delivery notice—I forced a smile.
—No, tried to smile but squeezed eyes shut instead.
"Fuck..."
Shit like this should teleport right in front of me...
Thud... drip...
"One million twenty-one... one million twenty-two..."
I winced at sweat pooling on the floor.
My arms trembled. Twenty push-ups and I already felt like dying.
"On-one million thirty-five... one million thirty-six...!!"
A week since collapsing from back pain.
The meds from Star Bang worked better than expected. Not sure about healing, but pain was definitely down.
Best part: way more quantity than thought.
1,250 TP bummed me out, but a month's supply made it worthwhile.
"C-can't... do more...!"
Barely hit forty before flopping on the communal floor.
Started rehab-cum-strength training yesterday.
Pain taught me clear: gotta train to survive. This body won't last years, let alone decades.
'Still hit two hours.'
Not tower-ready yet, but I could exercise now.
'Who wouldn't fall for these guns?'
Grinning at my savagely pumped biceps and triceps, I picked up my long-ignored phone.
'Hype house, let's go.'
Hadn't posted since the "dying from pain" one.
First day or two, they figured I was ignoring on purpose. After that, gallery mood got weird.
"Heh heh."
Two weeks in the tower, and they'd pegged me. Smiling at similar comment threads, I added one with a burner.
Anon: It's all cuz of you fucks who insulted Newbie back then;;
Of course, I hadn't quit gallery entirely.
Didn't post with 'Sword Saint Wiki', but burners were active.
Pain-immobile, no other entertainment—how to live without gallery?
Sneakily steering public opinion from the shadows.
'Realize spring only after flowers wilt.'
I was a beautiful, fragrant, effective flower.
Heading back to the hideout while browsing gallery.
"...!!"
Fresh post—I moved faster than light.
I didn't say nudes bring return, but maybe reacting to that.
"Fuck!!"
Manager deleted it lightning-fast.
Refreshed in 3 seconds—would've been view #1.
First time pissed at Manager's efficiency.
Ding-!
Speak of the devil.
"...Time to post, maybe."
Bitter smile at Manager's new comment alerts, checked them.
Last week, three comments daily on my first post.
Guilt stabbed. She'd always been extra kind; seeing her wilt hurt.
'Imagining her as a cutie makes the guilt worse...'
Wasn't why I ghosted.
"Time to plan next moves."
Logged into main—couldn't drag it out more.
Opinion-shaping done; wanted direct attention now.
Advice on which towers, how to climb.
'Need stable TP farming and rolling plan.'
One injury + cool reflection: future not bright.
Can't bank on wiki luck forever.
For Irregular goal, needed systematic planning.
Tap tap—!
Wrote first main post in a week with the familiar nick—
Dingdingdingding—
Grinned at the frenzy.
Just returning would've been boring.