The Saint of the Tower Lobby

The man stepped out into the Tower lobby. Everyone in line at Bongshindang had watched the whole scene unfold over the stream, and a solemn hush hung over the room.

The man walked up to Bonghyuk and bowed his head low.

"Thank you..."

"Do you still want to go into the Tower?"

Bonghyuk studied him for a quiet moment. The red thread that had once bound father to daughter was gone, vanished as if it had never been—nowhere in the Tower would that child ever be found again.

The man shook his head, slow and deliberate.

"No... I think I'll just work, and try living like everyone else."

"Good. You made the right call."

A scene flickered through Bonghyuk's mind: the man meeting someone someday, smiling warmly again—and beside him, a small new life coming into the world. That little warmth would fill, bit by bit, the hollow left in a father's chest when he loses a daughter.

Bonghyuk kept it to himself. The man would come to see it in his own time.

Bonghyuk walked over slowly and rested a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Your daughter would want that for you."

A tear spilled down the man's cheek, and Bonghyuk smiled, soft and slow.

Watching the scene, someone could only think he looked for all the world like a saint. A single word rose to mind, unbidden: The Saint of the Tower Lobby...?

The next one through the door was a young woman—a bob of hair swaying with every step, an air of something bright and lovely about her. She blinked her big eyes, their rims red and damp; judging by the state of her, she'd sobbed her heart out watching the last reading. She sniffled her way into the seat.

"H-hello... sniff... hello... there."

And yet something about that face looked strangely familiar. Is she an idol?

Someone recognized her, and the whispers began.

"Wait, isn't that Han Jiyoung from Regenne?"

"Oh my god, it is! She's unreal in person."

Regenne—a five-member girl group that had languished in obscurity for years after debut until an old stage clip went viral on NewTube and put them back in the spotlight. Then word spread that every single member was an Awakened, and they got famous all over again. Han Jiyoung was their main vocal: an Awakened and an influencer in one.

"Han Jiyoung. SS-rank. Go ahead."

"That was just so moving... oh, I'm sorry. I can't get my tears to stop..."

"...So what's the problem?"

"Ah—yes, sir..."

After honking her nose with tremendous force, the woman launched into a breathless ramble.

"So, here's the thing—I've been really weird lately. I leave the house right on time, and the bus whooshes off right in front of my nose. I know for a fact I put my brand-new tumbler in my bag, and then it's just gone when I get to the company. And yesterday, I was eating fish cakes at a snack stand, and there was half a fly in my broth... ugh. And the day before that, a bird pooped on me in the middle of the street! Twice!"

"..."

"I don't know why this keeps happening to me. It's like all the bad luck in the world decided to latch onto me... Hing."

Bonghyuk studied her thoughtfully for a while—until his gaze snagged, quite suddenly, on her hip.

"That thing on your belt."

"This?"

The woman drew out the slender rapier hanging at her waist and offered it up.

"What about it?"

Bonghyuk's eyebrow twitched.

"Where did that come from? Why on earth are you carrying something like that around?"

A strange energy was seeping from the blade. A sooty mist rippled along the steel, and near the hilt, dark stains drifted and swayed, as though someone's resentment had curdled there and congealed. Of course, only Bonghyuk could see any of it.

"Oh, this? I got it on Hell Floor 1."

"And the bad luck started right after you got it. Didn't it?"

The woman tilted her head.

"Huh? Did it? ...Oh, now that you mention it, I guess it did! I think that's pretty much exactly when it started..."

"Throw it away."

"I'm sorry—what?"

Han Jiyoung hesitated, cradling the sword.

"But... it's way too good to just throw away! Shaman, I'm telling you, this sword's performance is insane! Its attack power is higher than a mid-grade weapon's!"

Bonghyuk stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Right now, it's just a run of bad luck. You really think it'll stay that way?"

A scene surfaced in Bonghyuk's mind. Upper Floor 57—a chamber where a one-eyed giant held its ground. A massive axe came hurtling down over Han Jiyoung's head, and she caught it on that slender rapier.

And then—

Crack—

At the decisive moment, the sword betrayed its master, shattering like glass.

Han Jiyoung's blood spread slick across the floor. And the shattered blade drank it down, gulp after gulp, before creeping back up from the hilt, smearing itself anew—as if that blood had been exactly what it wanted all along.

"Keep that up and you'll die. That sword wants your life."

"Eep?!"

"Th-then what am I supposed to dooo...?"

"What do you mean, what? Throw it away."

"Is there really no other way...?"

Han Jiyoung hugged the sword back to her chest, cradling it like a treasure. She was clearly under its spell.

Bonghyuk mulled it over. Even if she threw it away, someone else was bound to pick it up, and the whole thing would start over. The sword itself was the problem—a cursed thing through and through, and dumping it somewhere would fix nothing.

Right then—

Oh?

Could that newly acquired gut skill really exorcise even the resentment soaked into a cursed thing like this?

"We'll have to do a gut."

"A... gut?"

"That's right. If you want to keep using that sword, it needs a gut. We have to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠strip off whatever's latched itself onto it inside."

Han Jiyoung's eyes lit up like stars.

"Please do it! I'll pay whatever it takes!"

"It's a little pricey."

"Cost is no problem! How much?"

"Five hundred."

"F-five hundred TC...?!"

Han Jiyoung's face drained white. Five hundred TC came out to nearly five hundred million won.

"Ah, that's a little steep... ugh, what do I do. B-but still. It's my life we're talking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about. I-I'll d—, I'll do it..."

Her lips were trembling, and she was still determined to see it through. Awakened really did earn on an entirely different level. Bonghyuk said, utterly casual:

"Five million won."

"...Huh?"

