I'm the Heavenly Demon

The second I got home, I washed up, roughly dried my hair, and collapsed into bed.

"Huuuuh."

It had been a day that left me more drained mentally than physically. Clearing the fifth floor, finding a hidden piece, and then that run-in with the deranged skeleton.

"I seriously thought I was going to die."

A walking, talking pile of bones was shocking enough on its own. The murderous aura that thing was pouring out was something else entirely. When it shoved its face in close and started muttering unintelligible nonsense, I was calling on every god I could name in my head.

If the bluff hadn't worked…

I didn't even want to imagine it. Not that the thing hadn't already seen through the bluff. Its reaction made that plenty clear.

"I've still got a long way to go."

I'd known for a while that death in the Tower could come at any moment. But it had never felt real. I'd smashed through Nightmare difficulty without a single snag on my way up, after all. Cheonmagol was different. That monster could have killed me whenever it wanted — as easily as twisting a child's wrist, as casually as crushing a bug underfoot. And it hadn't.

I didn't know why. A whim, maybe, or because it wanted something from me. The fact that it had handed over the mask without a fight made the latter look more likely. One thing was certain: today, pure luck was the only reason I was still breathing.

My fist clenched before I even realized it. I'd put my life completely in someone else's hands and then had the gall to feel relieved just because I'd gotten lucky.

"…How humiliating."

Unbearably so.

"Ah— uh."

The moment the words slipped out, my mind snapped clear. I should have been grateful just to be alive, and instead I was swallowing down humiliation?

So the trait's influence reaches outside the Tower too.

It wasn't just twisting my thinking while I was inside. Like clothes soaking through in a fine rain, it was slowly dyeing the way I thought in everyday life as well.

Then what happens at the end of this?

Once I'd handed everything over to the Heavenly Demon trait, would anyone still be able to call me Lee Jihan?

"Mm."

Enough with the philosophical brooding. Fretting over a distant future that hadn't even arrived yet was a waste of energy. What matters is always right now. Better to focus on something productive.

If I was being honest, the encounter with Cheonmagol wasn't even the worst experience in the Heavenly Demon Lee Jihan's Tower Climbing Chronicles.

"Well, it's not like I walked away empty-handed."

A little humiliation in exchange for a pretty generous haul of loot, all things considered.

The Demon Emperor Mask. A unique-grade item with a name that already sounded anything but ordinary, picked up in the hidden stage Cheonmadong. And its option?

"It clouds others' perception."

Perception dampening. Roughly the equivalent of a fourth-rank hypnotic spell, running constantly — outrageous enough to justify the unique grade all by itself.

"I already ran a rough test."

On the way home, I'd gone through a short verification to figure out how that vague description actually worked. The method was simple. All I had to do was watch how other people reacted.

Destination: the convenience store. I waited for a moment when there were as few customers as possible — no point causing more trouble than necessary — and stepped inside.

"Welcome."

The part-timer's lifeless greeting. I casually picked up a can of beer and walked straight to the counter.

"……You have to be nineteen or older to buy that."

The clerk glanced between me and the beer, then spoke flatly.

"Ah, I'm an adult, though."

I was a proper adult, thank you very much. Not that anyone would believe that looking at this baby face.

"Haa. Kid, are you filming some YouTube video or something?"

Of course he didn't buy it. He actually shuddered, like the whole thing was giving him a headache. Yeah, that tracks. So far, exactly the reaction I'd wanted.

"Put it back before I call the cops."

He scowled, irritation thick in his voice.

"Yessir."

I nodded obediently, returned the beer to the shelf, and left the store. Then—

One, two… ten. That should do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it.

I counted ten seconds in my head, pulled the Demon Emperor Mask from my inventory, and hung it at my waist. Ready. Time for round two.

Ding-a-ling—!

"Welcome."

The clerk tossed out the same empty greeting the moment I opened the door. I half-listened, headed back to the alcohol aisle, and grabbed the same can of beer.

"Just this."

I set the can down on the counter with a deliberate clink. His eyes locked onto me. Tension spiked. Would it work?

"Forty-five hundred won."

After staring at me for a beat, he spoke in the same flat tone as before.

"Ah— right."

I pulled out my card and jammed it into the terminal. If the payment just went through cleanly…

"Um."

