Starting in the early evening, people began gathering in front of Gwanghwamun Square[1].

A week had passed since the tower had disappeared after months of broadcasting nothing but a white screen. Due to that silence, the Kwon Su-Hyeok Sect had decided to hold a public assembly. It wasn’t for some grand purpose, however—they wanted the climbers to return safely.

Because of the different time zones, it was impossible to hold the gathering simultaneously across the globe. In the end, the organizers decided to begin the event in South Korea, Kwon Su-Hyeok’s homeland.

There are far more people than I expected.

The reporter dispatched to cover the event found herself quietly startled as she watched the crowd swell. She had anticipated a large turnout, but not to this extent, and certainly not this quickly.

The Kwon Su-Hyeok Sect felt the same.

Although the gathering was officially framed as a prayer for the safe return of all climbers, at its core, a religious group devoted to Kwon Su-Hyeok was hosting it. They had promoted it extensively online, but judging by the makeup of the crowd, nearly ninety percent of those present were ordinary civilians.

As the number of people continued to rise, the event supervisors hurriedly rented additional speakers. Even then, it was woefully insufficient. The police faced a similar situation. With the crowd growing beyond expectations, they urgently requested additional personnel to help manage the area.

“Hmm.”

Amid the low murmur of countless voices, Park Jong-Pil, head of the Korean branch of the Kwon Su-Hyeok Sect, glanced down at the script in his hands. When he reached the parts that read “Do you believe?” and “Sumen,” he quietly drew thick black lines through them.

He had become the branch head largely through tireless online activity. Standing in front of ordinary people and shouting slogans like that felt inappropriate.

That wasn’t to say that his faith was wavering, nor because he felt embarrassed. If anything, it was precisely because of Kwon Su-Hyeok. He believed that provoking discomfort among the general public would only do more harm than good.

Before long, Park Jong-Pil stepped onto the stage and took the microphone. The screen prepared behind him was small, so those farther back could barely make out what was displayed.

“Ahem. Hello. I am Park Jong-Pil, head of the Korean branch of the Kwon Su-Hyeok Sect.”

A roar erupted in response.

“Woooo!”

It was far louder than he had expected. For a brief moment, Park Jong-Pil stiffened. Then, before he could fully recover, another wave of cheers followed.

“Sumen!”

“Sumen!”

The chant rolled across the square. It wasn’t the thin, scattered notification sound of online followers posting that he was used to. It was the unified voice of a crowd standing shoulder to shoulder. For a fleeting second, Park Jong-Pil felt the urge to loudly join in the chant as well. However, he suppressed it and quietly inhaled instead.

After steadying himself, he returned his eyes to the script. “More people have gathered than we anticipated. For that, I would like to express my sincere gratitude. Today’s gathering is not held solely for Lord Light Su-Hyeok— no, for Mr. Kwon Su-Hyeok.”

He glanced up, wary of the crowd’s reaction. Instead of growing uncomfortable, though, the cheers only grew louder.

“Light Su-Hyeok! Light Su-Hyeok!”

“Sumen!”

Park Jong-Pil realized his correction had been unnecessary. More than that, he felt something tighten in his chest.

After the Tower of Ordeal had vanished and information stopped flowing, concern had spread steadily. There was no shortage of people online with seemingly unwavering faith, but the internet and reality were never quite the same. Even so, it was becoming increasingly clear that a surprising number of individuals carried that same conviction into the real world as well.

Park Jong-Pil continued, his voice quivering faintly, “This gathering is held to pray for the safe return of all climbers. Of course, Light Su-Hyeok has surely succeeded and has simply been delayed due to certain responsibilities. Regardless, we hope he will return as soon as possible...”

From that point on, Park Jong-Pil spoke with more confidence. He no longer corrected himself when he said Light Su-Hyeok instead of Mr. Kwon Su-Hyeok. At almost regular intervals, chants of “Sumen” and “Light Su-Hyeok” echoed through the square. Before long, the gathering started looking like a cult assembly—at least, to anyone who had been unconscious for the past two years, or living far removed from society.

In truth, that thought crossed the minds of even those in the know.

Two years ago, or even just one year ago, this event would have been unthinkable. People had supported the climbers, but few had truly believed in Kwon Su-Hyeok himself.

Humans adapted quickly.

At first, the tower and its miracles shocked the world. Soon enough, they became part of everyday life. Families of climbers worried and suffered, but for many ordinary people, it remained something extraordinary to observe from a distance. Of course, it wasn’t that people weren’t concerned for the climbers. Rather, that unease gradually settled into familiarity as time went on.

