Episode 11: The Unprecedented Player (1)

As Junseok opened the door of the container shelter, a black van was waiting for him.  

Team Leader Kang Jinsu, who had fainted earlier, was now awake.  

“You’re up.”  

Kang nodded with a smile.  

“Sorry for startling you at our first meeting.”  

“It’s fine.”  

“I was caught off guard myself. It’s my first time dealing with something like this.”  

Junseok had a rough idea why Kang had collapsed.  

Likely, he’d tried to use an appraisal skill on something with a massive level gap, causing an overload.  

“Let’s get in.”  

Despite the somewhat coercive tone, Junseok didn’t respond.  

Kang, slightly surprised, nodded.  

Not an easy guy.  

Junseok wasn’t someone who’d let the atmosphere dictate who held the upper hand.  

He knows he’s in control.  

Young men his age typically shrank under such authoritative tones, but Kang couldn’t find that in Junseok.  

“Get in. We’ll take you to a nearby café. If we meant to do anything shady, we would’ve done it already. You can relax.” 

“I’m not worried anyway.”  

“Because of your summon?”  

Junseok just smiled calmly and got into the van.  

From Kang’s next words, Junseok gleaned one piece of information: the two brokers who’d approached him earlier that day likely didn’t meet a pleasant end.

“They said it’s an assassin type.”  

“Correct. And it has a good memory too. It’s right behind you now.”

It was a subtle threat from Junseok, but Kang just smiled and nodded.  

He didn’t even glance back.  

“It’ll be a great asset to Korea’s strength.”  

My summon, and you’re talking about Korea’s strength? Junseok couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.  

As Kang sat beside him, the van started moving.  

“Recently, eight Hamas commanders were assassinated simultaneously in the Middle East’s religious conflict. All in one night.” 

Hamas.  

Junseok vaguely knew from the news that they were a group claiming independence from Israel.  

Why bring this up out of nowhere?  

It was an abrupt topic, but Junseok listened.  

“Officially, it was announced as an internal bomb attack, with suspicions pointing to Israel as the mastermind. But the truth is different.”  

Junseok felt awkward as Kang dropped what sounded like state-secret-level information. 

“According to our informants, five summons from American players were dispatched for the assassination. Oh, this is classified.”  

The van pulled over shortly after reaching the roadside.  

“You’re saying Magic Tower summons are killing people in the real world?”  

“Let’s discuss the details inside.”  

They parked blatantly on the curb in front of the café.  

As they got out, Junseok’s sharp observation caught people wearing caps or suits lingering nearby. 

Player Management Office agents.  

If half of Korea’s public servants worked like these guys, the country would’ve advanced by now, Junseok thought as he entered the café.

As expected… they hadn’t just reserved a spot—they’d practically commandeered the place.  

It was well before closing time, but there were no customers or staff.  

“What’s this? Are we here to drink coffee or not?”  

Kang chuckled.  

“For security reasons, we had no choice. One of our agents with café part-time experience will serve us.”  

“Aren’t you overworking your subordinates?”  

Kang gave a wry smile and signaled to an agent.  

As if on cue, the agent brought two iced Americanos.

They’d probably been prepped via radio.  

“You like Americanos, right?”  

They even knew his coffee preference. That was a bit creepy.  

It was true, though.  

Other drinks often left him regretting not choosing an Americano due to their sweetness or heaviness.  

“No, make it a café au lait.”  

Kang glanced at the agent behind the counter, who looked like he’d never heard of a café au lait.  

“Just drink it.” 

“Of course. I was joking.”  

“No need to be nervous. If we meant to kidnap you, we wouldn’t bother with all this.”

There was an edge to his words.  

“Let’s cut to the chase. We’re both busy.”  

Kang took a long sip of his coffee and continued.  

“I’ll be direct. Our reason for coming isn’t complicated.” 

Junseok nodded, signaling him to go on.  

Kang’s points boiled down to three:  

1. Register as a player and join the system.  

2. Dedicate yourself to Korea’s elite team aiming to conquer the 100th floor of the Magic Tower.  

3. The government would spare no support for this.  

That was the gist.  

Kang continued.  

“We fully understand that you’ve been hiding your identity to avoid the five major guilds or foreign assassins. But you can’t stay hidden forever.”  

It was a reasonable point.  

Junseok knew there’d be a limit eventually. 

Some floors were physically impossible to clear alone.  

