I Will Enter

After returning to the past, Shin Haneul had made one promise to himself. Unless there was a truly exceptional reason, he would spend every evening with his son.

Today was no different. The moment his work at the AARC ended, he went straight home, and it was six in the evening when he arrived.

"Dad's home—!"

A rapid patter of feet. The instant the doorbell rang, Minwoo came sprinting for the door.

Haneul loved that. He had seen the boy that morning, and yesterday, and he would see him again tomorrow—so why did it keep feeling this good? It was a mystery he had no hope of solving.

In one clean motion, Shin Haneul caught his son mid-run and lifted him up.

"Minwoo. What did you get up to today?"

"Hehe. Go look over there!"

The living room was crowded with figures molded from clay, and even from a distance their quality was anything but ordinary. From among them, Minwoo lifted the largest piece, the one carved with the greatest care.

"This one's you, Dad! And the ones around you are the soldier uncles!"

Haneul had recognized it before the explanation even began. Shin Haneul walking a red carpet, a military band playing behind him, honor guards standing smartly to either side—it was a reconstruction of the day he had been invited to the White House.

"Whoa! This is incredible!"

"Hehe."

"My boy's a genius. An absolute genius!"

It was not empty praise. He meant every word of it. Even Shin Haneul, a grown man, was not confident he could make something of that quality.

"I couldn't make anything like that either."

Ted was the same, shaking his head in open admiration. He had been looking after Minwoo while the boy's parents were out.

It was a kind of repayment. Thanks to Shin Haneul, he had taken a clean, satisfying revenge on that neighborhood thug—James something-or-other—and finally shaken off the wounds the boy had left on him. He had not volunteered for this from the start, though.

"I... I still want to go back to Korea and live there. America just... I can't seem to grow attached to it."

"Attached."

"Well, after what happened, you know."

"I won't pretend America is a country of nothing but advantages. But would Korea really be all that different?"

Ted had never once set foot on the soil of the Republic of Korea. He had clearly built the place up into a fantasy of his own making, but trash existed there too, and Shin Haneul knew that better than anyone.

"To begin with, that James kid is Korean himself."

"......"

"James Lee. Third-generation immigrant."

"Even so, culture is—"

He kept pressing the same frustrating point to the very end. Shin Haneul was not claiming America was unconditionally better than Korea, either. A Neverland stuffed with dreams and hope did not exist anywhere.

"I'm not telling you to stay for America's sake. I'm telling you to stay for mine."

So he said it outright. And if Ted refused?

Then there's nothing to be done.

Ted's presence was a considerable help. But if he was the sort of man who could accept a favor and still brush it aside, then the refusal would come from this side.

"...Haah. Seriously. When you put it that bluntly, it's hard to say no."

"You won't regret it."

Deep down, he trusted that. Ted would surely grow into someone different from the man Shin Haneul remembered, but his roots would not have changed. So, without hesitation, Haneul entrusted his son's protection to him. These days there were other Awakened around as well, which made the role closer to arts-and-crafts teacher than bodyguard.

He aimed for art school once. His hands are more than good enough.

Later he would class-change into a wall of muscle, but for now he was still the young man who loved art. For a son who adored drawing and making things, he would make a fine companion.

"But seriously... your son is a genius. A genius. Art starts with the eye for catching the details of things, and even I can't keep up with him there."

Of course. When it came to making things, Minwoo possessed a talent no one else could match.

A Potion Maker? That was unquestionably an SSS-rank class, one of only a handful in the world, and Ted's talent was real. But he had chosen the wrong person to measure himself against. The genius of a child named Shin Minwoo existed on an entirely higher plane.

This was not the boasting of a hopelessly doting father. It was a domain the System itself had acknowledged: the only EX-rank class in the entire world.

SSS-rank was already the tier that turned people into monstrous forces later on. That a rank existed above even that was astonishing in itself, and the class called Creator held infinite potential, worthy of its grade.

And yet, in his previous life, Shin Haneul had only lamented that this rare EX-rank was a support class. He had spent all his effort trying to twist the creation skill into something he could use in a fight. A truly, deeply regrettable memory.

This time, make whatever you want to make. As much as you like.

Minwoo would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠almost certainly become an EX-rank Creator again. Haneul barely entertained the possibility of any other class. According to the vast data from his previous life, the class one received was determined 99.99 percent by genetics, and the proof was that Awakened identical twins had all received the exact same class.

In truth, it would not matter if Minwoo received an F-rank class, or never awakened at all. Haneul had no intention of ever sending him into battle.

"Nnngh—"

Minwoo, who had been playing happily, suddenly clutched at himself. It had happened before.

I thought the time was drawing near. So it was now.

"Dad... I feel weird..."

Sure enough, Minwoo seized both his shoulders and began to tremble. The pain of awakening had begun.

"Huh? Hyung. This couldn't be..."

"Shh."

