The Community on Earth.

[Where Have the Tower of Ordeal and Its Climbers Gone?]

For several months, the broadcast offered nothing more than an unbroken expanse of white light. Now, this strange transmission has finally come to an end, and the Tower of Ordeal, once anchored in the Pacific Ocean, has disappeared. However, Earth itself remains entirely unchanged.

Across the internet and in everyday life alike, confusion has only deepened. Speculation surrounding Kwon Su-Hyeok, widely referred to as “Light Su-Hyeok,” continues to spread unchecked, with new theories emerging by the hour.

Although he has been the target of considerable criticism, some insist that he simply failed partway through conquering the hundredth floor. Others argue the opposite, claiming that this is merely a transitional period following the tower’s conclusion and that the final procedures may simply require more time.

Regardless, one fact is difficult to dispute.

Ever since the tower’s feed abruptly went dark, countless people have stayed awake through the night, waiting for the slightest sign of change. Despite their vigilance, not a single meaningful shift has occurred, leaving the world suspended in a state of restless anticipation...

- 0410minji: Fr, did he actually flop??

- IlIlIIIIlll: Bro chill 😭 you tryna get canceled or what?

- lightsuhyeok: I believe in Light Su-Hyeok. I BELIEVE. I BELIEVE. I BELIEVE. I BELIEVE.

- ADEMO: The username of the dude above me is wild af 😳💀

- unside: Stop doubting. Just trust him.

- doo_seong: Su-men...

- meloncream: Su-men...

***

Cho-Yeon was so startled by my proposition that she simply stared at me, jaw agape and unable to speak. Of course, I hadn’t spoken thoughtlessly.

My reasoning was simple.

“I have been reflecting on it, and honestly, I don’t like micromanaging people constantly. You have been managing everything well until now.”

Even the Primordial God had struggled to oversee the countless worlds and thus created gods—that had generated conflicts, though. The tower would certainly assist me, but if it lost some of its power, I wasn’t confident that I could maintain the same level of careful oversight it acted with. With my personality, I didn’t desire to manage every matter while worrying about all the details.

Of course, that didn’t mean I intended to ignore everything entirely.

The tower had faithfully upheld balance for an immense span of time. It only lacked the ability to punish criminals sufficiently. I wished for the tower to continue guiding the worlds as the main agent while I handled the supporting role. I didn’t wish to place myself at the center of everything and take all the burdens. Even with the tower’s help, doing everything alone would feel profoundly different.

“We think along the same lines. So you handle the work, and I can step in if something goes wrong.”

I still didn't know the full extent of the Primordial God’s power. Since I hadn’t inherited his full power, I was still only around the level of a first-class god. Receiving only half of it seemed more than sufficient.

The greatest obstacle, Kalain, was gone. The Liberation Alliance had already begun eliminating the remnants of his followers under Thunder Axe’s leadership. Thunder Axe and Masters of the Five Carriage Wheels had all lived far longer than Kalain. It was unlikely that they would suddenly shift their ideology and become like him. Even if they did, the tower and I could handle them.

As for myself, I couldn’t predict how I would change in the distant future. Rather than holding onto unnecessary power that could complicate things later, dividing it with the tower seemed wiser for a future that could arrive at any moment.

Well, to be honest, it is also because of the tower.

After the Primordial God had disappeared, the tower had maintained and regulated everything for an unimaginable length of time. I didn’t want to seize all of that responsibility the moment I arrived. To me, the tower wasn’t simply a mechanism that selected gods. I wished to treat it as an individual deserving of respect.

After a short silence, Cho-Yeon finally responded, “I can not accept such an offer. How can I possibly do that?”

“So, are you saying it is impossible, or that you don’t like the idea?”

“I mean, it is nigh on impossible,” she firmly replied, then continued, “This power was granted to you, The Coming Dawn. If I were to receive it, it would cause a significant loss. As a result, the scope of what you could accomplish would naturally diminish.”

“Hmm.”

I generally understood the concept. Even now, possessing vast reserves of causality didn’t allow me to wield the authority the Primordial God had. This issue was likely similar in nature.

“Then what about this idea? I will inherit the position fully, but I will share power with you. That way, you will oversee and manage the worlds.”

Cho-Yeon nodded. “That is possible. But I won’t be able to do everything entirely on my own.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll help you,” I quickly reassured her, worried that she would misunderstand. “I don’t want to avoid work. I just know that you’ve been handling everything excellently for ages, so you are far better suited for it. Also, I don’t want you to remain merely a tower.”

