The Admin Room dimmed.
Arthur stood alone, hands behind his back, eyes moving across stacked panels of data.
Not one floor—three.
He pulled them together.
The system obeyed.
[LEADERBOARD — TUTORIAL FLOOR]
[FASTEST CLEAR TIMES]
│ RANK │ NICKNAME │ TIME │
│ #1 │ NULL_08 │ 00:08 │
│ #2 │ ———— │ 01:12 │
│ #3 │ ———— │ 01:34 │
[LEADERBOARD — FLOOR 1]
[FASTEST CLEAR TIMES]
│ RANK │ NICKNAME │ TIME │
│ #1 │ NULL_08 │ 06:43 │
│ #2 │ HANUMAN │ 10:27 │
│ #3 │ CHADD │ 11:05 │
[LEADERBOARD — FLOOR 3]
[HIGHEST PERFORMANCE SCORE]
│ RANK │ NICKNAME │ SCORE │
│ #1 │ NULL_08 │ 7930XP │
│ #2 │ CHADD │ 1110XP │
│ #3 │ HANUMAN │ 1040XP │
A soft chime echoed.
Not the system tone.
Something deeper.
[PRIORITY MESSAGE — SOURCE: HIGHER AUTHORITY]
[ACCESS LEVEL: ADMINISTRATOR]
Arthur didn't blink.
The message unfolded without theatrics.
You have prevented permanent death within the Tower until now.
This was permitted.
However—population growth within the Tower has exceeded acceptable variance.
If death remains temporary, progression will accelerate beyond balance.
The Tower is not a refuge.
It is a filter.
Arthur's jaw tightened.
The final line appeared.
FROM FLOOR 5 ONWARD:
DEATH = TERMINATION
Silence.
Not even the hum of the Admin Room remained.
Arthur spoke at last.
"So that's the cost," he said quietly.
"Fear."
The system did not respond.
Arthur turned toward the global interface.
"No," he corrected himself.
"Truth."
His fingers moved—decisive, controlled.
[GLOBAL ANNOUNCEMENT — ALL PLAYERS]
The message prepared itself.
Arthur read it once.
Then approved it.
[NOTICE TO ALL PLAYERS]
Up to this point, death inside the Tower has resulted in lockout and recovery.
This will change.
Starting from Floor 5:
• Death inside the Tower will be permanent
• No revival
• No lockout
• No return
The Tower will no longer protect excess growth.
Enter with awareness.
Climb with resolve.
Or do not climb at all.
This is not punishment.
This is balance.
Arthur released his hand.
Across the world—
Phones froze.
Players stopped breathing.
Arthur watched the leaderboards one last time.
"Now," he murmured,
"only the ones who truly choose this will climb."
The Tower pulsed.
Not in agreement.
In acknowledgment.
NPA Headquarters erupted into noise.
Every screen flashed blue at once.
Not alerts.
Not reports.
A system notice.
For half a second, no one spoke.
Then—
"What does permanent mean?" someone whispered.
A junior analyst stood up too fast, chair scraping the floor.
"Sir… there's no rollback clause. No medical override. No extraction protocol."
The room exploded.
"That's impossible—"
"They can't just change the rules—"
"Floor five hasn't even opened yet!"
A strategist slammed his tablet down.
"If this is real, recruitment collapses."
Across the room, a psychologist went pale.
"Or worse," she said quietly.
"Only the unstable will continue."
A senior officer turned to the main wall display—live feeds from across the country.
Players staring at phones.
Hands shaking.
Some laughing in disbelief.
Some sitting down like their legs had given out.
The room fell quiet again.
A recruitment officer swallowed.
"So what now?"
The psychologist answered first.
"Now only three kinds of people enter the Tower."
"Which three?" someone asked.
She didn't look up from the screen.
"The desperate.
The prepared.
And the ones who were always ready to die."
Outside NPA Headquarters, crowds gathered.
Some shouted in anger.
Some prayed.
Some walked away from the Tower forever.
Arjun didn't raise his voice.
He didn't have to.
The room quieted when he stepped forward.
"Activate Phase Grey," he said.
Screens shifted instantly.
[NPA EMERGENCY RESPONSE — PUBLIC SHOCK PROTOCOL]
Press wings lit up.
Psych teams mobilized.
Regional coordinators came online one by one.
Arjun spoke clearly, deliberately.
"No denials.
No sugarcoating.
No heroic framing."
He turned to communications.
"Release the full notice.
Unedited.
With a single line added—informed consent is mandatory from Floor Five onward."
A hand rose.
"What about protests?"
"Let them happen," Arjun replied.
"Fear needs air. Suppression turns it toxic."
He faced the psychologists.
"24/7 counseling hotlines.
Free.
Anonymous.
No recruitment attached."
They nodded, already moving.
"To medical," he continued.
"Public briefings on stress reactions.
Panic symptoms.
Withdrawal responses."
Another screen flashed—social media fires spreading.
Arjun didn't flinch.
"Truth beats rumor," he said.
"Every time."
Outside, NPA banners were replaced.
Not slogans.
Information boards.
WHAT THE TOWER IS
WHAT IT IS NOT
WHAT CHANGES AT FLOOR FIVE
Inside classrooms, officers spoke to parents.
Inside gyms, trainers spoke to players.
Inside quiet rooms, counselors listened.
No encouragement.
No pressure.
Only clarity.
Late that night, Arjun stood alone again.
Reports showed it clearly now.
Entries were down.
But preparation was up.
Team registrations rose.
Solo attempts fell.
Reckless climbs nearly vanished.
Arjun allowed himself one breath.
"We didn't stop the fear," he murmured.
"We taught people how to face it."
Far above—
The Tower pulsed once.
Not approval.
Recognition.
The balance had shifted.
And the world had chosen to look at it—
without blinking.