The steam from the hot springs rose lazily into the artificial sky, carrying the scent of sulfur and relaxation. It was a paradise designed for weary climbers, a place to wash away the grime of the tutorial. But for the two men standing at the edge of the water, there was no time for leisure.
"He is not answering," Kim Dokja said, staring at the chat window.
Klein nodded.
"This… Arc?.. 'War of Convergence' begins in three days," Klein Moretti said, his voice tight. He turned away from the inviting water, his expression grim. "We cannot waste time soaking while the scenario timer ticks down. We must advance."
"Agreed." Dokja nodded. "Let's get dressed."
They walked over to the pile of their clothes. Now came the humiliating part.
Klein adjusted his [Bansy's Top Hat] on his head.
He looked in the reflection of the water. A Victorian gentleman, wearing a double-breasted suit, overlaid with rugged fantasy mercenary gear. Klein's eyebrow twitched. "...This is an aesthetic disaster," he muttered, lampooning himself internally.
'I look like a cosplayer who ran out of budget halfway through and decided to mix genres. If Miss Justice saw me like this, the Fool's dignity would evaporate instantly.'
"Mr. Fashion Terrorist," Dokja commented on Klein's appearance.
Kim Dokja wasn't faring much better. He donned a set of high-agility leather armor, then threw his signature white coat over it. The coat bulged awkwardly over the shoulder guards.
Dokja sighed, checking his reflection.
They took out the tickets everyone received when entering the 6F.
They ripped them in half.
Flash.
[7F, Game Center]
[Welcome to the Game Center.]
The transition was jarring.
The smell of heaven and nature vanished instantly, replaced by the sterile scent of ozone and conditioned air. The light wasn't from a sun or a magical orb. It was neon. Blinding, flashing, strobing neon lights.
Klein blinked, his [Spirit Vision] overwhelmed by the sheer density of artificiality.
"This is..." He looked around. Sleek metallic surfaces, holographic projections floating in the air, and the hum of advanced machinery. It looked like a vision of the Modern Era's Beijing, but amplified.
A high-end sci-fi arcade from a future century.
Humanoid robots with exposed mechanical joints walked with fluid grace, carrying trays of drinks or guiding confused Players. Vast gray pathways stretched into the distance, lined with machines that beeped and whirred.
"A technological civilization?" Klein whispered. "Inside a fantasy tower?"
Whirrr. A robot in a sharp black suit glided towards them. It moved with a fluid, uncanny grace that made Klein's hand twitch.
[Lv.??? APG-365]
The robot in front of them was high-leveled enough for them to only see question marks.
Of course, with [Character List], Dokja was able to confirm that it was level 55.
—Welcome, customers.
The robot bowed perfectly. Its face was a smooth screen displaying a polite emoticon.
—I am APG-365. It is my duty to identify and register you.
—Welcome to the 'Game Center'.
The robot's eyes flashed red as it scanned them.
—Player 'Extra7' has already processed your entry fees. He has paid 5,000 TP for each of you to receive the 'Advanced Neurotech Chip' implantation.
"Five thousand?" Dokja frowned. "Just for entry?"
"That is half of what we earned in the entire tutorial," Klein noted.
—Please stick your wrist out.
Klein didn't dare to do it.
—That's a standard procedure. Or else you cannot enter this floor.
Dokja gave an assuring nod to Klein.
['Fourth Wall' is thickening!]
Klein followed Dokja's example after making sure his companion didn't die. But, unlike Dokja, Klein didn't have a skill to counter suffering.
"Kuuk!"
A sharp pain instantly traveled through his arm.
'Praise the Lady!' he prayed.
Pain shook even his spine.
"..Agh!"(;3)
"Yeah that hurt," Dokja chuckled, looking at how Klein was drawing an Evernight Symbol, "I didn't know you were so religious."
"Shut… up…"
['Fourth Wall' suppresses laughter.]
That was quite an unusual behavior for usually terse 'Fourth Wall'. Dokja was still not used to this changes brought by [The Holy Garlic and Onion].
—This chip is linked to your nerves. Causing any sort of trouble on this floor will have you restrained.
They slowly stretched the sore parts of their bodies and stared at the series of system alerts received.
[Your body has been linked to the 7th floor's advance neurotech chip (now to be called Demon King of Salvation's Personal Chip).]
[You received a master-grade chip!]
[Your strength and speed increases by 0.5 points.]
[Klein Moretti's Personal Chip is being analyzed for unique effects…]
[You receive 'Self Sense' support from your chip!]
While Klein got 'Self Sense' from his chip, Dokja received 'Story Sense' support.
[You can upgrade your chip inside the Game Center's 'Upgrade Center'.]
After the chips were implanted into their writst, the Alpha-Go continued.
—Please follow me.
They walked through the massive arcade.
It was a sensory overload.
To their left, rows of VR capsules hummed.
To their right, rhythm games flashed with impossible speeds.
Above them, massive holographic leaderboards scrolled through the high scores of the floor's games.
Klein looked up.