“At the government level, we’ll treat you as a complete F-rank player.”  

“So only key personnel will know about me?”  

Kang nodded.  

“Sounds good. But…”  

Junseok leaned back in his chair. 

“It’s a bit unexpected.”  

“What do you mean?”  

“Do you think I turned down the U.S. offer out of patriotism?”  

Kang tilted his head, unsure of Junseok’s intent.  

“They offered me a lot. You probably know how far their proposal went.”  

“When you make an offer, shouldn’t there be corresponding rewards or benefits? Just telling me to do this or that, promising vague support… isn’t that too bureaucratic?” 

Kang’s brow furrowed briefly before relaxing.  

This player. What’s his deal? Is this his second life?  

Kang activated his appraisal skill again.  

Clearly F-rank, level 5.  

A rank the Player Management Office wouldn’t even glance at.  

F-ranks were treated as equivalent to someone with a rifle.  

No, some F-ranks were weaker than that.  

And frankly, based on the skill name alone, Junseok was weaker than a rifleman.  

Inventory Master?  

What kind of ability was that? 

He’d never heard of anything like it.  

It was a quintessential F-rank porter skill. 

The appraisal didn’t reveal detailed skill descriptions, but the text alone made it clear it wasn’t combat-oriented.  

Kang, who’d climbed to the mid-floors while active as a player, knew this better than anyone.  

Despite the skill name screaming weakness, Junseok’s presence was unshaken.  

How did he set a record on the first floor alone and clear the second in two seconds?  

But that very fact made him all the more terrifying.  

His true nature was impossible to gauge.  

Could he be hiding or disguising his power?  

“We’ll quietly provide a three-bedroom apartment rental suitable for a family of three.”

“That’s it?”  

“That’s the most we can offer to honor your talent, dedication, and sacrifice.” 

“That’s the best you’ve got?”  

“It’s the maximum allowed right now. Are you disappointed?”  

Junseok nodded, as expected.  

Kang nodded back, as if he understood.  

This was after Junseok had rejected a billion-won offer from the U.S.  

“Korea doesn’t work that easily, Junseok. Do you think we’re crazy? Offering a 10-billion-won salary, a luxury penthouse, a sports car, and tax exemptions or immunity to someone who hasn’t proven their worth? This isn’t a drama.”  

Haven’t proven my worth?  

They must think he hadn’t shown his potential yet. 

Or that his first- and second-floor clears were just clever use of unknown mechanics.  

As Junseok’s spine tingled with the impulse to stand and leave, Kang spoke.  

“But! Considering the performance and potential you’ve shown, we could secure a promise from higher-ups for something comparable. Top-tier players receive activity subsidies and dignity maintenance funds from the government, aside from their guild earnings.”  

What a silver tongue.

This wasn’t his first rodeo.  

It was the classic tactic of acting like it’s impossible but offering a “special deal.”  

Like a “80% off sale! Three days only!” that never really ends.  

“Junseok, I understand your impatience, but it’s been less than a week since you awakened. In the world of bureaucracy, that’s before the ink on the approval documents even dries.” 

Junseok didn’t care to understand.  

“Executing national funds requires more justification and time than you’d think. Just setting records on the first and second floors doesn’t cut it…”  

“So you’re saying I haven’t been fully vetted yet?”  

“I won’t deny it.” 

Fair enough.  

Even Junseok didn’t know the limits of his own power.  

He knew he could obliterate floors with overwhelming force, but the upper floors were uncharted territory for him.  

It was only natural for the government to take a wait-and-see approach.  

“Then what if I keep setting records from the fifth floor up?”  

“…What?”  

Junseok looked Kang in the eye.  

“I’ll set records. That’ll give you the justification and reason to allocate funds for me, right?” 

Kang chuckled as if it were a joke.  

The fifth floor was called the “D-rank graveyard.”  

D-ranks, overconfident after soloing up to the fourth floor, often met their end facing the fifth floor’s mid-boss.  

Oh, you’re laughing?  

“Of course, it’s possible, but let me explain in detail—”  

“All I need to do is prove it wasn’t just luck, right? That’s the crux, isn’t it? Why you can’t promise top-tier support.”

“Well, yes.”  

“Should’ve gone to the land of opportunity, America, then.” 

Kang shrugged, undaunted.  

“You’d have been exploited, never setting foot in Korea again.”  

“Maybe it would’ve been a happy contract.”  

