The Regressor Wanders (14)
The Regressor Wanders (14)
Einstein was a genius for asserting that time flows relatively.
"...Should I contact her."
For example, the moments I spend wondering whether to call Choi Ji-won at night pass with excruciating slowness.
I'd lie in bed fiddling with my phone, flip the pillow when it grew unpleasantly warm from body heat, shut my eyes and force myself to lie still in an attempt to sleep, only to get up because I couldn't stand the restlessness—and find that barely two hours had passed.
This is what I get for having improved physical abilities that cut down on necessary sleep. I'm not exactly piling up combat fatigue, and I'm just at home all day. Honestly, it'd be weird if this body could sleep for long stretches anyway.
Of course, the physical improvements aren't all bad.
Crack.
"Whoa, almost got jabbed."
Eating fish, right before a thin bone pricks my gums, I now have the reflexes to freeze my jaw mid-motion.
Sway.
"Whew, that was close."
Sometimes when I'm about to absentmindedly slam my foot into the doorframe, I can catch my balance on one leg and avert disaster.
In a normal, peaceful daily life, I can confidently say I'll never regress again. Not because my skin has grown too tough to take damage—I've simply become too strong. At the very least, I won't regress from failing to manage my own body. That much I can say for certain.
When I'm at home watching TV with a drink in hand, I sometimes think, I wish my life could be like this. No heavy worries, living happily, slowly, warmly. Wasting time like garbage and taking it easy suited my tastes far more than endlessly repeating the same circumstances and grinding my sanity to dust.
Of course, if there are times when time flows slowly, there are bound to be times when it flies.
"Here, have a glass."
"Thank you."
When I go around meeting people, time rushes forward without end. Figuring out how to handle each moment, managing my image, wearing a pleasant smile—before I know it, it's already the early hours of the morning.
"Ahh, now that's the taste."
"Expensive whiskey really is something else."
Interestingly, a great many players genuinely loved whiskey. For the record, deliberately lowering your body's immunity to get drunk—the way they do in martial arts novels or fantasy stories—is impossible. Honestly... once a player has cleared enough floors, getting drunk at all is impossible. The techniques available aren't nearly refined enough to pull off that kind of trick.
So why do they still love alcohol? The reason is obvious.
"You know how much one bottle of this costs? Five million won. Five. Million. Won."
It's for showing off.
There are countless ways for a talented player to make money. Start a YouTube channel. Join a corporation and rake in a steady paycheck by cooperating with experiments. Sell Tower items. (Item prices have crashed recently, but it's still decent money.)
When you earn that much at a young age—far more than your station warrants—the urge to flex is irresistible. Buying expensive cars, dropping hundreds or thousands on games without a second thought, sipping whiskey and flaunting it on social media. It's a well-worn path for players on the rise.
"Jun-ho, have some. Come on, have some."
"Ha ha."
Players like these, I'd mentally draw a big X over their faces. Fools too busy chasing perks to focus on climbing the Tower. It's not like I'm crazy enough to do anything about them, but in my mind, they're off the list of potential comrades.
"Would it be... possible to spar with you?"
"Do you have any items you'd trade for this?"
On the other hand, there were quite a few players who met my standards for diligence. The type who'd request sparring sessions, or bring items and propose trades.
"Ah... I've actually stopped climbing the Tower recently..."
"...What a shame."
I turned down their offers politely, but in my mind I drew a firm underline beneath their names. These were players whose conduct and movements I needed to watch closely.
Whenever I returned home after finishing another round of meetings with Korean players, the documents 'Death God' Yūki had left behind were stacked on my desk. I knew Yūki was currently running more than twenty information brokers, and considering those brokers each had their own underlings... the thickness of the documents piled on my desk made perfect sense.
"Heh, in a democratic society, even this kind of background investigation is possible."
The thought that crossed my mind while scanning the information... this world is far more dangerous than I'd realized. With no way to prevent crimes that exploit player traits, it seemed the developing nations with poor public safety had turned into complete chaos. At this rate, a whole country collapsing wouldn't even be a major event.
"..."
Truthfully, I still haven't made up my mind. Whether killing those who deserve to die is the right thing to do. But watching how the world is going, I find myself leaning more toward the old man's opinion—that those who deserve to die should be killed.
