A warmth so comfortable and cozy enveloped his body that he didn’t want to open his eyes. Since entering the gate, Geon-joo had never had a good night’s sleep or rested comfortably. For 8 years. Every moment he lived either excessively tense or completely drained. For Geon-joo, who had been enduring such times, this current moment—where he could close his eyes comfortably without any thoughts and just be unconscious with the flow—was a form of sanctuary he didn’t want to leave.
He liked the feeling of his body floating. He also liked the sensation of being slowly carried to an unknown destination, as if pushed by gentle currents.
Nothing rushed Geon-joo, and nothing pressured his life.
There was almost nothing he could remember.
What had he been doing? Why was he lying like this?
He was enveloped in questions. It felt like he had forgotten something important. What was it? Thinking about it, it might not be that important.
Right now, he just wanted to rest.
Without any thoughts, without any actions.
Just like now.
Feeling that way and about to let go of his consciousness that was trying to return, a desperate voice reached Geon-joo’s ears.
<…up! (º □ º l|l)>
<Wake up! (º □ º l|l)>
<Wake up! (º □ º l|l)>
His ears felt stuffy, as if water had entered them, and then he heard a voice struggling to wake him up.
Why are you telling me to wake up? Do you know how long it’s been since I had rest like this?
It was a childish thought. But even knowing it was immature and irresponsible, he didn’t want to miss this rest. As he stubbornly resisted, someone woke him again, saying to get up. It was a voice that sounded damp as if it was about to burst into tears, and also rough as if about to shout angrily. Thinking it was contradictory, he reluctantly opened his eyes, and saw blue system windows surrounding him on all sides, as if encircling him.
There were dozens of notification windows just telling him to wake up. Geon-joo, who had frowned in dismay at the system windows he saw as soon as he lifted his eyelids, realized a beat later what had happened to him.
Wait.
If there’s a system window telling him to wake up in front of him, then the voice he heard earlier…?
Wondering if he had heard the system’s voice, his eyes widened like saucers as he looked ahead, and the previously displayed system windows blurred and disappeared, soon replaced by a new blue window.
<I’m sorry! (º □ º l|l)>
It was an apology.
‘…What?’
Geon-joo couldn’t help but be surprised. During the 8 years trapped in the tower, he had lived constantly cursing the system, but the system never gave any response. It would have been strange if it had responded. Cursing it and lamenting his situation was just the only means Geon-joo had to avoid going crazy.
Now that same system was not only directly speaking to him but also apologizing. To understand what was happening, he narrowed his eyes, and the system began to provide a detailed explanation.
<Due to an error in our system, the level you were conquering accidentally opened as a gate in Korea. We did our best to address the situation, and everyone agreed that the gate shouldn’t have opened, and because too many people died against their fate, we made the best decision. We turned back time to erase the fact that the gate had opened. However, if the reason the gate opened wasn’t deleted, the same thing could happen again, so we had to choose. Either kill you, or delete all your achievements in the Predestined Tower. We couldn’t choose the former, so there was only one action we could take. (º □ º l|l)>
It was a system window so long it needed a scroll. Geon-joo slowly read the text written on the large blue window that appeared like a movie screen. It had made sense at first, but the more he chewed on the sentences and processed them in his mind, the less he understood what the system was saying.
To correct, it was more like he didn’t want to understand.
If what he understood was correct, then he was now…
Geon-joo’s pupils trembled as he stared at the system window. Cold sweat began to flow, making his forehead and back damp, but contradictorily, his expression remained calm and composed. It was a kind of defense mechanism.
As he was slowly ruminating on the text in the blue window, a new window appeared beside it.
<We turned back your time more than the world’s time. So that your achievements in this tower would disappear. (º □ º l|l)>
‘…What are you saying?’
He asked even though he already knew. He wasn’t sure if he wanted confirmation that his thoughts were correct, or denial that what he understood was wrong. As he quietly asked, all windows disappeared with a swish, and a single new window appeared, completely monopolizing Geon-joo’s attention.
