<Tower of the Han Namja Strategy 19>
Bong Min-hyuk is a second-year student in the Department of Electronic Engineering at a Korean university.
His nickname is 'Datem,' derived from a stealth-type unit in a computer game.
A ghost of a student who slips quietly in and out of school without leaving a trace.
He never attended department retreats, sports festivals, or work dinners.
His world revolved around the library.
His goal was simple: graduate quickly, secure a job, and lift his family out of hardship.
To repay the debt he owed his older brother.
Yet even Min-hyuk knew everything about Players.
He’d considered awakening once—not that he’d actually do it, but the thought had crossed his mind.
Deep down, he knew he’d never go through with it.
But wait—his brother awakened?
And was actively working as a Player?
That alone was mind-blowing, but an elite contract too?
His own flesh and blood getting beaten by their mother?
Clap-clap-clap-clap!
“Aghhh!”
“You little shit! Making life-changing decisions without family input?!”
“You’d have said no anyway!”
“Did you even try asking? Did you?!”
“Ow! Quit hitting me! Ugh—should I activate my shield?!”
“Shield?! Have you lost your mind?!”
Classic big brother.
He’d mastered the art of exaggerated screaming to minimize blows.
“Agh! Aaaaagh! AAAAAAGH!”
Their mother, Hong Geum-ja, paused to catch her breath, exhausted from the beating.
Seizing the lull, Min-hyuk pressed Joo-hyuk:
“Hyung, be serious. You awakened and became a Player? And the government offered you an elite contract?”
“Yep.”
“No fucking way.”
“Way.”
Their father, Bong Soo-cheol, gaped.
This son was supposed to be even more timid than him!
“You... are you really mine?”
Joo-hyuk, still smarting from the beating, glared at his father—who’d just watched instead of intervening.
Time to stir the pot.
“Who knows? Maybe I was swapped at the hospital.”
Soo-cheol scrutinized Joo-hyuk’s face.
A carbon copy.
Their resemblance was so uncanny, people joked they couldn’t even cheat at father-son events.
“Must be mental illness, then.”
“Sigh. Probably genetic.”
“I didn’t raise you to be this bold. I’m disappointed.”
“Right... Must’ve gotten it from Mom.”
Zing!
His mother’s glare could pierce steel.
Guilt softened her features, and she sighed.
“Joo-hyuk.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“My lawsuit, your father’s rehab, Min-hyuk’s scholarship... Did your elite contract enable all this?”
“...Yes. Honestly, I didn’t expect them to go this far.”
He hadn’t asked the Management Bureau, but it stemmed from his actions regardless.
“So... the Bureau buttered us up to secure your contract?”
“Probably.”
“Really?”
Was another beating coming?
“Sorry for the shock.”
Geum-ja fell silent, deep in thought.
“Joo-hyuk.”
“Hmm?”
“This Player business. Is it... manageable?”
He paused, considering.
“It’s worked so far.”
“And you’re sure you won’t get hurt?”
Let’s review:
Kossack, his overprotective guardian.
Gobang, the battle-crazed warrior who’d throw himself into a meat grinder.
Another summon ready when cooldowns reset.
“I won’t get hurt. Or die.”
“...Truly?”
Geum-ja searched his eyes.
He meant it.
Years of motherhood taught her to read his gaze.
When she’d first heard about his Player activities, shock had outweighed anger.
Him?
Her jumpy firstborn, who’d flinch at a Chihuahua’s bark... climbing the Tower?
And earning recognition?
Her emotions tangled—anger, worry, pride.
“Do it. Take the contract. Government backing’s best.”
The room erupted.
“Have you lost it?!”
“Mom! Players die every day!”
“She’s right! Who needs rehab? I’ll cancel everything!”
“I’ll return my scholarship too!”
But Mom’s decision was final.
“Enough! This is the first time Joo-hyuk’s ever taken initiative! You think I’ll let you undermine that?!”
The mood shifted.
“But it’s dangerous!”
“Dangerous?! You nearly died slipping on ice last winter!”
“That’s different—”
“Min-hyuk! Remember getting hit by that bike at ten? What if it’d been a truck?!”
“Low blow, Mom!”
“He’s an adult. His life, his choice.”
She turned to Joo-hyuk, voice softening.
“I might look like a monster pushing you into danger... but I’m proud. For the government to go this far—you must be extraordinary.”
“Heh. Guess I’m... kinda amazing?”
“But if you’re injured, you quit immediately. Understood?”
“Crystal clear. Safety first.”
“Watch your tone.”
With family approval secured, Joo-hyuk dialed Team Leader Jeon Gwang-il.
“Team Leader.”
[Have you decided?]
“I’ll sign.”
[Sending a car immediately.]
His heart raced. Elite contract—finally!
※ ※ ※
In the Management Bureau office, Joo-hyuk’s hand trembled as he signed.
Could his past self ever imagine this?
“Your base salary is 2 billion won.”
“Apologies—standard for first-time elite contracts. With your S++ clearance, we could negotiate more, but...”
“...I’d have to go public as the S++ strategist.”
“Procedurally, yes.”
A government agency needed justification for budgets.
“Please keep my S++ status secret. Please!”
“We prefer that too. Though frankly, your benefits seem lacking for—”
“No, this is perfect!”
2 billion was already insane—plus magic stone income.
If his identity leaked? News cycles, social media explosions, family chaos... Nightmare fuel.