The truth was, Bonghyuk had no intention of making a killing off the gut. No—he couldn't charge a fortune, even if he'd wanted to.

It was, quite literally, a royalty structure built into the weapon itself. Until now, TowerCoins and EXP had come in as a one-time payment whenever an Awakened client who'd received a reading cleared the Tower. But now, the more monsters Han Jiyoung carved up with that sword, the more TowerCoins would pile onto Bonghyuk's ledger in proportion to her contribution. The better he made her with the blade, the more he stood to earn—so a modest fee for the gut was all he needed. He'd gone back and forth over the number, and five million won was what came out.

"Five million won?! I'll do it! Right now!"

Not a moment's hesitation.

But how does a gut actually work...?

The instant that thought took shape, Bonghyuk's mouth began moving all on its own.

"Go into Upper Floor 2 right now. There'll be a Minotaur Labyrinth in there. Cut off a minotaur's head and bring it to me."

"Huh? A minotaur's head?"

"That's right."

"O-okay! I'll go right now!"

She scurried off toward the gate and vanished into a swirl of light. And a short while later—

Pop—

Han Jiyoung reappeared.

THUD!

She dropped a blood-red ox head the size of a person's torso onto the floor with a heavy thump.

"Wow, there really was a Minotaur Labyrinth! Shaman, you're amazing!"

The minotaur's head was ferocious enough to be snorting steam, dirt still caked onto its two curved horns. A delicate, dainty idol had hoisted a head the size of her own torso over one shoulder without so much as a puff of breath. It was a bizarre, surreal picture no matter which way you looked at it.

Bonghyuk pointed to an empty patch of ground at the edge of the booth.

"Set it down here."

"Okay!"

Han Jiyoung carried the head over and lowered it to the ground. Bonghyuk rose from his seat and stood, unhurried, before it.

And after this?

Before the thought could even finish forming, the back of his neck went cold again. That same sensation of someone else taking hold of his wrist—the same as when he inscribed spirit talismans. His body moved on its own.

This was the Tower lobby, a space where an Awakened's authority held full sway. At Bonghyuk's gesture, everything he needed assembled itself out of thin air.

Five-colored cloth unfurled across the empty air, and a pair of candles appeared on either side of the ox head, flickering alight—tap, tap. And then Bonghyuk's sweatshirt and slacks, with a smooth whisper of—

Ssss—

—transformed into a magnificent ritual costume. Something like a sleek hanbok coat. In a single instant, he had become a paksu shaman of undeniable dignity.

"Han Jiyoung. The sword, please."

"Ah—yes, sir!"

Bonghyuk took the rapier and laid it crosswise before the ox head.

And before long, a low drumbeat began to roll in everyone's ears—doom... doom...—a rhythm from who knew where thrumming through the lobby floor.

Bonghyuk raised his hand.

Swoosh—

His pale hand blackened from the fingertips up, and he drew two long lines straight across his own face, sooty charcoal splitting both cheeks.

A scene everyone had surely seen somewhere before!

Murmur, murmur.

An unintelligible chant began to flow from Bonghyuk's lips—a strange, hypnotic cadence, half melody, half incantation.

Doom. Doom. Doom-doom.

Gulp.

The moment every last spectator swallowed hard—

"BOW!"

"Wha—?!"

One bark from Bonghyuk, and Han Jiyoung—SS-rank Awakened and red-hot idol—flattened herself against the floor on pure reflex. Then, with impeccable ceremony, she performed a full formal bow. It was a staggering sight on every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠conceivable level.

Doom-doom, doom, doom-doom, doom.

Bonghyuk's chant grew faster and faster.

At that, the sooty mist coiled around the blade began to writhe and churn. As if it refused to be cast out, the mist wound itself tighter and tighter around the hilt. And this time, everyone could see it plainly.

"Ah-ah. None of that."

Bonghyuk shook the ritual bell hard.

Jangle—

"Get out. Now!"

DOOM—!

The instant the drum burst in a single great boom, the black haze pouring from the sword was dragged toward the ox head, sucked in like a long breath. A red glint flared briefly in the minotaur's two eyes, then quietly faded away.

Sssk—

At the same time, the stains wavering along the blade thinned and faded, and the blackened steel reclaimed its original silver shine.

And then—silence.

As Bonghyuk lifted the sword, the candles snuffed out in unison and the five-colored cloth folded itself neatly away. The ritual costume melted back into his plain sweatshirt and slacks.

Bonghyuk flicked the sword over to Han Jiyoung, casual as could be.

"There. All done. Nothing's clinging to it anymore."

Han Jiyoung received it with both hands, reverently, and then—

"Huh...?"

Peering cautiously at the blade, her eyes went round as saucers. Something about it had changed, hadn't it? She couldn't put her finger on what—the sword just seemed a little... gentler now.

"Wooow... thank you. Thank you so, so much!"

Han Jiyoung hopped up and down.

"But Shaman, was that actually a gut just now? It was totally like... an idol stage. All upbeat and everything."

Bonghyuk scratched the back of his neck, sheepish.

Beats me, honestly.

"You could totally debut as an idol, Shaman! You're handsome too! And you can really dance!"

"Q-quiet, you. ...Anyway, it's done. Make good use of that sword. The more you use it, the better."

"I will! Thank you so much!"

And then she looked down at the minotaur head lying abandoned in the middle of the floor.

"...So who's cleaning this up, exactly?"

Ji-an, standing beside her, very carefully averted her gaze.

And from a good distance away, someone had been watching every last moment of it. Lee Chaerin—fresh back in the country as of just recently.

"Is this for real?"

It seemed everyone here had taken leave of their senses. Lee Chaerin let out a hollow laugh—ha—and slipped out of the Tower lobby.

© KAY™#13lul

Author's Note

Thank you for reading!