Choi Ji-won Is Too Strong (2)
Choi Ji-won Is Too Strong (2)
"Uh... Ji-won. I didn't think she'd look like that..."
"Cheol-jin, look at her clothes. Then look at ours. The wear and tear is completely different. She hasn't just been here a day or two, you know."
"Huh, well... I can't really tell."
"And why are you speaking so casually to her?"
"No, it's..."
The two of them were chatting comfortably.
Park Cheol-jin the firefighter faltered under Ji-won's scolding for a moment, then she turned her head and looked back at me.
"Hello. My name is Choi Ji-won."
"I'm Park Cheol-jin. No, I mean, my name is Park Cheol-jin. My apologies. You just look so young..."
Firefighter Park Cheol-jin chuckled.
"...That's fine. I'm Kim Jun-ho."
When I cleared the tutorial, I'd given them my name, sure—but I never really introduced myself properly.
"You know the government's been publicly asking survivors to come forward, right? I thought I might see you there."
Choi Ji-won spoke while gently stroking Boongboong-yi.
"...Circumstances kept me away."
Of course I knew. It happened while I was gathering intel, before I came up to Floor 2.
One week after clearing the tutorial. That was two weeks ago, in the current timeline. The government of the Republic of Korea publicly summoned the players.
Though, "player" isn't the standard term just yet. In another week, the U.S. government will officially announce the designation.
A turbulent period. That's the best way to describe this moment. Public opinion is boiling over. Everyone's got something to say about the Tower.
Everyone perceives the Tower differently. Global opinion is splintered in a hundred directions—no single right answer. It's a time when people scream "I'm right, you're right," hollering uselessly, grabbing each other by the hair over a question with no solution. That's the time we're in.
With public opinion so divided, you'd expect each nation to make a different call...
But surprisingly, every country's leadership reached the exact same conclusion: first, compile a list of players and digitize it. Gossip mills love to claim there must have been some secret agreement among world leaders.
Whatever the case—whether they were following public sentiment or global trends—the South Korean government also went ahead and summoned all the players.
—Hey, did anyone go to that thing where your country's calling in Tower survivors?
—Why would I? What if they lock you up and do human experiments?
—I went, and it wasn't like that. They didn't do anything. Just checked my name and face and sent me home.
—Then why call us in? Shouldn't they at least ask what the Tower is? Or show us how to use some weapons?
—How should I know? Go ask the president.
The problem was, summoning everyone was as far as it went. Nothing moved to the next stage. A structured support system? Listening to survivors' stories and forming an emergency task force?
None of that happened.
Later, we'd find out there was a power struggle between the president and the major opposition party that stalled all relevant legal reforms, but... that's not my job.
Anyway, I had no intention of showing up just because the government called. From what I heard, they did nothing and sent everyone home—no reason to waste a regression on that.
"Cheol-jin and I met there. I think it was the Seoul Military Manpower Administration? They were using it for temporary survivor identity verification."
"...It'd been a long time since I set foot in the Military Manpower Administration. I'm long past civil defense age..."
Most people who survived the life-or-death moments of the tutorial carried at least some form of PTSD.
Some had to stab a trusted ally in the back.
Some had to look away from another's death to save themselves.
Some had to pay a price for the sins they committed.
There's no way they wouldn't have PTSD.
But the people closest to you—your family—can never truly understand what you experienced inside the Tower. They can't even hear about it in the first place. And the government? What do they know, summoning everyone like that? If I tried to tell them anything, would they even be capable of listening?
And right in front of you is Floor 1—the sweetest fruit imaginable. At that point, you'd have to be crazy to come running just because the government says so.
"When I got there... it was almost all people I'd seen in passing during the tutorial. And Cheol-jin actually turned out to be an acquaintance of my late father..."
Except, that is, for the ones who just did what they were told and got through the tutorial without a scratch.
Choi Ji-won. And Park Cheol-jin. And about fifty more people who cleared the tutorial thanks to me.
After the government's identity check, they recognized each other and rented out an entire restaurant to talk.
And naturally, the main topic was the Tower.
"Every single day, stuff goes up online. What the tutorial is really like. Betraying to survive. Killing so you don't get killed... It was horrifying."
Firefighter Park Cheol-jin shook his head.
