Reach for the Moon

Reach for the Moon — 1 Have Ambition! Reach for the Sky!

『Reach for the Moon』, better known as Repo the Moon, is both the slogan and the advertisement for an otherwise unremarkable mobile game. Its genre tags read like a fever dream: Village Making, Labor, Labyrinth Exploration, Collection, Strategy Simulation, and Bonsai. Just hearing the name is enough to make your head spin. Dokgo Beom-bu, the thirty-fourth head of the Namwon Dokgo clan, had been playing it every night after work without fail. Tonight was no different. He finished his daily building upgrades, tossed the phone onto the bed, and let out a long sigh.

In Repo the Moon, the core loop is simple yet merciless. Players gather Hollow Gems—the all-purpose currency—through cash top-ups or mining, then use them for Fate Summons. The units obtained are sent into labyrinths to farm resources, which are then reinvested into village buildings. Every building upgrade grants permanent stat bonuses to specific unit types. The Archery Statue, for example, boosts all bow-wielding units. Restaurants can be upgraded to grant time-limited buffs depending on the food served. Stronger units clear harder labyrinths, yielding more resources for further upgrades. The game is engineered to keep this cycle spinning forever.

“Haaah…”

Dokgo Beom-bu collapsed onto the bed, his aching body sinking into the mattress. Tomorrow was the day he had been waiting for. He had even taken a second job just to stockpile enough currency for the limited banner. He wasn’t aiming for an SSR—just an SR would be enough. SSR pull rates were absurdly low anyway. Having an SSR unit was obviously good, but the game could still be cleared by steadily raising normal units. It simply took far more time. Hollow Gems were also consumed by construction accelerators, so spending them was essentially buying time. That was why players called Repo the Moon a time grinder.

Especially for new players, pulling an SSR right at the start was more curse than blessing. Thanks to the strengthened resident registration laws, each person could only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have one account. Every login required phone authentication, killing the account-trading market entirely. In a game with no pity system, what happened to a beginner who somehow pulled an SSR on their first try? They would pour every resource into that shiny new unit and ignore the normals, exactly as the veterans warned. “Investing in an SSR as a newbie is the fastest way to ruin,” the old-timers always said. Newbies never listened.

Dokgo Beom-bu had seen a post on the community board earlier that day: a newbie asking what to do after pulling an SSR. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Bloodline mattered even in games. No matter how much effort you poured into raising a normal-rank swordsman named Henderson to SSR tier, he would still fall short of a unit that started as SSR. That was simply how the numbers worked.

“Haa…”

He picked up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the phone again and opened the official site, tapping on the probability disclosure notice.

“Heh.”

Even with tomorrow’s event, the rates hadn’t changed. As an eight-year veteran who had clawed his way to the top of the rankings, Dokgo Beom-bu still found the number ridiculous. “No pity, no ceiling. This game is insane.”

SR units usually required five to ten million won in cash. R units were cheaper—around three million. SSRs, however, existed on an entirely different plane. On top of the terrible rates, daily top-up limits had been imposed by regulation. The result was a single cruel phrase that spread through the community: “SSRs are chosen by heaven.”

Because of the regulations, most domestic games had fled overseas, Repo the Moon included. The only reason it remained popular was simple: time. Even without spending money, steady play could carry a player to mid-game. That was the one promise the game still kept—on the surface, at least.

“Ugh.”

Dokgo Beom-bu dropped the phone again and closed his eyes, already dreaming of tomorrow. Exhaustion dragged him under in seconds. In that dream, something formless reached out to him. He saw himself standing before himself, yet felt no strangeness at the sight.

“I can finally escape this rotten life. I’m a ranker, after all.”

The version of himself acting as proxy brimmed with confidence.

When Dokgo Beom-bu opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a brilliantly clear sky.

“What… what is this…?”

He looked around in panic and spotted a structure he had seen countless times before.

‘The gate entrance…?’

Even through the fog in his mind, he recognized the place. The starting area of Repo the Moon lay spread out before him—an empty plot of land with nothing but the entrance building for sending units ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into stages.

Dokgo Beom-bu denied reality. He told himself this was just a nightmare he would wake from any moment. But time passed and the nightmare refused to end. Repo the Moon had opened its hellish gates for him. Standing before the only entrance and exit, phone trembling in his hands, he felt pure despair.

“No! How the hell am I supposed to do this?!”

His frantic thoughts eventually turned to the community chat.

He wasn’t the only one trapped here. Countless others shared the same fate. Misery loves company, and the presence of fellow sufferers kept him from losing his mind. There was one sliver of hope: if they reached the end of the stage, the Commander could grant any wish. Because the game had gone haywire, no one knew where the true end lay, but clearing each “stage” was the only path forward.

After learning this, he sent his units into Floor 1 and cleared it without issue—the same tutorial floor every player started on. Flush with overconfidence, he threw them into Floor 2 as well. The result appeared on his phone screen in real time.

“No… they’re all dying…”

Despair flooded his face as he watched the units fall one after another.

There was nothing he could do. This world was far too different from the Repo the Moon he knew. Everything looked the same, yet a few critical rules had changed. First: no resurrection. Dead units were gone forever. Second: the difficulty.

A single line of text hovered on the phone screen.