<I’m sorry, Geon-joo. You have returned to when you first entered this tower. (º □ º l|l)>
‘Ha.’
First, a bitter laugh escaped. So, is it saying that he has now lost all 8 years of hardship and returned to when he first entered the tower? Because of a damn error that happened for no apparent reason?
His pupils clouded. Geon-joo slowly lowered his head to look at his feet.
His shoes were clean.
Shoes that had been worn down over 8 years.
The Predestined Tower had protected Geon-joo with the blessing of immortality and agelessness so that the time spent in the tower wouldn’t affect his body, but his clothes and shoes weren’t affected by that blessing. While his clothes had held up well because they were clothing items given by Sa-yoon, his shoes hadn’t. The shoes, which had once had thick soles, had worn down over time to become as flat as slippers, but now they were intact. Without a single tear.
Not wanting to believe it, Geon-joo summoned his status window. Then he was at a loss for words.
The stats that had slowly increased over 8 years had also returned to when he first came to the tower.
He had lost everything.
The stats gained while conquering the tower, the physical strength, all his achievements.
With fewer than 10 floors left until complete conquest, he had returned to floor 0 in an instant.
The cold sweat soaked his clothes. His gaze, which had fallen to the floor while checking his status, slowly rose. Finally raising his head toward the system, Geon-joo held his breath as he saw his own face faintly reflected in the translucent system window.
The pitch-black pupils sitting on his face, damp with sweat that had flowed down to his nape, contained a terrible despair whose depth could not be fathomed.
***
<I’m sorry, Geon-joo. (º □ º l|l)>
From that day on, the system window apologized to Geon-joo every day. Sometimes it tried to persuade Geon-joo that it was for the greater good and asked for understanding, sometimes it got angry asking if this was really something to be so shocked about, and sometimes it sought forgiveness with a melancholic voice saying it was sincerely sorry. But Geon-joo ignored all those voices and just stared blankly at the time displayed by the orange system window of the Predestined Tower.
Day after day, time passed inside the tower. Geon-joo entered the 1st floor and did nothing. He let monsters tear at his body, helplessly watching as 8 years of time changed from two to three days, and from three days to a week.
His expression disappeared. Geon-joo lived without even screaming, his mouth tightly shut, feeling as if his lips had been sewn together.
No, is it right to describe that as living?
He just endured.
In some ways, it was a protest against the system, and in other ways, it was the end of someone who had given up everything. The scene of a person being gnawed by monsters looked like a scene from hell, but his expressionless face created a sense of disconnect. If anyone had seen Geon-joo’s expression at that time, they would have glimpsed a terrible emptiness that couldn’t be dared to be seen even in hell.
Dying and reviving, dying and reviving. Torn flesh regenerating, devoured eyeballs regenerating. Pain coming and everything being forgotten.
For a long time, Geon-joo just accepted the phenomena occurring to his body and sank into contemplation.
Whether he could endure that long time again.
It was impossible.
He couldn’t even muster the courage to try.
The deep despair he had tasted once rendered Geon-joo incapacitated, preventing him from doing anything.
How much time had passed? After more than a year, he stopped even looking at the time displayed by the Predestined Tower. Even after a year, Geon-joo was still on the 1st floor.
The system window, which had been fervently trying to persuade Geon-joo for the first half-year, seemed tired and said nothing. Without anything rushing him, his mind was a bit more at ease. It was on a day when he was endlessly repeating meaningless days like this.
<Help! Sa-yoon is in danger! (º □ º l|l)>
The system window, which appeared after a long time, asked Geon-joo for help.
Sa-yoon?
Seeing that name after a long time, Geon-joo unconsciously raised himself.
Ah, he remembered what he had forgotten.
Why he had come here, the purpose and memory he had compulsively tried not to recall, subtly came back to mind, and his dry black eyes regained their luster.