Surviving Restructuring

Mr. Jae-Hyuk, did you receive your trial reward?” Ji-Eun asked.

“No, not yet,” Jae-Hyuk replied.

Ji-Eun looked down at Jae-Hyuk, who was sprawled out on the floor with his head down.

“Oh! Then that’s perfect! Don’t worry, Mr. Jae-Hyuk!”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

She lit up. “We can just heal it!”

Since Eun-Ho had healed his leg through a reward, Ji-Eun concluded that Jae-Hyuk could use it to recover from his injuries, too.

“No,” Eun-Ho replied.

“What? But Eun-Ho, you—”

“His wounds aren’t serious; first aid should be enough. It’d be a waste to use a reward on this.”

Ji-Eun tilted her head in confusion, then looked closely at Jae-Hyuk’s injuries. Only then did she nod in agreement and roll her eyes at the oversized crybaby in front of her.

“Well, if you insist, try asking the system to boost your regeneration as your reward,” Eun-Ho said.

“Is that even possible...?”

“It should be. We don’t have much time, so hurry up.”

It was more efficient to enhance natural recovery than heal the injuries every single time. Besides, wounds like this should heal naturally if his regeneration improved enough.

“Um... Dear Trial Reward... Can you boost my regeneration, please?”

His phrasing was awkward, but the system understood. Moments later, the gash disappeared as if it had been erased. If not for his torn shirt and the blood from his wound, no one would even know that he had been hurt.

“Amazing, Hyungnim[1]! How did you even think of that?”

There was just one problem: Jae-Hyuk was now calling Eun-Ho “Hyungnim” as if he had saved his life or something.

This guy’s supposed to be twenty-five?

Being over a hundred eighty centimeters tall was one thing, but with that sun-darkened skin and rugged face, he looked like he was in his mid-thirties at the very least—not someone barely past twenty.

“You’re younger than Eun-Ho?”

Ji-Eun narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Her expression probably did not differ too much from mine.

“And you said you’re a year older, Noonim[2]?” Jae-Hyuk asked, leaning in with a hopeful glint in his eye.

The word “Noonim” made Ji-Eun flinch as if she had been hit.

“If it weren’t for you two, I never would’ve survived the trial. I owe you my life!”

“No, no... You helped us just as much, Mr. Jae-Hyuk,” Eun-Ho replied.

Jae-Hyuk placed a firm hand on Eun-Ho’s shoulder and shook his head. “Please, just call me Jae-Hyuk, Hyungnim.”

“Uh... What?”

Like a loyal puppy, Jae-Hyuk looked up at Eun-Ho with sparkling eyes. Feeling overwhelmed, Eun-Ho quickly averted his gaze and changed the subject.

“Let’s wait here until the next trial starts.”

“Sure! We’re on the fifteenth floor, so wherever the spawn point ends up, we should be in a good spot.”

“It’ll probably be one of the floors below. And there’ll only be one location this time.”

“Just one?”

Since the second trial had three safe zones, and this last one only had two, Eun-Ho assumed that would mean the survivors would end up in a single building.

Someone like Assistant Manager Kwak could show up again...

They had to be well prepared for the next round.

“You two should get some rest,” said Eun-Ho, standing up and dusting himself off.

Puzzled, Ji-Eun asked, “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m planning to train a little.”

“Train?”

He wanted to test his fully healed leg and uncover the meaning behind the strange notification that only he could hear.

The system message, “The parameters required for skill activation are being calculated,” had already appeared to him twice. He first got it when he leapt in joy after regaining fifty percent of the function in his leg, and again when he narrowly dodged a flowerpot that Assistant Manager Kwak had hurled at him.

If the system was only gathering data under specific conditions, then he’d just have to recreate those conditions—by force, if necessary.

Tap!

Eun-Ho sprinted ten steps across the meeting room and then backpedaled the same distance.

No, that’s not it.

He ran even faster, then retreated again.

Still nothing.

He pushed through two more reps, forward and back, moving a little faster this time. Still, nothing appeared.

Was I not fast enough? Alright, let’s go even faster.

Tap tap tap tap!

Still nothing? Then I’ll go even faster!

“Eun-Ho! Are you sure you’re okay?” Ji-Eun asked, worry evident in her tone.

“H-Hyungnim? What are you doing...?” Jae-Hyuk asked as he looked at Eun-Ho with pity. However, Eun-Ho did not have the time or luxury to care.

There has to be a pattern. I’m sure of it.

He had paced the length of the cramped meeting room so many times that it felt as though the floor itself was wearing thin beneath his feet. Then, just as he turned for what must have been the hundredth time, a new system message rang out in his mind.

