The God Atop the Tower

The chairman's office at the very top of the tower was unnaturally quiet.

Beyond the glass, the night city spread in a blaze of splendor bright enough to hurt the eyes, but Kim Seongjin did not look at it.

In this city there was only one thing he needed to see: a world turning exactly as he had planned it. Today, a crack had opened in that plan.

Kim Seongjin sat on the sofa and drew lightly on his cigar. Across from him, one of the Seongjin Syndicate's executives, face drawn tight with anxiety, ventured to speak.

"...Chairman. The news from the precinct, and from the Fourth Branch—regrettably, it has been confirmed."

Kim Seongjin turned his gaze, slowly. There was no feeling in it at all.

"How many?"

The question was short, and cold. The executive swallowed and answered.

"The thirty-odd members stationed at the precinct... and every member of the Fourth Branch as well. All dead. Jeong Iksu, the action captain we sent to the precinct, was found as a corpse."

Kim Seongjin's brow twitched, so faintly it was almost nothing.

Jeong Iksu. A useful man, as these things went. His knife-work, at least, had been exceptional. If a man like that had died in an instant, then whoever killed him was no ordinary opponent. Kim Seongjin set the cigar down with unhurried care and spoke.

"And the police?"

"The precinct chief is already dead. Local police seem to be cleaning up the scene. There's a strong chance the special unit will be deployed before long."

Kim Seongjin's fingers tapped the desk, lightly.

"So the culprit still hasn't been caught."

The executive nodded.

"No. Not yet...."

Kim Seongjin's expression did not change. Only the corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly—and it was not a smile.

"I think I'll see for myself how tough the hide is on the man who dared touch the Seongjin Syndicate. If you don't wish to die, you will catch him. Drag him here with the breath still in him."

A chill killing intent bled from the end of the words. The executive's nape went rigid on instinct, but there was no room to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hesitate.

"We will... we will take him alive and bring him before you, Chairman."

"See that you do."

Kim Seongjin leaned back into the sofa and let out a long breath.

"Fail, and it will be your hides that come off."

A silence, cold and settled, filled the office. Then another executive approached with careful steps, a file in his hands.

"Chairman, there is one more matter to report. The Philippine youth shipment."

Kim Seongjin propped his chin on one hand and nodded.

"Go on. The figures?"

"Sixty-two in total. Mid-teens, male to female at three to two. Physical screening complete. They're waiting to dock at Incheon Port."

"And the filtering?"

"Yes. Primary sorting is finished—organ harvest, transfusion and tissue use, and extraction of hair and eyes. DNA screening passed. Bone density and ocular health are both above standard."

Satisfaction flickered in Kim Seongjin's eyes.

"Good. The quality is rather fine this time."

Another executive added at once.

"Special classification according to VIP demand is done as well. Eight livers, ten kidneys, fourteen pairs of corneas, seven scalp-follicle grafts. And seventeen have already been entered on the list for blood procedures."

A third executive laughed under his breath.

"Young-blood transfusions are back in fashion in the skin market. Over ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the Gangnam clinics, demand from the VIP wives for facial work using adolescent donor blood is exploding, so...."

Kim Seongjin bit down on his cigar and smiled, faintly.

"As expected. Youth is a commodity that sells."

"The problem is enforcement. If there's an incident like last time...."

Kim Seongjin's gaze sharpened.

"There is only one reason an incident happens. Some unnecessary fool opens his mouth. If anyone leaks, kill his family first. Silence them properly."

"...Understood."

He drew his fingers slowly across the desktop.

"Listen carefully. What we are making is not some simple business. This is human sacrifice, brought up to date. We import them cheap from poor countries and pass them on to sick rich men. A child's liver, one billion won. A heart, one and a half billion. A single blood procedure, ten million. The hair becomes raw material for baldness cures. The corneas restore sight. Even the nails and the teeth are sold for genetic experiments."

Kim Seongjin lifted the cigar and lit it. A red flame stained the tip, and a thin veil of smoke rose into the air. He narrowed his eyes, as if he could see, inside that smoke, the world he had built.

"An age in which humans devour humans."

He said it, and slowly let the smoke out.