He spoke up again.

"Y-yes?"

What? Had the Demon Emperor Mask's effect already worn off?

"Would you like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a bag?"

"Ah— no. Have a good one."

"Yeah, you too."

A false alarm, thankfully. I'd stuttered a little from the scare, but the clerk didn't seem to think anything of it.

Ding-a-ling!

I walked out of the store with the beer in hand. The first can I'd bought myself since ending up in this body.

"Ha."

It worked. It actually worked.

Which brings us back to now.

Pssht—!

"Khh!"

Today's spoils of war, cracked open. One victorious gulp. The cold beer, after so long, sank straight into my bones.

I don't know the exact mechanism, but…

To the clerk, I must have looked old enough that buying beer raised no red flags at all. A thoroughly satisfying result.

"With this alone…"

A life where I had all the money and none of the fame might actually be possible.

And was that the end of today's haul? Of course not.

"Eheheh."

I pulled a skillbook from my inventory. A designated skillbook, no less — the lottery ticket that guaranteed you'd learn a specific skill. The value varied wildly depending on what the skill was, of course.

"This one can't possibly be cheap."

Cell Regeneration. Exactly what it said on the tin — a healing-type skill that accelerated cellular repair. An extremely rare technique normally restricted to priests and dedicated healing mages. A designated skillbook, though, meant awakeners of other classes could learn it without restriction.

"Except I can't use it."

That was the problem: the exception didn't apply to me. Cell Regeneration was such a perfect fit for a solo player that I'd abandoned the idea of a quick fortune and tried to learn it on the spot — only to get shut down by a baffling message.

No, why is it rejecting it?

I'd been happily chugging low-grade healing magic and recovery potions this whole time. And now, the second I tried to learn ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an actual healing skill, it suddenly threw a fit? Completely incomprehensible.

"What are you, a picky toddler?"

I tried a few more times after that. Same result. I had no choice but to give up on learning the skill. Quietly selling it was the only option left. Still — a healing-type designated skillbook went for whatever price you named. Sitting on a pile of cash was basically a done deal.

"Ah, right."

Mid-sip of beer, a forgotten fact surfaced.

"I need to post proof on the gallery."

What had been the point of climbing the Tower today in the first place? Clearing the fifth floor mattered, sure. But the real goal was to put up a post on the gallery proving I was a real awakener — and then thoroughly avenge myself on the bastards who'd buried an innocent user like me under slander and fabrication.

"I've got the footage ready, too."

The drone footage had turned out pretty well. The distance meant my face wasn't clearly visible, which was actually a plus. And the overwhelming sight of me diving alone into a swarm of a hundred goblins and butchering them without mercy had been captured in vivid detail. Anyone who watched it would be floored.

"But now that I'm actually about to do it, this feels like it could blow up way too big."

Over the past few days I'd realized the name Heavenly Demon carried a lot more weight than I'd expected. Drop an open verification post on the Mage Awakener Gallery and the place would almost certainly explode with anonymous traffic and trolls.

"Hm."

I really did want to stick it to the people who'd buried me under conspiracy theories and lies. That didn't mean I wanted to watch the Mage Awakener Gallery get nuked.

"Yeah. This should work."

After a short bit of thought, I started typing and knocked out a post on the spot.

I also tossed the link to the gallery mod.

"That's everything off my plate."

Time to sleep.

The Awakener Gallery. A den with no real admins, overrun by anonymous posters and trolls — a place where normal gallery life was impossible. Into that chaos, a post from someone claiming to be the Heavenly Demon dropped without warning.

Naturally, no one believed it. Attention-seekers claiming to be the Heavenly Demon were a dime a dozen, and not a single one of them had ever proven it. This one had put in a little more effort, but people figured it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wouldn't be any different.

A few people piled on with their takes, and a proper video analysis kicked off. At an ungodly hour when nobody had anything better to do, a delicious piece of bait had dropped — of course they were going to tear into it.

The deeper people dug, the more credibility that rough-looking footage gained. Public opinion was tipping hard toward the person in the video being the real Heavenly Demon — and then something happened that drove a spike straight through the boiling discourse.

Out of nowhere, the original post vanished without a trace.

Beyond the Awakener Gallery, the entire community exploded.