It started as nothing more than a dream.
Strange, vivid, and recurring—yet oddly easy to dismiss.
People shrugged it off, blaming stress, exhaustion, or gaming marathons.
Monsters. Levels. Stats. Classes. Quests. Loot.
It felt like someone had slipped an RPG into their sleep. A private fantasy.
But then the patterns emerged.
People began noticing the same details.
The same Tower.
The same midnight entry time.
The same structure.
And then the deaths started.
It didn't matter how they tried—text, whispers, anonymous posts. Anyone who attempted to describe the dream died on the spot.
Mid-sentence. Mid-typing. Mid-breath.
No exceptions.
"Have you ever dreamed of a—"
That was all anyone ever got out.
After that: heart failure. Brain hemorrhage. Silent collapse.
Some left behind half-recorded messages. Others vanished mid-conversation.
Over a hundred million people died trying to break the curse before the world realized what it was dealing with.
They called it the Tower of Dreams.
Only a small fraction of the population ever experienced it.
No one knew why they were chosen. No pattern. No explanation.
Every night at exactly 12:00 AM, those chosen entered it.
It didn't matter when they fell asleep—the Tower always waited for midnight.
Once inside, they woke up with one of six randomly assigned classes:
Swordsman, Archer, Magician, Healer, Craftsman, or Alchemist.
The Tower wasn't chaotic.
It had rules. It had a purpose.
A massive world, built floor by floor, forged not just for survival—but for mastery.
It spanned exactly 100 floors, each one hiding its own progression mechanics, dangers, and secrets. But more importantly
Every floor mattered.
The climb was structured like a vast, evolving world.
Each set of ten floors formed a complete arc, centered around a unique civilization, empire, or faction.
Floors like 1, 11, 21... served as Safezones—fully developed cities where players could rest, trade, craft, and gather quests.
PvP and monster encounters were disabled there. These hubs often served as the starting point for rumors and crucial lore.
Beyond that, the climb began.
Floors 2 through 10 in each arc were wild zones and battlefields—open regions crawling with monsters, riddled with dungeons and layered with faction-based missions. And to move on, you had to find and defeat the boss.
Each floor had one.
It could be hiding deep inside a dungeon, roaming the wilds, or even disguised as an NPC. No matter how many quests you cleared, you couldn't advance until the boss was dead.
Every ninth floor (9,19,29…)
housed the Guardian Boss–the final checkpoint before facing the arc's strongest entity: the World Boss (20,30,40…).
Floor 10 was different. Every player faced a personal trial.
A solo scenario shaped by their past, their pain, and their choices.
Succeed, and they could evolve their class—unlock hybrids, second paths, or hidden skills.
Fail, and they stayed the same.
If you died inside the Tower, that was it.
You didn't get to pick up where you left off.
The next time you dreamed, your character reset completely.
No skills. No items. No levels. No titles.
Everything was gone.
Only your memories remained.
And for many, that was worse.
-----
The climb lasted two long years.
Millions climbed. Millions failed.
Some reset dozens of times. Others climbed alone, refusing parties.
A few made it to the top.
And then, it ended.
On the 100th Floor, every top guild, top player, and faction came together for one final raid.
But it wasn't a guild that landed the final blow.
It was a solo Player:
Rei Tae Hyun.
A masked dual swordsman.
The number one ranked player.
Feared and respected under the name:
Shiver.
The moment the final boss fell, the Tower froze.
A system message rang out across every Player's mind:
["Tutorial Completed."]
["All Players Are Ready."]
["The world will become real in 1 year."]
Then everything stopped.
No more dreams.
No more resets.
No more deaths for speaking.
For a moment, the world exhaled.
Until one month later—
------
Rei Tae Hyun yawned behind the counter of the GS Mart, chin resting on his palm as the clock ticked past 9:00 PM.
Three hours into his shift, and the only action he'd seen was an elderly man buying cabbage and a kid trying to shoplift spicy ramen.
Then. A couple of high schoolers strolled in—loud, slouched, still in uniform. They grabbed cola and triangle kimbap before drifting toward the back.
"Dude, I'm telling you," one of them said, slapping a noodle pack into his friend's chest. "I cleared Floor 18 solo. Straight-up carried my guild. My class is Archer, but I specced into explosive traps."
"Explosive traps are capped, moron," the other replied. "They're just loud fireworks."
Rei exhaled through his nose.
It never stopped.
Every day for the past weeks, people had talked about the Tower of Dreams like it was some retro MMO. Like it hadn't left half the world in terror and the other half in therapy.
He didn't blame them entirely. After the dream ended—after he ended it—no one had died for speaking. News stations called it mass hysteria. Scholars suggested it was a shared hallucination. Some lunatics claimed it was proof of aliens.
Rei glanced at the small, flickering TV mounted in the corner. The local news anchor was mid-sentence.
["…no substantial evidence that the so-called 'Tower of Dreams' was anything more than a global psychological event. Experts say the memory synchronization is unprecedented, but not impossible…"]
Rei snorted. "Yeah, okay."
The scanner beeped. One of the high schoolers had brought up an armful of snacks. Rei rang them up without a word.
"You look like someone who got wiped on Floor 20," the kid joked.
Rei deadpanned. "Nah. I just carried Floor 100."
The student laughed and walked off, thinking he was joking.
Rei's phone buzzed.
[Tae Ri]: Buy banana milk or I will commit a crime.
He smiled faintly.
Banana milk, huh…" He grabbed two from the refrigerated shelf behind him and slid them into a bag. Shift was almost over anyway.
