Reckless Challenge

Trends change when eras shift. In an age where the Tower has become everyday life, people are more familiar with the towers sprouting everywhere amid the skyline—and the climbers heading toward them—than with city skyscrapers.

The era has changed. Trends have changed. Fads have changed. In the midst of this turbulent flow, it was only natural that kids' top dream jobs would shift too.

"Mom, I wanna be a ranker when I grow up!"

"Hunters are real heroes!"

The lists kids once dreamed of—singers, scientists, celebrities, doctors, presidents—were flipped on their heads in no time. Like a tectonic shift, the top three dream jobs for children were now all Tower-related.

If Ha-yeon, who had lived in the pre-Tower world, saw this survey, she might have been shocked, eyes wide in disbelief. But that's how the current world was. The age of the Tower. Or more precisely, the dawn of the hunter era.

It hadn't always been this way since the Towers first appeared. On the traditionally conservative Korean Peninsula, superphenomena were viewed with suspicion. Dangerous, uncontrollable things that needed to be eradicated or at least isolated. The Towers were no different—mysterious structures of unknown origin, monsters emerging from within, and humans fighting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them.

At first came fear, then distrust, and finally, what remained was utility value: money.

Magic crystals—do they make money?

Of course.

Once magic crystals were discovered and proven to be a new resource capable of replacing conventional energy, the world flipped its attitude overnight. The Towers were no longer disasters. They were hazardous but manageable resource zones, and hunters were no longer reckless challengers but a legitimate profession.

Governments, broadcasters, and media outlets jumped on the bandwagon. They aired live climbs, ranked hunters, and packaged the strong ones as heroes. The power of mass media was immense. Changing public perception didn't take as long as one might think.

Not climbing the Tower became synonymous with falling behind. Not dreaming of being a hunter meant failing to read the times.

Before long, ranker hunters had become something like celebrities. Strength brought attention. High rankings drew interview requests. And if looks were on point? Prime-time TV appearances weren't rare.

Not full-fledged idols, but some hunters with star quality enjoyed near-celebrity fame.

Korea's rank 8, world rank 19. Known to the people as the Ironclad Knight. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hunter nickname: Holy Knight.

Han Ji-hye was no exception.

"Hello, everyone."

Ji-hye was an active ranker hunter and a streamer running her own broadcasts. In an era of unprecedented interest in hunters, the ranker title alone guaranteed a solid viewer base. In short, it meant money.

Climb the Tower, hunt, and flip on a stream when bored—revenue rolled in. No reason not to do personal broadcasts.

Even amid the chatter, Ji-hye's stream drew eyes. Solid gameplay skills, a pretty face even among civilians, and a pleasant voice to boot. With rankers already celebrity-level popular, these extras made her unavoidable.

A few minutes after going live, around 5,000 viewers gathered, and Ji-hye spoke up.

"No guild raids or grinding for a while. So I prepared something: Han Ji-hye's 'Reckless Challenge!'"

Reckless Challenge. It was Ji-hye's signature content. Exactly as the name implied: attempting absurd, implausible experiments herself. Despite the long intervals between episodes, it was hugely popular.

Her challenges had unveiled several Tower secrets. Not just for pro hunters, but everyday curiosities too. Things like, Will this even work?—hypotheses that seemed impossible—Ji-hye tested them with her own body and delivered results.

"Today, on floor 2 standards: minimum combat proficiency. Taking down a red-tailed boar with just basic gear."

"I even prepped stat-down potions for this. Minimized combat XP, strength and agility focused. Warrior setup."

Stat-down potions. Ultra-rare consumables that forcibly lowered a grown hunter's abilities. The Tower didn't allow growth regression. Levels and stats were tied to survival; nerfing them was a system exception.

Only a handful of hunters possessed them—legacies from early climbers, acquired as rewards before the Tower was systematized.

Thus, Ji-hye's Reckless Challenge wasn't just content; it was a unique experiment no average hunter could replicate.

"Through this, I'll bag the so-called newbie shredder, red-tailed boar, and train my close-quarters too. My physicals feel rusty lately..."

After explaining, Ji-hye entered the Tower. Past the beginner zone, dodging guardian Leo Ric's gaze, into the Deep Mountains.

"There it is."

Weaving through trash mobs deep in the mountains, Ji-hye spotted her target.

A boar with a rippling, flame-like red tail glared at her with razor-sharp menace. True to its aggressive nature, it snorted and charged.

"Hmph!"

Ji-hye gritted her teeth and drew her sword.

In level-based RPGs, levels hold absolute value. Level 2 beats 1, 3 beats 2. Not just numbers—they signify clear growth.

Tower floors work the same. Floor progress is absolute. The gap means survival odds.

Thus, a floor 5 hunter struggling against a floor 10 monster difficulty? Utterly expected.

"Raaah!"

Ji-hye poured her spirit into swinging at the boar. The ranker's sharp strikes pressed it hard.

Splat—!

Splurt—!

Each hit from her wooden sword sprayed blood. Solid strikes, critical angles. But Ji-hye's face stayed grim.

Too much HP.

Floor gaps aren't just numbers. Muscle power, reflexes, regen, monster durability—all operate a tier higher.

One hit taken, and Ji-hye's HP would crater. The boar? Multiple successes in, still half health.

Unfair fight. Zero mistakes allowed.

Like walking thin ice, the tense battle dragged on until—

Thud—

"Gah!"

One body slam shattered the standoff. Ji-hye's vision tinted red.

The Tower's assist system blared.

"Damn..."

One body slam nuked her health. One more and death. Expected, but bitter.

"Might have to bail."

Ji-hye's eyes dropped to her belt. A leather pouch held a single paper: escape scroll.

The Tower's concession to hunters—a literal last resort. Instant forced exit from position, survival guaranteed.

But the cost was steep. 12-hour re-entry ban on that floor. Mid-fight or mid-clear, didn't matter. Forfeit all rewards: EXP, items, momentum.

Especially fatal mid-content.

Bail now... stream's done for today.

Ji-hye clenched her teeth. Live to fight another day, or risk it all?

Her fingers hovered over the scroll—

Rustle—

"...?"

"Umm... meat!"

A girl emerged from the bushes. Eyes sparkling at the boar.

"Meat!"

The girl shouting that had a well-roasted potato in her mouth.