A Wimp's Strategy Guide to Conquer the Tower

Bong Minhyeok was a second-year in the Department of Electronic Engineering at Korea University.

His nickname was “Ghost Unit.”

A nickname taken from the name of a computer-game unit that hid itself.

A student with no presence—someone who came to school quietly, and disappeared quietly.

He didn’t attend events like the department retreat or the sports day, and he’d never once gone to a dinner gathering.

He only studied in the library.

Graduate fast, get a job, and rebuild the household.

Pay back what he owed his bro, too.

Even Minhyeok, like that, knew Players very well.

If he Awakened, he’d thought he might consider it at least once.

Not that he’d do it—he’d consider it.

In the end, he knew himself he wouldn’t.

No, but his bro Awakened?

And he was even active as a Player.

That alone was shocking enough to make him drop dead, but what?

An Elite contract?

No, that bloodline—getting smacked on the back by Mom right now?

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!

“AAAGH! AAAGH! AAAGH!”

“You worthless bastard! You make a decision that important all by yourself without even talking to your family?!”

“You’d oppose it anyway!”

“Did you even ASK? DID YOU ASK?!”

“AAAGH! Stop hitting me! Seriously—should I just activate the barrier?!”

“What? A barrier? Are you out of your mind?!”

That was his bro, all right.

His bro knew very well that if he screamed like he was dying, he’d get hit less.

“AAAGH! AAAAGH! AAAAAAAGH!”

Maybe she got tired of hitting him—Mom, Madam Hong Geumja, was sucking in rough breaths.

In that gap, Minhyeok asked Juhyeok.

“Bro. C-calm down and tell me. You Awakened... and you’re really active as a Player?”

“Yeah.”

“And the government requested an Elite contract?”

“Yeah.”

“No fucking way.”

“It is.”

Dad, Bong Cheolsu, was horrified too.

Wasn’t he a son even more timid than himself?

“Y-you... are you... really my son?”

Juhyeok, sulking because his back had been smacked around.

And Dad didn’t even stop her—he just watched.

So Juhyeok decided to get a little crooked.

“I dunno. Maybe I got switched at the hospital?”

Bong Cheolsu examined Juhyeok’s face from every angle.

He was an exact copy.

They’d heard the line about how you can’t steal seed because the resemblance was that strong.

“Then something’s wrong with your head.”

“Haah. I guess so, huh? Must be genetic.”

“I didn’t raise you to be this brave. Dad is disappointed in you.”

“Yeah. ...Maybe it’s Mom’s genes?”

GLARE.

Juhyeok’s mom glared at him.

But maybe she felt bad about hitting him—she let out a sigh.

“Juhyeok.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“My lawsuit, your dad’s rehab, Minhyeok’s scholarship... is all of that connected to your Elite contract?”

“...Yes. Honestly, I didn’t know «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» either. I didn’t realize they’d go this far.”

He hadn’t asked the Administration to do it, but either way, it was something that started because of him.

“So what you’re saying is... the Administration people needed to look good to us, so they could sign you to an Elite contract?”

“Mm... probably.”

“Yeah?”

Was she going to scold him?

Hit him again?

“I’m sorry. For surprising you.”

Madam Hong didn’t answer.

Instead, she sank into thought.

Then—

“Juhyeok. How about you?”

“How about me?”

“Players. Is it doable?”

Mom’s question.

He thought it through again.

“So far, it’s been okay.”

“And... you’re confident you won’t get hurt?”

Let’s see.

Cossack, who protected him to an excessive degree.

Meatshield, a barbarian warrior who threw himself into the battlefield without sparing his own body.

And when the cooldown came back, he could call another summoned entity.

So—

“I’m confident. Confident I won’t get hurt, and I won’t die.”

“...Yeah?”

Was it sincere, or not?

Madam Hong stared into her son’s eyes for a long time.

It was sincere.

She’d raised him long enough to know just by his eyes.

In fact, when she first heard he was active as a Player, surprise came before anger.

Him?

Her firstborn, who jumped at even a chihuahua barking, was climbing the Tower?

And he was being acknowledged by other people.

A complicated feeling.

She was angry, and she felt sorry for him, and she was proud, too.

So—

“Then do it. Sign the Elite contract too. If you’re going to do it, it’s better to do it with the country’s support.”

At Mom’s declaration, Dad and Minhyeok objected in one voice.

“Are you crazy?”

“Mom! No. Do you not know how dangerous Players are?”

“Yeah, Minhyeok’s right. So what if I don’t get rehab? I’m calling the hospital right now. I’ll tell them it never happened.”

“I’ll give up the scholarship too. I’m taking a leave next semester anyway.”

Dad and his brother opposed it, but once Mom decided, the game was already over.