“We know the fate of players who abandon their citizenship and emigrate.”

“Are you threatening me?”  

“I’m stating facts.”

As expected.  

The Player Management Office, under the Ministry of Defense, wasn’t to be underestimated.  

“Top players live lavishly anywhere. So if you’re going to reach the top, climbing Korea’s Tower would let you hold your head high. From the upper floors, the government steps in with incentives. High subsidies for rankers and massive rewards for clearing the top floors.”  

The government wasn’t as incompetent as he thought.  

They knew it was better to let players compete in the private sector than manage them directly.  

An officially recognized player with a steady salary? 

Who’d risk their life climbing the Tower or proving their strength if that were the case?  

They’d just coast on a safe paycheck. 

“Alright. Since this is going in circles, let’s wrap it up.”  

Kang nodded slowly, urging him to continue.

“First, I’ll register officially as an F-rank player.”  

“Second, that apartment support better happen tomorrow.”  

“Agreed.”  

“We’ll process it as quickly as possible.”  

“Third, I’ll make my presence known to the entire nation as fast as possible.”  

“Agreed.”  

Kang, satisfied, extended his hand.  

“We’ll provide detailed guidance on support policies and shop usage later.”  

He pulled an envelope from his jacket.  

“Your player certification.”  

“Already prepared?”  

“‘Swift, accurate, certain’ is my motto.” 

Junseok took the envelope.  

It likely contained his F-rank player certification, a sword-carrying permit, and other documents. 

“Oh, and what happened to those two American brokers?”  

“Well… there are two answers.”  

“Give me both.”  

Kang rolled his eyes upward, thinking, then answered.  

“Officially, they’re listed as missing in the Tower. The unfiltered truth? They were eliminated for violating national security laws.”  

As expected.  

“Well, it’s getting late. Shall we wrap up?”  

Seemingly pleased with how things went, Kang stood with a satisfied expression.  

Junseok, too, felt it was a win, knowing he could get his family out of the pigsty-like container shelter.  

“Oh, and my sister likes cake…”  

At Junseok’s words, Kang signaled, and two agents sprang into action, emptying the café’s fridge.  

They swept every cookie and pastry off the display into bags.  

Kang offered to drive Junseok back with his hands full of snacks, but Junseok shook his head.  

“I’ll walk. Need to clear my head.”  

“As you wish.”  

As Junseok sighed, looking up at the night sky, Kang spoke from the van. 

“Choi Hyeoncheol.”  

Junseok’s father’s name made his gaze sharpen toward Kang.  

“Your father would be proud if he saw you.”  

My father would be proud?  

Suddenly, the conversation with his father flashed through his mind.  

That night, under a starry sky, they’d talked.

His father had lived without shame until his last day.  

Suddenly, Junseok felt no regret for rejecting the U.S. offer.  

If I’d abandoned everything for money I might earn someday, never able to return to my homeland, the loss would outweigh the gain.  

That path would’ve been too shameful to walk with his head held high.  

“I’ll prove it. How much potential I can show.”  

Kang bowed slightly.

“Be cautious on the fifth floor. With your summon, it shouldn’t be dangerous, but looking up strategies might help.”  

According to the Player Management Office’s statistics, the fifth floor was the deadliest low-level floor after the first.  

Just when you think you’re used to driving, you get into an accident.  

Just when you think you’re used to climbing, a fatality happens.  

But to Junseok, Kang’s words sounded subtly dismissive.  

As if saying, You’ll struggle on the fifth floor.  

“And if you come back apologizing, I won’t let it slide. You’d better mobilize everything you’ve got.”  

“…What?”  

“I’m going to make waves so big even media control won’t help. Be ready.”  

Kang gave a half-doubting, half-amused smile, rolled up his window, and disappeared into the city. 

Junseok’s words came true about four hours later.  

At midnight, when his entry rights reset.  

“Summon.”  

BOOM!!  

[Congratulations!]  

[You have cleared the 5th floor.]  

[Congratulations!]  

[Hidden Reward Condition: Achieved the shortest solo clear time.]  

[Clear Time: 6 seconds.]  

[Hidden rewards and clear rewards have been granted.]  

The unprecedented F-rank player, absent for two days.  

Nicknamed “Function.”  

This was the signal of his return. 

The next day, TV, online news, and various media were flooded with reports of Function’s comeback.  

It was Junseok’s clear warning to Kang: Can you still take that stance now?