Regression Is Too Much

-Brrrrr.

The room was cluttered with scattered documents, papers piled up like debris. A disheveled man was shaving with an electric razor. Up until now, he hadn’t cared about his appearance, but today was different—he had an important presentation ahead, and he needed to clean himself up.

“…”

It had been a week since he last contacted his family. The past seven days of effort were all for this moment. Stealing a glance at the stack of documents on his desk, the man refocused on shaving. A business card peeked out from an overstuffed briefcase in the corner of the room, neatly printed with the words:

(Yoon Jung-hyun, Head of Player Management Division.)

“Hoo…”

Finishing his grooming, Yoon Jung-hyun put on a freshly ironed suit. Once he was fully prepared, he cautiously sat down in front of his laptop.

Five minutes left.

“…”

Right then, the moment of fate arrived.

-Hey, Jung-hyun. You’re ready, right?

Yoon Jung-hyun had recently cleared the 9th floor of the Tower. At the same time, he had made a name for himself within the Association. Naturally, the higher-ups began taking notice of him… and right after the “Reaper” Incident, he was assigned a crucial task.

He was to compile and organize all the data the Association had, then present it at the Confidential Meeting.

In an era where information was power, the sheer volume of data the Association had accumulated was one of its greatest assets. The fact that he had been entrusted with this job signified the Association’s trust in him. (It also helped that he was a former government intelligence agent.)

“Then, I’ll begin the report.”

Despite being called a Confidential Meeting, there were no floating holograms of shadowy figures, no screens showing cryptic alphabets, and no altered voices speaking through distortions.

It was, in essence, just a secured Zoom call. Each participant appeared in their own video box, tiled across the screen—a completely normal-looking meeting.

However, the attendees were anything but ordinary.

Among them were the core executives of the Player Association, multiple G20 presidents, and even several top-ranked players—individuals so powerful they could be considered part of the “Pioneer Corps.” The only notable absence was Michael Jeter, the President of the Player Association.

“Hah… well, this is something.”

“He won’t be showing his face today? What about that ‘book’ he mentioned last time…”

“Alright, alright. Let’s focus.”

As soon as Yoon Jung-hyun spoke, the rest of the participants muted their microphones.

A heavy silence settled over the virtual meeting room.

And then, his presentation began.

“Based on the Association’s database… the number of people summoned to the tutorial stage so far is estimated at around 3.8 million.”

Roughly 3.8 million people from Earth had experienced being summoned to the Tower. It seemed like an overwhelming number, but in reality, it only accounted for 0.0475% of humanity—roughly one in every 2,000 people.

“However, the survival rate in the tutorial is approximately 22%. That means the estimated number of players who set foot on the 1st floor is 836,000.”

Rounded up, that meant 840,000 players had completed the tutorial and returned to Earth safely. A mere 0.01% of the world’s population had gained status windows.

“Of those, 200,000 players have registered their information with our Association and are actively sharing data.”

Out of 840,000 players, only 200,000 had officially registered with the Association. Given that the organization was less than six months old, this was an astonishing achievement.

“…”

“…”

Yet, the reaction from the meeting attendees was lukewarm. This was all information they already knew.

“Then, I’ll get straight to the point.”

Understanding the situation, Yoon Jung-hyun quickly skimmed through the next few slides, skipping over the basic statistics. Just organizing that data had taken a full day, but the presentations were all about adapting to the audience.

“Now, this is the Player Distribution Map that our Association is so proud of.”

He slightly raised his voice as he arrived at the most important section of his report.

“If you look at the chart, you’ll notice that approximately 40% of the players registered with the Association are still stuck on the 1st floor. In other words, they’re too afraid to climb any higher.”

40% had never even attempted to climb.

Yet, this was already a huge improvement. Had the Player Association not continuously promoted the safety of the 2nd floor, the percentage of people avoiding the Tower entirely would have been closer to 90%.

“However, once players reach the 2nd floor, they tend to climb quickly. That’s why there aren’t many players stuck between the 2nd and 3rd floors.”

The 2nd and 3rd floors were designed to be manageable for most people, as long as they chose an appropriate level of difficulty. This allowed players to build confidence and encouraged them to push forward.

“But on the 4th floor… over half of the players give up climbing altogether.”

Yoon Jung-hyun deliberately refrained from going into details for the sake of the world leaders in attendance—many of whom had never climbed the Tower themselves. Those who had cleared the 4th floor knew exactly what he meant.

“However, those who overcome the 4th floor and reach the 5th floor tend to climb rapidly afterward. As you can see here, the preparation time between floors is shorter, and the survival rate is higher.”

Perhaps because the weakest players had already been eliminated, those who reached the 5th floor climbed without hesitation. Whether it was the thrill of getting stronger or the desire to make money selling items, these players refused to stop climbing.

“…But recently, that trend has changed.”

A heavy silence fell over the meeting as Yoon Jung-hyun prepared to reveal what came next.

Lowering his voice slightly, Yoon Jung-hyun moved his mouse, gesturing toward the bar labeled “11th Floor.”

“Unless they cleared the 11th floor a long time ago, every single player who recently cleared it has stopped climbing to the 12th floor. And I mean—every. single. one.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

One of the Association’s executives couldn’t hold back and unmuted his mic to speak directly to Yoon Jung-hyun.

“We’re talking about high-ranking players, but from what I know, there are quite a few of them who’ve reached the 11th floor. And yet, all of them stopped? Couldn’t there be an error in the statistics? Or maybe some unregistered players have already reached the 12th floor?”

“No. I mean it—every player has stopped.”

Shaking his head, Yoon Jung-hyun flipped to the next slide.