Hence why even his family didn’t know about S++.
He’d added strict terms to the contract:
Full autonomy over unclaimed floors.
No external interference.
No recording clearance attempts.
Disclosed his summoner class—but not his summons’ sentience.
Bodyguards permitted, but privacy prioritized.
No one can enter the home without permission.
Security cameras are only installed outside the house.
“Ah! The loan I took out to buy the alloy hand shield has been paid off.”
“…Again?”
“Again?!”
“N-no, it’s nothing.”
Strange.
Every time I take out a loan, it vanishes without requiring repayment.
It’s the same with Smile Cash and the Player Shop.
Is this some divine revelation that I can borrow money freely?
“If you need any other equipment, request it anytime. We can lend it to you too.”
Generous support.
Meticulous care.
Thus, Juhyeok rose to become an elite player.
The relocation was decided swiftly.
Though timing didn’t matter, the management office demanded an immediate move.
Separate residences for himself and his family.
Since many elite players made similar requests, it proceeded smoothly.
The personal studio apartment was free to lease.
The family apartment was transferred to Juhyeok’s name as a reward for joining the elite team.
All procedures were handled by the management office.
“It’s an 18-pyeong, two-room studio. Appliances and furniture are optional, so you can move in immediately.”
“…”
Is this a palace?
Insane. Absolutely insane.
Too clean. Too comfortable.
Have I ever even seen a place like this?
“…No hidden cameras, right?”
“Absolutely not. If there were, chaos would ensue. The director would have to resign if caught. Feel free to hire an inspector.”
Apologies for the suspicion.
“Also, since this studio is provided by the management office, most residents are players. Nearly all of them.”
“Are they all elite team members?”
“Some are regular contractors who purchased their units. Security here is guaranteed.”
“…I see.”
Easier to guard if everyone’s clustered together.
“All residents are thoroughly vetted. Many are good people—getting along with them might be nice.”
“Get along”?
Ugh, sounds exhausting.
The move began.
I’d assumed I had little to pack, but reality proved otherwise.
Moving and organizing took far longer than expected.
※ ※ ※
Yoo Cheol-min is Korea’s top-ranked player and the world’s second.
Having conquered the infamous 65th floor, he now challenges the 66th.
His trait: All-Weapon Warrior.
Through trait-enhancing runes, he wields 40 elemental skills—fire, ice, lightning, earth.
Weapon choice is irrelevant.
Multiple AoE attacks, finishers, ultimates.
Each devastatingly powerful.
Thus, Yoo Cheol-min attained wealth and fame in Korea.
Even those who don’t know the president’s name know his.
Lately, though, irritation gnawed at him.
All because of someone setting consecutive S++ records on the 25th floor.
‘Who the hell is this?’
Broadcasts and social media buzzed solely about that nobody.
Meanwhile, he bled himself dry tackling the 66th floor.
‘Fuck, just the 25th floor? How’s that even comparable?’
What if he quit the 66th?
It’d spell Korea’s countdown to collapse.
Though the current tower in rural Gangwon causes minimal damage, the next might emerge near a metropolis.
No player in Korea could replace him.
One other lingered in the early 60s—a woman stuck at second-stage trait enhancement.
Yoo Cheol-min approached his apartment window, wine glass in hand.
The Han River flowed lazily through the panoramic view.
His 100-pyeong penthouse, government-provided, now felt inadequate.
Despite earning top-tier income—
‘Is this all?’
China ceaselessly courted him via brokers:
1 billion yuan annually (180 billion won).
A mansion, staff, bulletproof cars, private jet, leader-status treatment.
Japan offered:
20 billion yen, luxury villa, 10 maids catering to every whim… supreme indulgence.
He could choose either.
Yet Korea expected gratitude for his stay.
As always, the spotlight should remain his.
Media should praise his patriotic devotion daily—not some 25th-floor S++ hype.
‘Naturalize, then?’
The 66th floor loomed impossibly hard.
Each attempt left him mentally shattered for three days.
The 60s marked the undead floors’ onset.
The 66th teemed with Specters—ghostly horrors immune to physical attacks, vulnerable only to elemental damage.
Fictional undead? A fatal misconception.
Only survivors understood the terror of their demonic energy.
‘How’d that American bastard kill them?’
Even with Dark Aura-resistant gear, potions, and a light-attribute tower weapon, he failed every time.
Surviving to abort missions was his sole luck.
‘Honestly… it’s hopeless.’
The wall felt insurmountable.
Parking himself in the 60s would draw public fury.
Supportive crowds turn rabid the moment you falter.
Another trait-enhancing rune might change things—but their drop rate was abysmal.
He’d hoarded every rune since his elite contract began, reaching fourth-stage enhancement.
‘If I naturalize…’
China’s 59th floor. Japan’s 57th.
He could clear those leisurely.
Climb once every six months to stall collapse.
“Hmm.”
Temptation grew.
Why not act?
‘No hope for the 66th anyway…’
Criticism awaited whether he failed or naturalized.
But at least abroad, he’d be welcomed.
Japan or China—ample support, relaxed pace.
‘Push forward.’
Pit China against Japan, inflating his value.
Korea’s top player defecting—the world would erupt.
“Heh. This’ll be fun.”
Too late, they’d realize.
Yoo Cheol-min’s worth. His uniqueness. His irreplaceability.
Regret would consume them. Obsession would fester.
And they’d crumble.