"Some are born as dregs. Some grow old drinking milk and honey. That is a truth fixed from the beginning. Who was it that taught you otherwise? That human beings are equal? Hardly."

He flicked the ash from the cigar with a fingertip.

"Equality is a word that only holds once you're dead. While you're alive, someone becomes the goods, and someone else becomes the customer. All we've done is turn that order into a system, and price it."

His voice dropped, and grew clearer for it.

"I don't understand human beings. What I understand, precisely, is human desire. Youth. Health. Beauty. Power. A life stretched longer. And the ones who will do anything for those things—those are the creatures called the upper class."

The executives bowed their heads and did not even dare to breathe. Kim Seongjin looked them over, lifted a finger, and slowly traced a line across the desk.

"Average profit per child: four hundred thirty million won. Break one down completely—liver, heart, eyes, scalp, blood, marrow—and it clears eight hundred million. Gather only fifty in a single building and you have forty billion. Turn that over just twice a month?"

He drew a line in the empty air, then opened both hands, as if unfurling the map of an empire.

"What we hold is not an organ trade. It is a market. A structure. A civilization. Medicine, biotech, cosmetics, healthcare, pharmaceuticals, hospitals, insurance—all of it is riding on our system."

He said it, and slowly leaned back in his chair.

"You see how precise it is, don't you? The last screw this world needs in order to keep standing. That screw is us."

Then, cutting through the stillness of the room, he went on.

"I am not a villain."

For an instant, bewilderment stirred in the executives' eyes. But Kim Seongjin only smiled, quiet and terrible.

"I am playing a role. Keeping the balance of this hideous world. At the summit of all this desire, the one who tunes every string. And one day, everyone will come to understand."

He looked up at the ceiling and laughed, low.

Kim Seongjin turned his eyes to the window. The city shone, beautiful. A beautiful night, made of someone's blood.

The moment I stepped into the building, the smell changed.

Silk and perfume, polish and hardwood, a fragrance laid down with exquisite care to bury the stench of sin. I had never been here before. And yet it was not unfamiliar. This was the scent left behind when corruption in the real world is distilled all the way to its end.

I took another step. The floor was gleaming marble—not the ordinary kind, but natural stone in which pure white and gold tangled together like twisted veins. Overhead, chandeliers caught the light and flaunted their beauty. Seven ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of them. Ornaments coated in diamond dust hung from frames of gold.

A lovely classical melody drifted through the interior. The woman at the counter wore a suit of pure white. Along the walls, the latest digital advertisement panels turned.

Lies. Lies. Lies. All of it, lies. I knew exactly where all this splendor had come from.

A ceiling built by trampling people. Marble polished by sucking up suffering. This golden space, ground out of blood and sweat. All of it was the reason these men had to die.

I spent five thousand Karma in all and raised the level of the Eye of Judgment. And because of that—

A thin crackle raced through the world.

The scenery changed, just a little. Above the heads of the people who entered my sight, Karma values appeared. That much was no different from the ability I'd had a moment ago. What was different was what I could see between them. Through the walls, and through the ceilings, numbers of Karma drifted. At level five, the Eye of Judgment displayed the Karma of those who stood beyond obstacles like walls and ceilings.

A decent effect. Enough to find the rats in hiding. And it did not end there.

"...!"

With the message, everything changed. I could see people—beyond the walls, above the ceilings, inside the elevators, inside the conference rooms. The silhouettes of living things. And above them, over their heads, floating together with their Karma, the words.

The words rose. Black, red, vivid. They were the tracks of the evil crouched inside this building.

Telling them apart just got easy.

Not simply bad men. Not random killing. From here on, I could choose, exactly, the ones who had to die.

"..."

The first of them were the guards loitering near the entrance. Unlike ordinary security, they were hulking, with tattoos showing where their clothes gaped.

Negative Karma past a thousand, and a history thick with every kind of crime.

The time was ten-thirty. Word that the precinct under them, and one of their branches, had already been annihilated would have reached this place by now. Which meant they would have turned out even more men than usual, dressed up as guards, bracing for whatever might come.

How generous of them.

I was glad of the precaution. Manning the place with their own people meant the wicked had gathered here in force—and that my Karma would climb at a geometric rate.