“I assume everyone here is aware that recently, ‘Hero’ Choi Ji-won took down a criminal known as ‘Reaper’ on the 11th floor.”

“…”

“The players killed by Reaper weren’t just nobodies. They were all renowned for their exceptional traits—many had terrible personalities, but no one could deny their talent. And yet, Reaper butchered them effortlessly, even broadcasting it on the deep web.”

“…And?”

“And then, Choi Ji-won took Reaper down—easily.”

That was the one thing Kim Jun-ho hadn’t anticipated.

Exhausted from countless regressions, he had neglected to properly stage the fight, skipping any drawn-out exchange and instead going all in on an impressive final defeat.

Because of that, the rumors spread in a way he hadn’t intended—sure, Choi Ji-won had been injured when caught off guard, but once she got serious, she annihilated Reaper in an instant.

Of course, Choi Ji-won wasn’t that powerful.

But rumors? They didn’t care about reality.

People convinced themselves that Choi Ji-won had acquired a transcendent trait.

And with Reaper’s reputation as a silent assassin of elite players, the synergy of those two factors sent Choi Ji-won’s status skyrocketing.

So much so that even players who had initially refused to share information with her weren’t actually rejecting her outright.

In reality, they were deliberately playing hard to get, waiting for the right moment to win her favor.

Given two more weeks, many would have subtly started feeding her information to earn her trust.

“The lightning storm Choi Ji-won unleashed on the 11th floor left players utterly stunned. Every single player who cleared the floor testified the same thing—‘She’s a monster.’ Even those who arrived after the battle were left speechless by the aftermath.”

So, what does that have to do with players stopping their climb?

As was said earlier, aside from the 4th floor, the Tower’s difficulty isn’t particularly high.

For top-ranking players, the real driving force isn’t survival—it’s ambition.

The desire to climb faster.

To be stronger than others.

To stand at the top.

And then… they hit a wall.

A wall named Choi Ji-won.

A monster so far beyond them that they saw no way to win.

They had never once felt weak before.

But now, for the first time, they felt powerless.

Not a single one of them was a coward who simply gave up.

Instead, they paused—to reflect.

To reassess their skills.

To hone their techniques.

To acquire every bit of knowledge that might be useful.

“The vast majority of players are now focused on training. They’re bringing in famous martial arts masters, hiring ex-special forces instructors, and immersing themselves in intensive combat training. Reports of injuries from sparring sessions have been increasing.”

It had only been three months since the Tower appeared.

Most players still looked like ordinary civilians.

But now, they were preparing to become true warriors.

Of course, not everyone was sharpening their skills.

Some might have other motives for delaying their ascent to the 12th floor.

“The bodies of players who cleared the 12th floor were covered in weapon-inflicted wounds.”

“Judging by what happened on the 11th floor, it’s highly likely that the Archangel is actively encouraging player conflict.”

“Those wounds? Probably the result of that setup.”

“What if the 12th floor forces players to fight each other?”

“Or if the rewards are distributed based on individual performance?”

“So if you end up on the same floor as Choi Ji-won, you’re f*cked.”

Based on the aftermath of the 11th-floor battle and photos of players returning from the 12th, they suspected that climbing alongside Choi Ji-won would be a massive disadvantage.

And if rewards were distributed unevenly, they realized it would be far better to compete against weaker players than to go head-to-head with their own high-ranking peers.

Of course, this was all just rational speculation.

They could very well be wrong.

But the top players had already reached a consensus.

Starting from the moment Choi Ji-won cleared the 11th floor, they had all agreed to stop climbing for two weeks.

“If this trend continues…”

Yoon Jung-hyun circled the 5th through 10th floors with his mouse.

“The so-called ‘top players’ will inevitably be overtaken by the mid-upper rankers—players who have no interest in their so-called ‘agreement.’”

Would that be a disaster?

Not necessarily.

Even if they lost ground, the top players still had the talent, traits, and guts to crush the mid-tier players when it really mattered.

But the real problem?

The overall quality of players climbing the Tower would start to decline.

***

One day. Two days. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

F*ck.

Eleven days have passed.

Every meaningless day that went by felt like it was crushing me from the inside out.

“f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck…”

Eleven days. Shouldn’t that be fine?

No.

This isn’t just a single day.

This is eleven days that I have to relive, over and over again, every time I regress.

If it were like the 3rd floor, where there were subfloors from 3-1 to 3-5, maybe things would be different.

But the message when I entered was clear—“Entering the 12th floor.”

That was it.

It’s probably similar to the 4th floor in terms of mechanics.

I’ve searched this entire area—thoroughly.

It looks like some kind of research facility.

There’s a hidden wall at the end of the hallway and beyond that, a bunch of complicated machinery.

But I’m not a science guy. I have no idea what any of it means.

And I have to go through this again?

No. No f*cking way.

“…”

This isn’t like any of the floors I’ve been through before.

In every previous loop, I at least had a goal.

But this?

This is nothing but waiting.

Endless. Pointless. Waiting.

And worse, this might not even be the only time I have to go through it.

“Hoo… hoo… hoo…”

I force myself to breathe, trying to calm down the panic creeping up my spine.

If Choi Ji-won were here…

No.

Better that I suffer alone.

“…”

I reached for my sword, then set it back down.

I should practice my swordsmanship.

But what if—what if I mess up?

What if I accidentally trigger the regression?

I don’t even know how long I have to wait.

I feel like I’m going insane.

I clawed at the pages of a book on the shelf, ripping them apart just to do something—

“Whoa! What is this place? There’s a microwave here!”

“Guys? Hello? Where are you?!”

“…!”

The eleventh day.

After eleven days trapped on the 12th floor…

I finally heard another human voice.

– – End of Chapter – –

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