Exhaustion clung to Felix like static.
The blue glow of his phone screen was the only light in the room, painting his face in ghostly hues while the rest of the apartment slept in silence. The clock on the wall read 3:02 A.M., its faint ticking almost mocking in the quiet. Felix scrolled through the final paragraph of another Korean Tower-slash-Regression-slash-Hunter webnovel, his thumb trembling slightly from caffeine and existential fatigue.
He reached the ending line.
"And so, he ascended, alone, the final floor, gazing upon the ruined heavens that he had once sworn to protect."
Felix stared at it for a long moment.
Then he exhaled a long, tired laugh — the kind that wasn't really laughter at all.
"Of course," he muttered. "Of course that's the ending. The guy gets to the top, loses everyone, cries for five paragraphs about 'loneliness,' and the author calls it a masterpiece. Again."
He tossed his phone onto the bed, where it bounced once and landed screen-up, casting faint ripples of blue across his rumpled blanket. "God, it's all the same damn thing. Fucking Regression Slops, man. This is just lazy. Even I could write one of these in my sleep."
Felix groaned, rolling onto his back and glaring up at the cracked ceiling like it had personally offended him. "Omni*cient Re*der's Viewpoint was brilliant. Maybe a little too brilliant since pretty much everything's just a discount O*V with extra trauma and a harem nobody asked for."
A notification pinged.
He blinked. His webnovel app had opened to the comment section automatically — a thousand glowing profiles arguing beneath the final chapter.
He couldn't help himself.
"Let's see what the faithful have to say."
Scrolling.
User_932: "Ending was so deep. You just didn't understand it."
CultivationIsLife: "The loneliness symbolizes transcendence!"
HunterGodZz: "This was peak literature. Anyone who disagrees just has low IQ."
Felix snorted. "Right. Peak literature. My ass."
He cracked his knuckles, tapped reply, and began typing with the kind of manic conviction reserved for people on the internet at 3 A.M.
FelixWrites: "You mean peak recycling. It's literally the same ending as every regression novel since 2018. Bro got trauma, got stronger, then trauma'd again. The only transcendent thing is how fast authors copy-paste each other."
He hit send.
Almost immediately, the replies flooded in.
CultivationIsLife: "Cry harder."
HunterGodZz: "If you're so smart, write something better."
AnonymousUser_7: "Then tell us, genius — how would you make a Tower novel interesting?"
Felix froze mid-scroll.
That last comment wasn't formatted like the others. It didn't have an avatar, or timestamp. Just words that glowed faintly — too faintly. He frowned.
"Idiot," he said, rubbing his temples. "You want me to pitch you something? Fine."
He stretched, the chair creaking beneath him, and started rambling aloud.
"Okay, no more regressors. No more harem or useless Power fantasy arcs. What if I made the MC. . . .oh I dunno, normal? Maybe even weak. Really make him feel like how any of us would react if we ever found ourselves in such a shit-hole."
"You know what, maybe I'd even make it so that he's a legendary scammer with a grandmaster-level sword knight, and a trusty shovel as his weapon."
I laughed. "Why stop there? Why not make him an evil manipulator who gas-lights the hell out of everyone, especially his regressor best friend and an absolute seducer of women?"
"Yeah, that's the route I would take. Why grind to be the strongest, when you can just charm the strongest to fight for you?"
He leaned back, grinning at his own reflection in the dark window. "Yeah. A guy who climbs the Tower not by fighting monsters, but by seducing the women who can. I'd call it—"
He stopped, blinking.
"—wait, no, that's insane."
Still, the idea lingered. A strange, ridiculous thrill crawled down his spine. Maybe he'd read something like that before... one of those half-abandoned series where the useless MC's only power was making S-rank Huntresses swoon.
He remembered how the author had written it like satire, but somehow it had worked.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That's how I'd make it interesting. A manipulative bastard who charms his way up the Tower. That'd be new. Or at least... fun."
His phone buzzed again — this time with a soft ding from iMessage.
He glanced down.
Mom ❤️:Can you visit your dad tomorrow, Felix? He's getting worse. Please, at least call him.
The glow of the screen seemed suddenly too bright.
Felix's grin vanished. The phantom laughter he'd been holding onto bled away. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, but no words came.
Visit your dad.
He clenched the phone tight, his knuckles whitening. His chest felt like it was shrinking inward — pressure building under his ribs until breathing hurt.
The fight replayed unbidden in his mind: shouting, slamming doors, his father's voice cutting through his like iron. "An artist? Do you think the world runs on dreams, Felix?"
He'd yelled back, for once. Really yelled. Funny all it took to kick him out of the house was just him standing for his beliefs once. He blamed it on the immigrant asian dad mindset his father had.
Fuck.
That had been years ago. He hadn't gone home since.
His vision blurred; his heartbeat picked up. The apartment's air felt too thin, too heavy, too much.
Breathe. Breathe.
He fumbled for the small orange pill bottle on his desk. His hands shook as he popped the cap, two white pills spilling into his palm. The familiar click of the bottle cap closing sounded like thunder in the silence.
He dry-swallowed them with a gulp of lukewarm water, pressing the heel of his palm to his chest until the tightness eased.
For a long minute, all he could hear was the sound of his breathing, slow and uneven.
When the panic ebbed, he opened his eyes and glanced back at the phone. The mysterious comment still sat there, faintly glowing in the thread.
Then tell us, genius — how would you make a Tower novel interesting?
Felix chuckled weakly. "What a stupid waste of my time."
He grinned faintly at his reflection on the black monitor screen, thinking about the previous comments he'd left. "That's what I'd do. Why the fuck not?"
He laughed.
"Damn. I really should think about getting in the bizz again."
The words hung in the air — and then, the monitor flickered.
A faint chime echoed, metallic and melodic, from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Felix froze.
On his phone, the comment refreshed by itself. The glowing text warped, rearranged into new words.
Your wish has been heard.
His stomach dropped.
"What—?"
Another chime. His screen distorted, colors bleeding into white. Then, new text appeared, written in sleek, radiant font across every device in the room — monitor, phone, even the digital clock on the wall.
[You have been registered as one of the 1,000,000 Challengers selected from the United States Region.]
[Prepare for transfer to the Tower.]
[A Gift will be granted upon arrival.]
Felix's mouth went dry.
"What...?"
The phone slipped from his fingers and hit the floor, but he didn't hear it. The light from the screen swelled, brighter, pulsing like a heartbeat.
[Welcome, Challenger.]
[Beginning transfer in—]
[3...]
[2...]
Felix managed a strangled laugh. "Oh, you've got to be—"
[1.]
The light exploded.
And then, the world was gone.