Only after clearing the tutorial did people truly realize:
what an enormous blessing it was to come out sane and in one piece.
What incredible luck it was that every single person in our tutorial survived.
"If I ever saw you again... I wanted to say this."
Choi Ji-won bowed her head.
"I want to apologize for doubting you back then, in the clearing, when I should have trusted you. I'm truly sorry."
Her voice, which had carried faint warmth before, was now solemn and heavy.
"And I'm sorry for speaking so casually to you earlier."
Firefighter Park Cheol-jin bowed as well.
"After clearing the tutorial... I understood how irrational that place was, how cruel. And how many lives you saved. I really wanted to thank you again. The others said, if I ever met you, to pass on their gratitude."
"...It's all right. Truly."
Emotion welled up and caught in my throat, but I swallowed hard and barely managed an answer.
I had so much I wanted to say, too.
Choi Ji-won. How had she been? Was Boongboong-yi behaving better now? Firefighter Park Cheol-jin—was he doing all right?
I wanted to walk right up to them, throw an arm over their shoulders, and talk until we ran out of words.
But I couldn't do that.
I could tell from the way they were acting.
What they felt was gratitude. Not closeness.
To them, I was... a benefactor. Not a comrade.
They weren't the Choi Ji-won I knew, or the Park Cheol-jin I knew.
The memory of joining forces to bring down the Minotaur belonged to me alone.
There was no Choi Ji-won who smiled at me in the sunset-lit clearing.
No firefighter Park Cheol-jin, face pale from too much sweat, giving me a thumbs-up and calling me a hero.
And if that's the case... then the Kim Jun-ho who shared those moments with them must be gone too.
This joy I was feeling—I'd have to bury it deep in my chest.
I expected it would hurt. I just didn't know it would be this much. I thought enough time had passed that I'd be okay. I wasn't.
I'd been lonely.
As I thought... getting too close to people is something I should avoid. Being alone is fine—but the moment I see someone I once cared about, that dormant loneliness rears its head.
Keep a comfortable discomfort. Keep a proper distance.
Be friendly, but don't become close.
"...It's good to see you both again."
For my sake—and for theirs.
"People... have no intention of going up to Floor 2 right now. At least the sane ones don't."
Firefighter Park Cheol-jin began, expression grim.
First, he said, the people whose minds were shattered by the brutal tutorial didn't want to climb to Floor 2.
After getting badly burned in the kill-or-be-killed tutorial, they buried themselves in the comfort of Floor 1 and lost all will to move forward.
Aside from a responsible few who wanted to save humanity and a small number driven by a desire to grow stronger, almost everyone else was busy eating, sleeping, and goofing off on Floor 1.
It wasn't like the criminal underworld in the U.S., where item trading was bustling—nobody here was climbing the Tower out of greed.
So, did the people who made it through the tutorial in good shape want to go to Floor 2? Also no.
They have no levels. Sure, achievement levels can cover for that—but it's not just levels they lack. They have no combat experience, either.
Nobody knew exactly what Floor 2 was, but if it turned out to be another death game where people had to kill each other... they had no confidence they could win against other survivors who'd also risked everything to clear the tutorial.
"So... Cheol-jin and I came up as an advance party. To check whether it was safe."
Park Cheol-jin and Choi Ji-won were among the responsible few I mentioned.
They used Floor 1 to keep training, never slacked off, and once they felt confident they could handle themselves in a fight, they came up to Floor 2 together.
As she talked, Choi Ji-won shifted her gaze back to me.
"Jun-ho... you seem to have been here quite a while. Is there a reason?"
"There is. A very important reason."
I gave them a brief rundown of Floor 2's rules. Then I laid out the information I'd gathered through regression—framing it as though I'd pieced it all together through careful investigation.
The structure of Floor 2. The prohibition of violence. The residents forced into roles that weren't their own. The City Master, who had created this whole environment. And that stealing a resident's box came with a very high probability of summoning the City Master.
"That... that woman is insane."
"I can't believe a God made this Tower. Some kind of evil god?"
Choi Ji-won was indignant. Firefighter Park Cheol-jin looked utterly disillusioned, as if he'd had enough of the whole thing.
These two... I knew righteous people like them would side with me.
"I need your help. Would you hear out my plan?"
Choi Ji-won.
There's something I need you to do.