[Due to his intense desire, the parameter collection speed for Subject Lee Eun-Ho is increasing.] [The parameters required for skill activation are being calculated. 97%, 98%, 99%...]

He breathed in heavy gasps. “Haah...”

“A-are you alright, Eun-Ho? You’re drenched in sweat...” Ji-Eun asked, concern still etched into her tone.

It made no sense, but Eun-Ho felt it deep in his gut. When that number hit one hundred, he would unlock a skill.

What kind of skill needs this much parameter collection just to activate?If this were a game, I’d be praying for an offensive skill, no question, but since this is real... maybe something more practical...

“Eun-Ho! Wait a second!” Ji-Eun exclaimed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Huh? Ji-Eun?”

She grabbed his shoulder and shook him lightly. “It’s broadcasting!”

A new message then blared in their minds.

[Attention, all MS Tower survivors.]

[At precisely 3:00 PM, the final trial will commence.]

“The final trial?” Eun-Ho repeated, his pulse quickening.

“Whoa! Hyungnim, Noonim! I think this is it!” Jae-Hyuk chimed in, urgent and breathless.

[Please finish all preparations before then.]

“What... this is actually ending?” Eun-Ho whispered, a chill creeping down his spine.

He then frowned. Something about it did not sit right with him. Considering the system had explicitly mentioned a “next stage” earlier, there was no way it would just end here.

“It’s really the last one!” Ji-Eun said, practically glowing.

“I can’t believe it’s finally over... What a relief,” Jae-Hyuk murmured, shoulders sagging.

The three stood there, each expressing a different emotion—joy, relief, and doubt—as they began to prepare for what came next.

Ji-Eun stretched, the sparkle in her eyes betraying her excitement. Jae-Hyuk tugged nervously at the hem of his torn shirt, breathing freely for the first time in what felt like days. Eun-Ho quietly slipped a pair of office scissors into the inner pocket of his jacket as a safety precaution.

[The trial has started. Safe zones have been generated.]

“Let’s go,” Eun-Ho said calmly, his eyes sharp.

***

They sprinted up to the sixth floor and burst into what looked like a game company’s exhibition hall. Life-sized hero figurines in dramatic poses—likely characters from some popular title—stood around them like silent sentinels.

The center of the showroom was packed. A crowd had formed in front of a massive display screen playing game trailers and ads on an endless loop, the glowing colors washing over their faces like a light show.

「An MMO RPG like no other!」

「Pre-registration starts now. Experience it today!」

From a distance, it looked like a launch party. However, up close, it was chaos—pure, frantic survival.

“What the hell is this...?” Eun-Ho muttered.

Dozens of people surged as one, shoving and squeezing toward the designated safe zone. No one was willing to give up an inch. Bodies pressed forward, desperate, panicked.

Outside the crowd, those who could not get in had taken up whatever they could find and were savagely attacking the people in front of them. Blunt force and blood replaced any sense of order.

“It’s horrifying,” Ji-Eun whispered.

She was right. Just hours ago, these people were likely sharing coffee breaks or working side by side. Now, they gripped makeshift weapons and struck down familiar faces—coworkers, acquaintances, friends—without hesitation.

This was no longer a game. It was pandemonium.

Jae-Hyuk’s eyes widened. “What do we do, Hyungnim?”

“There’s no way we’re getting through that crowd,” Ji-Eun commented.

After a moment, Eun-Ho replied, “Yeah... frontal assault is a death sentence.”

He scanned the room. Ji-Eun and Jae-Hyuk turned toward him, waiting.

“I’m going to need your help.”

“Understood, Hyungnim!” Jae-Hyuk said immediately.

“Do you have a plan?” Ji-Eun asked.

“It’s not foolproof, but maybe.”

It was more of a hunch—a gut feeling. He’d only know if he was right once they tried.

“You see that white partition over there?”

Ji-Eun narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Let’s split up and meet behind it. Keep your heads down. Try not to draw attention.”

Jae-Hyuk nodded. “Got it.”

Calm and composed, Ji-Eun simply nodded as well.

“You’re not going to ask what the plan is?” Eun-Ho asked.

Jae-Hyuk blinked. “Was I supposed to?”

“We trust you,” Ji-Eun remarked.

Eun-Ho couldn’t help but pause for a moment. He then replied, “Then I’ll go first.”

Tap.

They regrouped behind the partition a few minutes later. They only had three minutes left.

“Eun-Ho, what are you looking for?”

“It should be... around here... Ah. Found it.”

“A ladder?”

Tucked away behind the partition, out of sight, were two collapsible silver ladders.

“My old company had a showroom like this,” Eun-Ho said, brushing dust off the rungs. “They used to stash equipment in the corners.”