“All of you, shut up. I’ve lived my whole life, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen our Juhyeok decide something this actively. You can’t even support him?”

Oh. The mood was nice.

“Juhyeok’s mom—think again. It’s dangerous!”

“If you become a Player, do you all die? That’s an old story. These days, everyone’s living just fine.”

“N-no, that part is true, but—”

“And is the outside world not dangerous? You were careful your whole life, and you still slipped on an icy road and almost died.”

“Mm...”

“Minhyeok, did you forget when you got hit by a bike at ten and passed out bleeding everywhere? If it’d been a car, would you have lived?”

“T-that’s too much.”

“Juhyeok is an adult. He’s responsible for his own life.”

And then—

“Juhyeok.”

“Yes, Mom!”

“I feel like a bad mom for pushing my kid toward danger, but I’m proud of you. How talented must you be for the government to pull something like this?”

“Hahaha. I’m, uh... kind of outstanding.”

“But if you get hurt, you’re dead! And if it feels like it’s not going to work, you end the contract immediately.”

“Got it. Safety first, no matter what.”

“What is that way of talking?”

He had his family’s permission.

Then he had to call.

Juhyeok pressed Team Leader Jeon Gwangil’s number on his smartphone.

“Team Leader.”

“Yes. I’ll sign.”

An Elite contract, finally.

His heart pounded.

※ ※ ※

Juhyeok signed the Elite contract in the Administration office.

His hand trembled—shaking.

Had he ever even imagined he’d sign this contract?

“The annual salary is 2 billion won.”

“I’m sorry. The first-year salary an Elite-offer Player receives is 2 billion won. You could receive much more, but...”

“...But I’d have to reveal that I’m an S++ Clear Rank record-holder, right?”

“Procedurally, yes.”

It was a national agency run on tax money.

They needed grounds to inflate a salary.

“Then please keep it secret that I’m an S++ Clear Rank record-holder. Please. I mean it.”

“That is also what we want. By the way—are you displeased because the benefits are similar to other Elite Players?”

“Oh, not at all!”

Even 2 billion won was more than enough.

Magic Stone income was separate.

If his identity got exposed and his personal information went public?

His face would get spread across TV, the news, social media—his family would panic, he wouldn’t be able to go out...

Just imagining it was horrifying.

So he didn’t even tell his family that he was an S++ Clear Rank record-holder.

If he could hide it, he’d hide it for as long as possible.

That wasn’t the only reason he said he’d take only the base salary.

He set a lot of conditions when signing.

The condition Cossack had talked about.

Climbing uncleared floors would be decided by him alone.

There would be absolutely no outside interference.

No clear-recording videos, either.

He told them in advance that his Trait was Summoning.

But he would not disclose the existence of his summons.

He’d accept protection, but they had to guarantee his private life as much as possible.

No one could enter his home without permission.

Even protection CCTV could only be outside the home.

“And! The debt you took on to buy the alloy round hand shield has been resolved.”

“...Again?”

“Again?”

“N-no, it’s nothing.”

It was strange.

The moment he borrowed money, it disappeared naturally like it never existed—without him paying it back.

SmileCash, too. The Player Shop, too.

Was it a divine revelation that he could borrow money however he wanted?

“If you need any other equipment, request it any time. We can lend it to you as well.”

Overwhelming support.

Meticulous care.

And so, Juhyeok became an Elite Player.

The move was decided quickly, too.

It didn’t have to be immediate, but the Administration wanted him to relocate right away.

His personal residence separate from his family’s residence.

Since a lot of Elite Players demanded that, it passed without issue.

However, his personal officetel was rent-free.

His family apartment would be transferred into Juhyeok’s name as ownership, as the price of becoming an Elite Team member.

And the Administration handled all the procedures for him.

“It’s a two-room officetel, about 640 square feet. The appliances and furniture are included, so you can move in right away.”

“...”

Is this a palace or something?

This is insane.

It was too clean and comfortable.

Had he ever even seen a place like this?

“...There aren’t any hidden cameras, right?”

“Of course not. Absolutely not. If we did that, it’d be chaos. If it got found out, the Commissioner would have to write a resignation letter. You can even bring in a company to inspect it.”

He felt bad for looking so suspicious.

“And since this officetel is a residence provided by the Administration, a lot of Players live here. Most of them, actually.”

“Are they all Players belonging to the Elite Team?”

“There are regular contractors too. They bought units and moved in. Because safety is guaranteed.”

“...I see.”

Keeping them all in one place would make protection easier.

“All residents are people with verified identities. There are plenty of good people too, so it might be nice to get along with them.”

Get along?

Come on. That was a burden.

The move began.

He thought he didn’t have many things to take, but when he actually did it, it wasn’t like that at all.

So moving and organizing took a fair amount of time.