He clocked out ten minutes later, the city already bathed in warm evening haze. It was quiet for Seoul—peaceful, even. People bustled past in coats and scarves, sipping coffee, arguing over dinner plans, living like the world hadn't nearly ended in their sleep.
He walked down two blocks to the apartment complex, climbed four flights of stairs, and opened the door.
"I'm home," Rei called out.
From the kitchen, his mom peeked out, apron still on, bangs tied up in a scrunchie. "Oh, good. You're late."
"Banana milk emergency," he replied, holding up the prize.
From the couch, a voice cried, "I knew you loved me."
Tae Ri was sprawled out in her school uniform, one sock missing, chewing on a piece of dried squid like it owed her money. She snatched the milk from his hand without hesitation and gave him a thumbs-up.
"You're lucky I'm a pacifist," she said.
"You're lucky I'm your brother," Rei countered, tossing his cap over the chair. "Or I'd list you on a beginner vendor stall."
Their mother brought out dinner—kimchi stew, rice, and some fish cakes that smelled aggressively homemade. Rei sat down with them.
It was nice.
Quiet.
Normal.
They talked about boring things. Tae Ri's new teacher. The neighbor's cat. The way bananas were getting more expensive for no reason. No one mentioned the Tower. Why would they? Neither his mom nor Tae Ri had been part of it. To them, it was just a global fever dream that ended a month ago.
And Rei preferred it that way.
After dinner, he retreated to his room. The lights dimmed.
His old keyboard clicked as he booted up a game he didn't care about, queued into matches he barely paid attention to, and tried not to think about the countdown still etched in his head.
[1 year.]
That's what the Tower had said.
He exhaled and closed his eyes.
Sleep came quicker than expected.
The dream began in silence…
No light. No sound. No horizon. Only an endless black space, like the inside of a closed eye.
Rei stood alone.
His body felt weightless—like thought alone kept him standing. No floor. No sky. Just a vast, starless void.
And then came the hum.
Low. Trembling. Faint at first, like something groaning beneath the surface of reality. It pulsed once, twice—and then a figure stepped forward from the dark.
He looked… almost human.
Tall. Still. His presence felt familiar in the way storms did, something distant and massive you could sense before you saw. But his face was obscured. Not by shadow or mist, but by something more unnatural—like the dream itself refusing to let Rei recognize him.
Rei opened his mouth to speak.
"Don't ask," the man said. "There's no time."
His voice was calm. Not cold. Not kind. Just measured.
"They weren't supposed to move yet. The countdown—it's broken."
Rei narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about? Who moved?"
The dream flickered. For a moment, the man's form glitched fractured by invisible static.
"You were supposed to have more time," he said. "But something changed."
"They're watching now. More than before. Listening."
A distant cracking sound echoed through the black.
"You're still ahead," the man continued. "You're still chosen. But the cycle is unraveling."
"Use what I left to you."
"What did you leave?" Rei asked, his voice trembling slightly despite himself.
"A way out."
"A way forward."
The void shook, like a heartbeat underfoot. From far away—so far it was almost imagined—something howled.
The figure took a step back.
"When the Tower returns, it won't be like before."
"And when it calls… answer."
Rei reached out instinctively—but the world shattered before he could touch anything.
Cracks of light split the dark. Not warm light—cold, surgical, like floodlights hitting a stage. Everything blurred, collapsed, and twisted inside out.
He gasped—
—and woke up.
Sheets clinging to his skin. Heart hammering in his chest. A metallic taste in his mouth.
The dream was over.
But the echo of that voice lingered in his skull like static:
"They're watching."
Rei sat up slowly, rubbing his face. His phone buzzed—7:03 AM.
He stared at the screen for a second, then groaned and rolled out of bed.
Ten minutes later, he was hunched in front of his PC, headset on, eyes glued to a glowing monitor. A half-eaten piece of toast sat on the desk next to a banana milk carton already sweating in the morning heat.
He wasn't really paying attention to the game. Some MMO he'd picked up last week, mostly out of boredom. His fingers moved on autopilot, weaving attacks into a rotation he barely registered.
>[WorldChat] SwordDad99: yo LOOK OUTSIDE
>[WorldChat] 7thBowMaster: huh?
>[WorldChat] NoobHealer: fr???
>[WorldChat] HATEQUEENS: tower tower tower tower TOWER
Rei blinked, frowning. His party had just cleared a dungeon, but no one was looting. Even the raid leader was typing in all caps.
>[Party] Ternon: DUDE
>[Party] Ternon: REI
>[Party] Ternon: LOOK OUTSIDE
Rei raised an eyebrow. "What, did aliens land?" he muttered.
Still, something in his gut turned cold. He stood, crossed the room, and pulled back the curtain.
And there it was.
Massive.
Silent.
Black stone rising from the middle of the city, cutting into the sky like a needle through cloud.
The Tower.
Just like the one from the dream.
Except… this one was real.
Even from blocks away, something about it felt wrong. The air around it shimmered faintly, like heat distortion–but colder. Like the sky itself was holding its breath.
Rei didn't move for a moment. Couldn't.
The world outside was still moving, cars honking, birds chirping, the morning news playing from an open apartment window across the street.
But it all felt… wrong.
He swallowed once, hard.
"They moved too soon," he whispered. The words came out before he realized he was saying them.
The dream. The blurred-faced man. The voice.
"Use what I left behind."
His heart thumped once—sharp and loud.
Rei stared at the Tower, still half-shadowed by the morning sun.
And then he muttered, almost absently:
"…So they lied."