A faint smile formed on her face as she gleaned my intent—without mind reading, no less.

“I understand.” Then she looked at me with a playful grin. “Still, I imagine you felt at least the slightest amount of reluctance.”

“Well, maybe a little. Haha.”

Perhaps our worries had faded, or perhaps we had simply grown closer. Either way, she felt comfortable enough to tease me. I met her gaze and returned her smile. In the middle of that lighthearted moment, I suddenly wondered what I should call her.

The Tower of Ordeal or Cho-Yeon?

Neither felt like a true name.

“By the way, what should I call you? Cho-Yeon doesn’t seem like your real name.”

“I don’t have a name. The Primordial God and the other gods simply called me the tower.”

That seemed sad. Perhaps the Primordial God had been indifferent, but I didn’t feel the same. She had lived all those countless years without ever receiving a proper name.

“Then, is it all right if I give you one?”

“Pardon me?” She looked genuinely startled, not rejecting me, just surprised.

Her reaction appeared rather endearing.

“Like I said, I don’t want you to remain as nothing more than something that selects a god.”

“Thank you. I would be honored to accept whatever name you give me.”

“Hmm.”

I hadn’t prepared one in advance, so I simply studied her expression and let the right word rise naturally. It came more quickly than expected.

“Aurora. How about Aurora?”

A bright, innocent smile spread across her face. “Aurora, the goddess of dawn and a light that can appear before sunrise. I like it. It sincerely resonates with me.”

With that, she bowed deeply. “The Coming Dawn, I have waited for you for a very long time. Truly, for a long time. I, Aurora, greet you, and am wholeheartedly grateful for what you have done.”

At that moment, causality enveloped her with a radiant glow. The field, the sunlight, and even Aurora herself appeared to slowly disappear as the light strengthened.

Wow, that is bright.

An all-embracing white filled my entire vision. Within that vast emptiness, I felt the power of the Primordial God surge through me, saturating every corner of my being and bringing a crystalline exhilaration with it. However, unlike last time, I didn’t feel my perception expand outward, or my mind surge with pristine clarity. The rush receded in nothing more than a fleeting instant.

As the glow dispersed, the sunlight returned along with the vast field, and Aurora emerged once more. Basked in a gentle radiance, she lifted her head.

“That was... so short.”

The immeasurable influx of power churned inside me, but my mind and existence didn’t feel dramatically different.

“If you were to absorb everything at once, it could negatively impact your psyche. I arranged it so you can grow accustomed to it gradually.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

It was a small act of consideration, and I appreciated it. The entirety of the Primordial God’s power, enhancing every one of my senses all at once, would have certainly created a jarring dissonance within me. Regardless, once I received this last portion of his authority, it finally hit me with unmistakable clarity—my journey through the tower had reached its conclusion.

There were still matters that required my attention, but none of them appeared particularly daunting. They felt manageable, almost trivial, compared to everything I had already endured.

Back before entering the hundredth floor, I had assumed an impossibly long journey still lay ahead.

In a sense, I owe it to Kalain.

My feelings concerning him were still tangled, no matter how many times I sifted through them. After all, if I had lost Hee-Jeong during my climb as a challenger, I likely would have become another Kalain.

Moreover, if Thunder Axe had participated more in Kalain’s climb, that could have changed history. He would have had the chance to walk a path more similar to mine and inherited the Primordial God’s position.

From most people’s perspective, he had confronted me in order to kill me. Even Cho-Yen had believed as much. However, I had glimpsed his memories, and I knew that wasn’t why. He had sought me out for release, to pass his purpose on to me.

Charging forward for thousands of years while driven solely by vengeance had been agonizing—even for him. Perhaps when he had hurled himself recklessly at me, the feeling in his heart had resembled the Primordial God’s prior to his disappearance.

Until my appearance, Kalain would have believed that no one else was capable of correcting the world’s injustices. While traveling down that road, he would have fought with his countless inner demons. The same vengeance that empowered him, that allowed him to defeat others, would have also tormented him relentlessly. I didn’t wish to justify his actions, but knowing him so deeply made it impossible not to feel something.

Aurora gently interrupted my long train of thought, “Would you like to see Ha Hee-Jeong now?”

“Yes,” I answered, then continued without pause, “Do I need to go to the rest area for that?”