In many ways, the climbers were commercialized into something between sport and film. Scenes of grief were shown less frequently, while moments of triumph were given greater focus. It encouraged viewers to empathize, rejoice, and lose themselves in the spectacle. This, too, had been part of the Tower of Ordeal’s intent from the very beginning. Safeguards had been carefully put in place so that even scenes of excessive cruelty wouldn’t fracture the minds of those watching.

Actually, the Kwon Su-Hyeok Sect had been established half in jest. It spread through the internet like a meme and grew rapidly in influence, but was rarely regarded as a religion grounded in genuine devotion. What ultimately played the greatest role in shifting public perception was the ninety-ninth floor and the twenty years Kwon Su-Hyeok had spent there alone.

His pain, resentment, and the emotions tied to overcoming the tower’s trials were transmitted with striking clarity into the minds of Earth’s people, and the impact was substantial. This wasn’t merely a matter of watching recorded footage, but of directly experiencing one individual’s suffering and sincerity as if it were their own.

Some had felt a shiver run through them, while others had reconsidered the resentment they were holding onto. Many wept openly, and a growing number bowed their heads in genuine reverence. Through that shared experience, Kwon Su-Hyeok took root in people’s hearts without anyone quite realizing.

They began watching his past footage again, this time with a different mindset and renewed emotion. So much so that documentaries were already being produced, compiling photographs from his life on Earth alongside footage recorded inside the tower.

The same was true for the other climbers.

Anyone who had reached the higher floors had become immensely popular, with one name after another featuring in the media. Of course, Kwon Su-Hyeok unmistakably stood at the forefront as the icon. Stripping back the newfound fame, these climbers were still friends and lovers, siblings and neighbors, children and parents. People filled Gwanghwamun Square for all the climbers who had struggled, again and again, to protect them.

Those who couldn’t attend due to personal circumstances watched the gathering online instead. Even the police assigned to control the crowd felt much the same, though they couldn’t express it openly.

“We will now pray for the climbers’ safe return to Earth. Sumen!”

At some point, Park Jong-Pil found himself shouting “Sumen” with confidence, without the hesitation he had felt earlier. The voices of the participants matched him, echoing across the square as they overlapped and swelled.

“Sumen!”

Out of nowhere, a low, resonant hum rippled through the air.

Rumbleeee.

A flash of light appeared in the sky above Gwanghwamun, radiating waves of illumination outward. The square was flooded with brilliance in an instant.

“What the fuck?”

“Wh-what’s happening?”

Startled by the sudden brightness, people instinctively closed their eyes. Moments later, they raised their hands in front of their faces and squinted as they looked toward the source of the light. The glow pouring from the pillar was clearly different than normal sunlight. As their eyes adjusted, recognition spread through the crowd. It appeared identical to the blue-gold light Kwon Su-Hyeok wielded.

“L-Light Su-Hyeok!”

“Waaaaah!”

“It’s Kwon Su-Hyeok!”

Amid the roaring cheers, the light suspended in the sky descended toward the square. It moved with a measured and deliberate pace, slow enough that people instinctively understood it was moving with their well-being in mind.

Before long, a warm breeze swept through the crowd, steadying a few weak-kneed individuals. At the same time, people gradually cleared out a space. Unrestrained cries of joy filled the square. Slowed by the sheer number of people present, it took roughly two minutes for the pillar of light to reach the ground.

Silhouettes became visible within the glow, and the cheering only intensified.

This phenomenon was not limited to Korea alone. Across the world, climbers were returning to Earth. They wouldn’t all receive the same kind of welcome, but even so, this was also an act of consideration on the climbers’ part.

Those nearest to the light, who had previously moved back to let the light descend, shouted and tried to surge forward toward the pillar of light, but they couldn’t move any closer. It felt like an invisible barrier stood firmly in their way.

However, from his vantage point, Park Jong-Pil could clearly tell that the number of silhouettes within the light exceeded the number of Korean climbers who had survived to the ninetieth floor.

“Waaaaaah!”

“Sumen!”

“Light Su-Hyeok! Light Su-Hyeok! Light Su-Hyeok!”

Overwhelmed by the miracle unfolding before him, Park Jong-Pil clutched the microphone and joined in chanting Light Su-Hyeok’s name.

During the two minutes it had taken for the pillar of light to descend, the live stream of the event was relayed as breaking news across the world. In other words, word of the climbers’ return was spreading at an extraordinary pace.

At that moment, a single silhouette stepped forward from within the light. Though his features weren’t clearly visible yet, everyone knew who it was.

It was Kwon Su-Hyeok.