Shin Haneul gathered his suffering son gently into his arms and let mana flow into him, soft and steady. It did not erase the pain entirely, but it was a world apart from doing nothing. Minwoo's color visibly improved.

Pat, pat. He kept stroking his son's back until the boy fell asleep.

One day, a hologram rose into the empty air. The only thing changing on it was the countdown to the Tower's creation.

That alone was enough to throw the entire world into chaos. No one understood the principle behind it, and the message it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠carried was hardly easy to accept. Even the so-called experts on awakening phenomena, and the officials connected to them, were no exception.

"This Tower—how can it possibly appear as exactly one per country, lined up with borders that humans drew for their own convenience?"

"And the creation time landing at exactly noon, Greenwich Mean Time? Doesn't that feel far too deliberate?"

"A colossal structure is about to erupt out of nowhere, and bizarre messages are appearing before people's eyes. That's what you're hung up on?"

"Even so—whether you're an Awakened in L.A. or an Awakened in Washington, the moment you try to enter the Tower that rises in the United States, you go straight in. Use that right, and it might spark a revolution in logistics."

"Is that really what comes to mind right now? Humanity is facing a new crisis!"

"Well, nobody actually knows yet what level these Gates even are..."

To discuss a crisis, you needed clues—something each person could analyze, something they could trade countermeasures over. The information on offer now was far too limited, and worse, every scrap of it denied common sense as the world had known it. No one could predict what would happen next.

Experts? Officials? They were all the same. Gather them in a room and all you got was talk that grasped at clouds, or missed the point entirely.

The U.S. military's top brass were no different. All they knew was that the Tower would appear soon, and that the first floor had to be cleared within twelve hours.

Twelve hours is painfully short. But with no information at all, we can't simply dump our entire force in blind.

They would hold back their most critical assets and commit everyone else, intending to wait a set amount of time for the results of reconnaissance. It was a reasonable idea, in its way. With nothing confirmed, they had no desire to throw their outstanding Awakened into danger, so they issued what amounted to a compulsory standby order and braced for whatever might come.

It did not work on Shin Haneul. He was not under the U.S. military, and if they tried to force the issue, he was a man prepared to leave the country at any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment. However precious a resource he might be, they could not control him as they pleased.

"You're really going in the instant the Tower appears?"

Colonel Curtis asked again.

"Couldn't you wait, like the others, and go in once the advance team's report comes back?"

He pressed the plea in an earnest voice. Shin Haneul was, at this moment, the most important person in the United States. If anything happened to him in there, what then? The loss would be immense—for Curtis, and for the whole country. But Shin Haneul's expression did not change.

"Colonel."

"Yes."

"Once the advance team goes in, how long do you think it will take for a report to come back?"

Curtis closed his mouth. Shin Haneul took the silence as his answer.

"You can't even guess when, can you?"

"That's true, but that's exactly why—!"

"I don't have time to waste."

He cut him off. Not out of anger. He meant the words exactly as they stood. Time was simply too precious.

Reconnaissance? An advance team's report? He had no reason to wait for any of that. The Tower might be an unknown world to everyone else, but not to Shin Haneul. Mountains of data had piled up on it, and he had walked it himself.

Curtis pressed a hand to his forehead. The look in the other man's eyes left not the slightest opening for persuasion.

"I understand. But is there a reason to rush quite this much? Going in early doesn't particularly gain you—"

"The people sent to scout. They might die."

This was not like a variant dungeon. Among that recon team, there would surely be many who did not want to go and were going only because they had been ordered to.

"Colonel. No—the United States intends to use them as expendable, doesn't it."

"Th-that's not—"

"You don't have to deny it. The military is that kind of place. I know."

He was not particularly condemning them. He was only stating the fact.

"But I am not a soldier."

"......"

"If you trust me, please delay the advance team's deployment. Just a little."

"With my authority..."

"A very short while will do."

With that alone, he was confident he could save a great many of America's Awakened.

"I ask this of you."

"...!"

Curtis was startled. The man had bowed his head. It was the first time. Even in situations where he stood to gain something, Shin Haneul had never done this. Even before the President of the United States, he kept his manners without ever losing his pride. And yet, for a recon team whose faces he did not even know—people the United States itself had already braced itself to sacrifice—he lowered his head.

"......"

After a long silence, Curtis opened ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his dry mouth.

"I don't have the authority to do that. But as far as my hand can reach... I'll find a way."

"Yes. Thank you."

"No. I'm the one who should apologize, for putting you in a position to ask something like this."

"......"

"..."

A brief silence passed between them. Curtis could think of no way to stop him, and Shin Haneul wanted nothing more.

Time flowed quietly, and until the Tower rose, each of them did his own work. Curtis, honoring Shin Haneul's request. Shin Haneul, waiting.

Tick. Tock. The second hand of the alarm clock in the room sounded unnaturally loud. Eleven seconds remained until the Tower rose. Not even a minute was left.

And then it was ten.

A chime.

Before his voice had even finished, his body was transferred. The climb of the Tower had begun.