“You may proceed wherever you desire, The Coming Dawn,” Aurora responded softly, and in that instant, I understood how to wield this new power.

I smiled at her. “All right.”

***

A burst of lively noise greeted my ears. It wasn’t a song or anything that meaningful, but the warm and familiar clamor of conversation. I had long forgotten how comforting it could be.

I stood near the entrance to the restroom and swept my gaze across the surroundings. The bar was overflowing with people, and the mingled scents of food, alcohol, and perfume drifted in the air.

A young man approached the restroom. “Excuse me.”

I stepped aside, still looking for Ha Hee-Jeong, and it didn’t take me long to find her. Even from a distance, she seemed to fill my view in perfect clarity, almost as if she were standing right before me. Just like I remembered, she was slumped over the table with her head resting on her arms. At least this time, her hair wasn’t falling into a kimchi stew.

My heart pounded hard.

It had been over twenty years. Despite that long stretch of time, my feelings hadn’t faded in the slightest. I couldn’t wait a moment longer.

Holding down the tremor in my chest, I walked forward and gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, hey. Wake up.”

“Mmmm.”

The sound was identical to what I remembered. She shifted a little but didn’t rise. A smile tugged at my lips and refused to leave. I steadied my expression, trying to imitate the way I had acted back then.

“Ahem.”

After clearing my throat, I gently tapped the back of her head. Not enough to hurt, simply enough to make her jolt.

“You little—”

Ha Hee-Jeong caught my wrist. I could have easily dodged it, but I chose not to. My wrist twisted in her grasp, but it wasn’t painful.

“You... mother—?”

Her eyes widened as she stared at me, a pair of chopsticks still in her other hand. The chopsticks wavered sharply beside my neck. Some of the people nearby had already begun looking our way. I placed my hands on her shoulders and guided her gently back into her seat. She still looked dazed, just like she had in the past.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Hold on.”

“What do you mean, hold on?”

“No, just shut up for a moment,” she replied sharply and coldly.

I had found that tone frightening, but now it only seemed endearing. I tried my best not to smile.

Ha Hee-Jeong checked her phone and muttered to herself, “October 3rd, 2020. October 3rd, 2020...”

I watched silently, barely suppressing the laughter threatening to burst free.

“Hey, Su-Hyeok.”

“What?” I answered bluntly.

After a brief pause, Ha Hee-Jeong suddenly leaned in and brought our faces close. Our foreheads nearly brushed.

“I came from the future,” she whispered as if she were afraid someone would overhear.

That was my breaking point, and a laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“Hee-Jeong.”

“What. Now isn’t the time to laugh. Listen to me.”

“No, no, that isn’t why.”

I took her hand. Warmth spread across my palm, a warmth I had missed for twenty years.

“It’s over. Everything has ended.”

I restored the memories she had briefly forgotten. At the same time, the entire bar froze in place. It was nothing more than a small prank. I had wanted to try it at least once, but now that I had done it, I felt a little uneasy. She wouldn’t appreciate it.

Ha Hee-Jeong went perfectly still, almost like a statue.

Perhaps I took the joke too far.

As I watched her carefully, she suddenly grabbed my arm. I didn’t resist. The table slid aside, and our bodies drew close. We settled neatly into each other’s arms. From the way she hugged me, I could feel the fear, longing, and relief she had been carrying all this time.

“It’s been difficult for you.”

Those simple words from her comforted me more than anything else. It felt like the past twenty years had existed solely so that I could hear them.

“I told you that I would see you soon, but it took longer than I expected. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I made you wait for far too long.”

“Don’t worry about that, either. You did so much for us.”

She nestled further into my chest as if hugging didn’t bring us close enough together. I didn’t know how to describe how I felt. When I had defeated Kalain, my first time meeting Aurora, the moment I entered the tower, perhaps even in every second of my life, I had never felt as peaceful or as genuinely happy as I did now.

In my arms, Ha Hee-Jeong slowly lifted her head. Her face drew near, and I lowered mine slightly. Our lips met. Hers pressed against mine with an indescribable softness, and her quickened breath brushed along my cheek.

The moment felt eternal.

Yet even that eternity passed far too quickly. When our lips finally parted, only her brown eyes remained in my sight. There were words I needed to say in that moment, and before I could even fully think them, they were already leaving my lips.

“I love you.”

Ha Hee-Jeong smiled with an expression more radiant than anything I had ever seen. “Me, too. I love you, too.”