Every wall was plastered with game titles and oversized figurines, like a collector’s fever dream come to life. Towering above it all, a massive screen played an endless loop of promotional trailers. The setup was so absurdly elaborate, it required ladders just to maintain.

Ji-Eun eyed the ladders skeptically. “So, uh... what are we using them for?”

“We’re going up,” Eun-Ho quickly replied.

“Up where?”

He pointed upward. “There.”

She followed his finger. High above, the rear of the giant screen loomed white and imposing, supported by beams like a skeletal canopy.

“You’re joking. How are we supposed to get on the screen?”

“We’re not. Technically, we’re getting on the ladder. Then we’re tipping the screen over.”

“What?”

“If we knock it forward, it’ll fall right into the safe zone,” he said calmly.

They would land just within the boundary—barely, but it would still count.

“The people below might get caught in it,” he added, “but they shouldn’t be seriously hurt. We’ll all pass the trial together.”

There was no battle, no bloodshed—just brute-force ingenuity. The system would likely hate it.

“Wait... So we don’t have to fight at all?” Jae-Hyuk breathed as if he had just solved a divine riddle. His eyes then lit up as he grabbed both ladders with renewed purpose.

“Got it! Then let’s get moving, Hyungnim!”

Clack!

[01:17]

Just over a minute remained. Timing was everything.

“We go at thirty seconds,” Eun-Ho solemnly instructed, already halfway up.

Jae-Hyuk climbed first, then Eun-Ho followed.

“Yes, Hyungnim!”

The plan was simple: Jae-Hyuk would push the screen, jump, and the others would follow right after. As the clock hit thirty seconds, Eun-Ho took a deep breath.

“Now!”

Fwoosh!

The screen tipped with a groan, then plummeted forward like a falling curtain.

“W-what the—?”

“Who turned off the lights?!”

The massive screen crashed over the crowd, shadows sweeping across the room as chaos erupted below. Those who had been fighting only seconds ago toppled like dominoes.

Thud!

Jae-Hyuk landed on the screen, and Ji-Eun followed. Eun-Ho came last, hitting hard but staying upright. Finally, he saw it.

“Secretary Kim!”

Someone was pulling Ji-Eun out of the safe zone. Her arm was wrenched back, fingers clawing at her wrist.

“Ji-Eun!”

Executive Director Park—her old boss—had a vice claw on her.

“I’m sorry, sir!”

Fwap!

She tore off her jacket and flung it aside. Executive Director Park staggered, thrown off balance by the motion. He did not fall thanks to the press of bodies behind him, but she at least managed to free herself.

“You little brat! How dare you—!”

He lunged again, this time seizing a fistful of her long hair.

“Please, sir! Please let go!”

[00:05]

“Haah...”

This wasn’t exactly why Eun-Ho had brought them. Nevertheless, he breathed out and then pulled the scissors from his inner pocket.

Snip.

He then cut her hair. Ji-Eun gasped.

“You bastard—!” Executive Director Park roared.

“E-Eun-Ho...”

Their voices overlapped—his fury and her disbelief.

[Time is up.]

The trial was over.

Jae-Hyuk stared at Ji-Eun’s uneven, hacked-off strands. “W-what happened to your hair?”

Eun-Ho said nothing.

“I-it’s okay. Hair grows back...” Ji-Eun muttered.

They disembarked from the platform. Eun-Ho glanced at her, unsure if she was angry. She approached quietly, head bowed.

“Eun-Ho...”

“Yes? What is it?”

She leaned in close—so close her nose nearly brushed his chest—then abruptly turned away.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

He blinked at the jagged mess that had once been her hair. She looked over her shoulder.

“Cut the rest. Shorter. So this doesn’t happen again.”

“Huh?”

Did the system raise her mental resilience too much? She even smiled, light and carefree.

“It’s fine. Short hair suits me anyway.”

[Survivors in MS Tower: 16.]

Overcome with relief, Jae-Hyuk ran up to them. “Hyungnim! Noonim! We did it! We actually survived!”

Eun-Ho was about to tell him that he had done well when the system began flooding them with notifications.

[The orientation has been completed.]

[Rewards for the orientation will now be distributed.]

[Synchronization rate has slightly increased.]

“What?”

“This was an orientation?”

“But they said it was the final trial...”

I knew it wouldn’t end here.

[Administrator privileges invoked. Activating ‘Project.’]

[Project Name: Selection.]

The real restructuring had only just begun.

1. Hyungnim or Hyung is a Korean term that means “older brother.” Men often use it to show respect, loyalty, and subordination to an older male in close groups or gangs. ☜

2. Noonim or Noona is a Korean term that means “older sister.” Men often use it to show respect, loyalty, and subordination to an older female in close groups or gangs. ☜