[Fierce Charge]1st Place: SevenPoker2nd Place: Alov(;3)
[Gladiator's Battle]1st Place: SevenPoker…
[2031]1st Place: SevenPoker …
[Mini-game Heaven]1st Place: SevenPoker …
The name was everywhere. It wasn't just on one board; it was on every board. A wall of text, and every single line started with 'SevenPoker'.
"SevenPoker..." Klein read the name, his expression flat. "Seven. Extra7. It is him, isn't it?"
"I'm not even surprised it's him at this point," Dokja shook his head, staring at the wall of achievements.
"He is... very thorough," Klein admitted. "It seems our 'Author' does not like to leave loose ends."
At that moment, a system alert popped up.
[53 kinds of games exist on the 7th floor.]
[Players may receive special rewards depending on the records they set on different games.]
As they passed a lavish VIP lounge, the golden doors slid open.
A man stepped out.
He had flowing white hair and a sly, aristocratic face that screamed 'schemer'. He wore a suit that looked far more expensive than anything Klein had ever owned as Sherlock Moriarty.
Administrator Simad.
Simad saw them and paused. A slow, oily smile spread across his face.
"Ah."
Klein and Dokja tensed.
An Administrator.
A being of immense power within the Tower.
But Simad didn't release an aura of pressure.
Instead, he bowed. "Welcome. You must be the ones Tra-nim... ah, Extra7... spoke of."
"You know him?" Klein asked, keeping his voice polite but guarded.
"Know him?" Simad chuckled, a sound like shuffling cards. "He troubled himself greatly for you two." Simad waved his hand, gesturing to the flashing lights of the Game Center. "All to ensure his 'party members' received the best treatment. He is the strangest and yet the most prominent Player I've ever met."
Simad began to walk with them, leading them down the main hall.
"He specifically requested that you be taken immediately to the Upgrade Center. He said you have 'no time to waste on games'."
They stepped forward, matching the Administrator's pace.
He looked up at the ceiling, past the artificial lights, toward the invisible floors above.
"Have you ever wondered what Tower actually is? A miracle? A prison? A story?"
"Hajin told us," Dokja interjected, his voice sharp. "That the Towers are mediators. Conduits for the Devils to invade other worlds. That they spread the corruption of Devils under the guise of a 'trial'. That you act as terraforming agents for Baal."
The air in the hallway grew cold. The neon lights seemed to dim for a split second. Simad stopped walking. He turned to Dokja. For a moment, the playful, gambler persona vanished. His eyes were ancient, deep, and void of laughter. He stared at them, the silence stretching thin.
Then, Simad laughed.
"Is it? Hahaha!" It was a hollow, ominous sound. "Think about this question later because 'Tra-nim' may be missing some details."
He didn't deny it. He didn't confirm it. He just winked.
"I will leave you here. The machines are waiting. Do not disappoint him." Simad vanished in a swirl of digital pixels.
[Advanced Neurotech Chip Upgrade Center]
They stood before a pristine white building. It looked like a high-tech hospital. APG-365 led them inside.
—Welcome to the Upgrade Center. We will begin the upgrade of the 'Advanced Neurotech Chip'.
The interior was sterile. Several APG units, looking more like surgeons than ushers, were prepping surgical tables with terrifying arrays of lasers and needles.
—Please lie down.
Klein looked at the machinery.
"This looks... expensive."
—It will be painful. But effective. Tra-nim has paid for the full package of services.
Klein hesitated.
"How much?"
—Pardon?
"How much did he pay?" Klein asked, his voice firm. He needed to know the weight of the debt. He was a man who counted every penny.
"For the chips. For the upgrades. For the priority service. Exactly how much TP did he deposit?"
The APG unit paused, its processor whirring.
—Player Extra7 deposited a total of 2,000,000 TP. The cost will be calculated after you will go through the full scanning. We will also select an individual upgrade if found any suitable Traits.
The silence that followed was absolute.
If Klein had a cane now it would definitely slip in his hand.
Dokja's jaw dropped.
—1,000,000 TP allocated for Player Klein Moretti.
—1,000,000 TP allocated for Player Kim Dokja.
"One... million?" Dokja whispered, his voice cracking. In the tutorial, they had schemed, ran, and swindled for ten days just to scrape together 10,000 TP. They had felt like kings with that amount. One million. It was an amount that defied logic. It felt like Hajin had broken the economy of the whole Tower.
"He..." Klein stared at the robot, his mind unable to process the number. 1,000,000 TP for him alone. "He left a million... just in case?"
Dokja muttered something, looking at the surgical table with a mix of horror and awe. "He is a tycoon. A monster of capitalism."
—Please proceed to the operation desks. The procedure will begin immediately after scanning.
Klein and Dokja exchanged a look. There was no room for "dignity" or "pride" anymore. The weight of the Millionaire Sniper's legacy was pressing down on their shoulders, heavier than any gravity.
"Let's go," Klein said, his voice trembling slightly. "We cannot waste a single TP of this."
They walked toward the tables, stunned into silence, as the robotic surgeons prepared to carve the upgrades into their bodies.