Unless some kind of new technology is invented, there's no way to preemptively stop a crazed player's impulsive rampage. Thanks to the rewards being handed out from Floor 11 to Floor 15, the average combat strength of players is growing stronger by the day.
"The moment guns become incapable of stopping them..."
The age of players will truly arrive. Whenever that thought crossed my mind, I'd find myself fiddling with the documents the Death God had sent. The list of human garbage written in them wasn't short.
"..."
What am I supposed to do? Night after night, I wrestled with that question.
And so one month passed. Two months. Three months.
Eight months after we parted ways, Choi Ji-won contacted me.
"Did you hear that rumor?"
"What rumor?"
"That the U.S. had an item warehouse all along—we just never knew about it. Well, at least not until two months ago."
"What?"
"Honestly, it's less of a rumor and more halfway confirmed. I heard about it from government sources."
The U.S. government had been intensely focused on uncovering the Tower's true nature, and accordingly, it had been openly purchasing items.
"They stored all the items they collected in a warehouse in Arizona... until a government official leaked the location."
America's secret warehouse, operated under the strictest confidentiality, had its location exposed in the most absurd way. A mercenary company willing to risk their lives for a massive payday raided the warehouse. The raid failed, but the location was blown, so rumor had it the U.S. treasure vault had been relocated.
"Apparently the warehouse in Arizona was set up two months ago, and the raid happened a month ago."
"Don't tell me..."
"Couldn't we... use this?"
Excitement crept into Choi Ji-won's voice.
"I'm not saying we steal the items. Just... we use up all the one-time elixirs and buff-type items, then regress. What do you think?"
"I'll keep it in mind."
Right—if you're a regressor, shouldn't there be lucky events like this now and then? I etched the time when the warehouse was established and its approximate location into my memory. It'd be useful after my next regression.
But as always, good news comes with bad.
"...Still no reply."
The message I'd sent to America's healer, William Smith, remained unanswered. I couldn't know for sure... but he was probably just too swamped to breathe. Countless people in the world were sick, and William Smith was the only one healing them free of charge.
He's already busy now... so when the monsters attack, just how much busier will he become? How much will his value skyrocket? I wanted to warn him somehow, directly or indirectly... but without any response, there was simply no way.
Still—Kang Chan, Ahn Gyeong-jun, even Park Cheol-jin.
The players I knew had all succeeded in reaching Floor 15 over the past eight months, and I'd managed to warn them that monsters might appear. That, at least, I considered a relief.
And so the remaining time flew by, as I busily went around warning every trustworthy player who had reached Floor 15 or higher that monsters might appear.
-Estimated time: two hours from now. Please be prepared.
"Ji-won, I'll head over to you."
"Okay."
It was ten in the morning. According to Michael Jeter's email, the Hourglass of Fate would run out around noon.
I arrived at Choi Ji-won's place and waited for the moment. The large SUV I'd purchased to prepare for this crisis was an added bonus.
"..."
"..."
One minute before the fated hour.
We had the living room TV on, all kinds of social media pulled up on the computer, and YouTube loaded on our phones. The calculation was simple—if anything abnormal happened, modern people would reach for their phones first.
"..."
"...?"
But no matter how long we waited, outside was silent. No—more precisely, we heard only the sounds that belonged there.
"Hey, give it!"
"No! Why should I? How much are you gonna pay me?"
The sounds of children playing joyfully.
"Oh my, Jimin's mom!"
"Minseo's mom! What's that in your hands?"
"Oh, the supermarket was having a sale on pork belly~"
The sounds of neighborhood ladies chattering away.
-Woof! Woof woof!
-Grrr...
The sounds of dogs arguing with each other on their walks.
Everything was filled with the warm, peaceful atmosphere of midday—the kind students and office workers could never experience. A monster's presence... was nowhere to be found, no matter how hard you looked.
"...Was I wrong? And that Indian too?"
"...Should I be calling this a relief?"
The moment the tension drained from my and Choi Ji-won's bodies—
"...Huh?"
On Twitter, a video's view count was surging with ferocious momentum.
"...It's a dragon."
In the footage, a gigantic dragon was soaring through moonlit clouds. The video was said to have been taken in Pittsburgh, but the sight was so surreal, so impossible to take in, that everyone was fighting over whether it was real or fake.
"...It's starting."
But from the perspective of someone who knew the future... that video meant exactly one thing.
The invasion had begun.