※ ※ ※

Yoo Cheolmin was the Republic of Korea’s number-one Level Player, and he was also second in the world rankings.

Because he cleared the infamous Floor 65, and he was currently challenging Floor 66.

His Trait was All-Weapon Warrior.

Through Trait Enhancement Runes, he could wield forty Trait Skills—flame attribute, ice attribute, electric attribute, and earth attribute.

It didn’t matter what weapon he used.

Area attacks, finishing moves, and ultimate moves—he had several of each.

Every single one was powerful.

So Yoo Cheolmin achieved both wealth and fame in the Republic of Korea.

People didn’t know the president’s name, but there wasn’t a single citizen who didn’t know his.

But these days, he was in a foul mood.

Because of someone setting a record of consecutive Floor clears at S++ Clear Rank—twenty-five floors in a row.

‘Who the hell is it?’

Broadcasts and social media were nothing but that story.

Meanwhile, he was fighting for his life on Floor 66.

‘Fuck—over a measly Floor 25.’

Was that even comparable?

What would they do if he stopped challenging Floor 66?

The Republic of Korea’s Collapse Countdown would begin.

Even if, right now, the Tower was built in a backwoods rural area of Gangwon Province instead of a big city, so the damage wouldn’t be that huge—what if the next Tower got built near a major city?

In the Republic of Korea as it currently stood, there wasn’t a single Player who could replace him.

There was one more Player in the early sixties, but that bitch only had second-stage Trait Enhancement.

Yoo Cheolmin picked up his wine glass and approached the apartment window.

A wide-open view, and the Han River flowing leisurely below.

He lived in a 3,560-square-foot penthouse.

The government provided it, but thinking about it now, it didn’t satisfy him.

He received the highest salary too, but—

‘This is it?’

China, of all places, was relentlessly contacting him through brokers right now.

An annual salary of 100 million yuan—about 180 billion won.

A mansion and staff, a bulletproof car and a private jet, treatment on the level of a national leader.

And Japan?

An annual salary of 20 billion yen, a luxury villa, ten maids assigned as live-in staff who would grant whatever he wanted... he’d been promised the best treatment and indulgence.

He could go to either one.

And yet he stayed in Korea—so they should be grateful.

Like always, all attention had to stay focused on him.

Broadcasts and the press should have praised his devotion to country and people every single day.

Not some Floor 25 S++ Clear Rank record.

‘Should I just naturalize for real?’

On top of that, Floor 66 was brutal.

After one attempt, the mental damage was so severe he’d have to rest for three days.

The sixties were the start of the undead section.

And on Floor 66, things called specters appeared.

Ghost forms that made your skin crawl just from looking—ignoring physical attacks, only attribute attacks worked—

If you thought they were just undead like the ones in common fiction, you were making a huge mistake.

Only someone who’d experienced it knew how horrific that demonic energy was.

‘How did that American Player bastard kill these things?’

Even going in with accessories and elixirs that could endure the “dark aura,” plus a Tower reward weapon item with light attribute, he failed every time.

It was lucky he didn’t die.

Because he could declare mission abandonment in time.

‘Honestly... it doesn’t feel possible.’

This was a big part of why he was keeping naturalization in mind.

He wanted to give up.

It felt like he’d hit a wall he couldn’t climb.

At this rate, Floor 66 was impossible.

He wanted to declare abandonment and park himself in the sixties, but would people stay quiet?

People were kind when you were winning, but the moment you stumbled, they tore you apart like a pack of dogs—that was human nature.

If he could get just one more Trait Enhancement Rune, then maybe, but—

Trait Enhancement Runes were so absurdly rare in reward probability that getting one was unbelievably hard.

He’d been able to reach fourth-stage enhancement only because he’d monopolized every Trait Enhancement Rune from the start of his Elite contract.

‘If I naturalize...’

China or Japan.

If China, a Floor 59 challenge.

If Japan, a Floor 57 challenge.

It would feel like he could clear while playing around.

He’d only climb once every six months, under the condition he prevented Tower Collapse.

“Hmm.”

It sounded more and more tempting.

Instead of just thinking, should he do it?

‘Either way, Floor 66 has no hope in sight...’

If he failed to clear, he got cursed at, and if he naturalized, he got cursed at...

No.

At the very least, the country he naturalized into would welcome him.

If he went to Japan or China, took it easy, played around, and got massive support—wouldn’t things change compared to now?

‘I should push it forward.’

Make China and Japan compete against each other—slowly, leisurely—raising his own value.

The Republic of Korea’s top Player naturalizing.

The world would turn upside down.

“Heh heh heh. That’ll be fun.”

People would realize it too late.

How precious Player Yoo Cheolmin was, how special he was, how irreplaceable he was.

Regret it, obsess over it, and rot into misery at the same time.

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