I closed my eyes. A moment of focus. Every sound began to recede, as if I had slipped underwater. Footsteps. Breath. The pulse in a vein. All of it came to me clearly, like a melody.

The world itself had not changed, but in my sight alone everything moved as slowly as flowing water—slow enough that even the drawing of a breath seemed delayed. My Density of Time was nothing like an ordinary person's. That was why they could not catch my motion, or my movement. Not until I moved.

One step. I had only set that first foot down.

The world seemed to split.

A syndicate man in a guard's uniform turned his head, just slightly, and in that instant his eyes found me. His pupils flashed. Wariness was just beginning to rise—and then my fingertips reached him first. Light. But the force behind them was more than enough to sever his brainstem.

A wet crack. His head twisted, and his body followed, folding at a grotesque angle. Without so much as a scream, he dropped, emptily.

"..."

The reaction around me? Slower than I expected. A show? A performance? For a moment their eyes wanted to believe the whole ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thing was a staged event. But not for long.

Blood ran across the polished marble, and the woman at the desk saw it and cried out.

"...B-blood... blood...!"

The words spread, and the quiet air shattered.

"M-murder!"

"Are you insane?! Call the police!"

"Aaaah!"

The lobby, where a classical line had been flowing, came apart like a snapped string, and torn screams burst out in every direction. Phones hit the floor. Someone clapped a hand over their mouth and stumbled back.

Chaos. The music cut off, and through the wreck of it—wailing, screaming, the clatter of teetering heels striking from every side—I walked on, slowly.

Keywords floated over the head of a man sprinting for the end of the corridor. I wrenched free a steel sign fixed to the wall ornament, and in the next instant it was gone, shrieking through the air. A scream tore with it, and his body twitched, skewered through like meat on a spit.

"You bastard!"

"Stop him!"

Two syndicate men came charging to cut me off.

I snatched up the steel umbrella stand from beneath the reception desk. Swung two-handed, the iron bar smashed one man's knee, and the path of the rebound crushed the other's nasal bone to pulp. Blood burst from his nose, and he went down across a chair where he stood.

The civilians nearby screamed and fell back. A few simply sat down where they were and began to cry.

"..."

I swept the surroundings, fast, sorting ordinary people whose sins ran shallow from the guilty.

Beyond the revolving door, three shadows fled for the elevator hall. Keywords rose over their heads.

I pulled a fire extinguisher off the corridor wall.

A chime. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, I threw the extinguisher whole. The mass of metal flew and slammed into the gap, tearing it open. Metal screamed. The closing doors warped and jammed, and between them the eyes of a man who had stuck his head out began to shake.

"Wh-what is—?!"

He never finished. Through that gap I caught the office pen holder on the information desk and threw it, light as a feather.

One ballpoint pen. That was all.

It sank, precisely, into the inside of his eye.

"Gyaaaaah!"

The shriek burst free. In an instant the corridor, blood and pain and screaming tangled together, turned into a hell.

But I looked only at the words. The words floating before my eyes: murder, torture, organ-transplant broker, trafficker of minors. If the keywords appeared—if the sin ran deep—then no one passed living through the space in front of me.

I cleared what evil remained in the lobby, and I went up the stairs.

Footfalls hammered from every direction. Members of the Seongjin Syndicate began to boil out. They drew knives. They came running with riot batons and stun guns and the like. Every one of those tools was useless before overwhelming force.

The jaw of the first man to rush me broke. The second man's head burst where it was. The third hit the wall, and his neck snapped.

"Aaaah—"

One survivor ran. He was slow.

A single leap. With that leap, the gap—the very idea of distance—vanished.

"Hhk—!"

The man who found me bulged his eyes wide. It was not simply surprise.

My arm, driven by monstrous strength, had punched through his abdomen and jutted out his back. Like that. Unable to bear the impact, he died on the spot and collapsed.

"..."

I looked down at the fallen corpse, then swung my arm once and shook off what still clung to it.

And then I began to walk again, slowly.

Wailing. Fleeing footsteps. Breath held tight. Shadows crawling under desks. At the exact center of all that confusion, I remain as a single existence.

The Judge. The one who lets live those who ought to live, and kills those who must die. In this place, at least, I was an absolute being, holding in my hand the power of life and death over everyone.