The square erupted into even louder cheers. The police tasked with maintaining order were no exception. Unfortunately, even with the Spirit of Storms protecting the crowd, the situation looked unstable enough that they couldn’t simply stand by.

“Please don’t push! Be careful! Someone will get hurt!” the police warned while also trying to control their own excitement.

This wasn’t a fantasy film they were viewing on a big screen. It was a miracle unfolding directly before their eyes. Some people broke down in tears, unable to contain their emotions. The reporters and broadcast staff reacted much the same, but they didn’t let that interrupt their duties, and they continued adjusting their cameras with practiced hands.

Amid the confusion, a calm and sacred voice rang out, “Everyone, please remain calm. You could be injured.”

Given the sheer number of people gathered, it seemed impossible that the cheers would subside. However, the square fell silent almost instantly.

That should be enough.

Thinking that this was a sufficiently fitting return, Kwon Su-Hyeok stepped forward with quiet satisfaction. The blue-gold radiance gradually faded, and soon he and the climbers of South Korea were revealed in full.

***

Gwanghwamun was located close to the Blue House, so the president had witnessed the entire spectacle. Therefore, the president released a statement—the climbers were to be reunited with their families as soon as possible.

The orders from the Blue House were carried out without delay. Dozens of government-operated security vehicles arrived at the site of the gathering in rapid succession. The climbers didn’t require protection, but they were escorted to a secure residence nearby where their families were waiting.

In the meantime, the news had reached all corners of the globe. No one had believed that the climbers who had died could return alive, so their homecoming was all the more emotional.

That said, not every climber had returned. Kwon Su-Hyeok and Ha Hee-Jeong had definitely excluded a few. Climbers who had committed acts of cruelty beyond acceptable limits during the previous and current life weren’t allowed to set foot on Earth again.

On a separate matter, the unrest—stemming from climbers suffering PTSD—that had long been feared on Earth never came to pass. Before returning to Earth, Kwon Su-Hyeok had personally tended to the climbers, providing not only mental healing but continued care and guidance. That care took many forms, adjusted to each individual’s wishes. Some reshaped their memories so that they felt like scenes from a single film rather than lived experiences. Others only erased memories of physical pain. Even climbers who had completely lost their sanity along the way were restored to a stable state.

There were also quite a few who, of their own free will, chose to relinquish their powers. In addition, Kwon Su-Hyeok had made it clear that misusing skills and stats would be met with punishment. At the same time, he conveyed what he expected of the climbers going forward. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Several days passed.

The highest-ranking climbers held discussions with the leaders of their respective nations. However, those leaders weren’t satisfied—Kwon Su-Hyeok had declined to meet with them. Still, there was no one capable of exerting pressure on Kwon Su-Hyeok.

While the heads of state waited, quietly yet tensely, for a meeting with him, Kwon Su-Hyeok had already relocated to a secure residence together with his family and Ha Hee-Jeong’s family. After spending several days of long-delayed greetings and reunions, he immediately left on a trip with Ha Hee-Jeong.

It was a short vacation.

Kwon Su-Hyeok and Ha Hee-Jeong lay side by side on a bed in a luxurious Mediterranean villa, watching television.

[Breaking news. Thirteen minutes ago, the UN Secretary-General announced that multiple leaders of terrorist organizations operating on Earth have been confirmed dead. The information came to light following the climbers’ return...]

Ha Hee-Jeong smiled faintly. “It took them longer than I expected.”

“They probably needed time to verify everything. There were surely a lot of conflicting interests involved.”

In truth, the climbers’ return at Gwanghwamun hadn’t been the first in the strictest sense. Before that, Kwon Su-Hyeok had already crossed over to Earth with a small group of top-ranked climbers. Based on information compiled by the Tower of Ordeal, he had eliminated every individual who posed nothing but harm to the world.

Even after becoming a god, Kwon Su-Hyeok had no intention of interfering deeply in the lives of ordinary people. Still, he didn’t desire to leave such filth untouched.

As Ha Hee-Jeong nodded, she suddenly lifted her head as if something had just occurred to her. “Oh, right.”

“Hmm?”

She picked up her phone and checked the time. “Ho-Su said he was going to appear on a broadcast today.”

“Now?”

“Yes. He said eight o’clock, Korean time.”

After checking the clock, Ha Hee-Jeong let out a small breath of relief. “There are still three minutes left. It should start soon.”

She looked up at Kwon Su-Hyeok. He instantly understood what she was asking of him. Without another word, he opened a portal leading back to Korea.

1. Gwanghwamun Square is a large public plaza in central Seoul, located in front of Gwanghwamun Gate, and is widely used for major civic gatherings, demonstrations, and national events. ☜