Game 26: Capo, the Key to Chaos
Han Tae-yang (한태양) touched the new Eye of Truth artifact in his face, the golden pupil reflecting his smug grin back at him. The lingering glow from his fusion still burned in the corners of the vault, crawling across the cracked marble floor like reluctant fireflies. His tone dripped arrogance, yet his voice carried the sharp confidence of someone who'd just stolen the cheat codes of life itself.
"This," he said, almost whispering to himself as if the walls deserved to hear it, "is my weapon to climb higher than anyone else in this cursed tower of God's challenge. Fusion. Overlink World. Memory Imprint. The trifecta of absolute scammery. Even the devs didn't see this coming."
He let the last word hang in the dusty air, savoring it.
The scene shifted violently.
The vaulted museum chamber bent and collapsed into spiraling smoke, and the world reformed outside at the barrier where Park Min-jae (박민재) struggled. The atmosphere out there was nothing like the suffocating silence of the vault. This place was alive with pressure, like standing inside a forge where the air itself hammered against your skin. The barrier shimmered like molten glass, cracking and reweaving itself in endless loops, forcing the old man to keep pouring his power into it.
Lightning crawled over Min-jae's skin, snapping through his tangled white hair, throwing his ragged robes into wild motion. Each crack of his thunderbolt struck the barrier with enough force to make the ground quake. Sweat carved lines through the soot on his face, dripping into his beard before sizzling off in sparks.
Han Tae-yang stepped into view, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt with theatrical laziness.
"I apologize for the disturbance," he said, voice annoyingly calm, "but it's time for you to stop burning your old-man batteries on this barrier."
The words sliced into the storm.
Min-jae's eyes flicked sideways at him, veins bulging in his temples, but he didn't stop. He snarled through clenched teeth, "Kid! Less talking, more doing! Hurry up!"
But Tae-yang didn't raise his hands. Didn't summon a spell. Didn't even flinch. He folded his arms, tilted his chin, and spoke as if he had already solved the puzzle days ago.
"You can stop using your lightning now."
The lightning stuttered. Min-jae blinked, surprised enough that his grip on the barrier faltered for a second. Sparks fizzled out midair, and the barrier seemed to hum in relief as if it was enjoying the pause.
"…What?" Min-jae's voice cracked.
Tae-yang's eyes gleamed. "In fact, the reason for you to keep doing that from the beginning… was gone before you even started."
Min-jae's jaw tightened. His voice rose an octave, anger simmering under every syllable. "Huh?! Then why the hell did you tell me to keep pouring my magic into it?! Why let me waste"
But Tae-yang cut him off, raising a finger like a smug lecturer, and spoke a single word that rang in the charged air.
"Capo."
The word wasn't dramatic on its own, it was almost laughably short, soft even, but the effect ripped reality apart.
The barrier, which had been resisting thunder for what felt like hours, shrieked. The entire dome of molten light bent inward as if someone had kicked its stomach. Strange Latin glyphs flashed across its surface, then burned away into nothing. A sound like cracking glass filled the clearing, followed by a shattering that didn't just break, it sang.
The barrier fell apart in glowing shards, vanishing before they touched the ground.
Park Min-jae stumbled back, lightning dying around him, his chest heaving. His face twisted through confusion, rage, and disbelief. His calloused fingers twitched as if searching for something invisible to grab.
"You… You mean all this time…" His voice broke with exhaustion. "All this time I was"
"basically a fancy generator for dramatic effect," Tae-yang interrupted, grinning. "Congratulations, sensei. You've just been the world's most expensive lightbulb."
Min-jae's mouth opened, then shut. The fury was written across every wrinkle on his face. His beard bristled like it was trying to leap off his chin.
"Kid…" he growled, his voice shaking, "you made me waste half my core for nothing?"
Tae-yang didn't even blink. His grin stretched wider. "Correct. Ten points to Gryffindor."
The old man's shoulders trembled. Veins bulged along his forehead. His eyes twitched dangerously close to popping out.
And Tae-yang thought, with glee hidden behind his smirk: Yes. Perfect. The system said to copy him, I need him to reveal his true feelings. What better way than making him admit he's been scammed by a brat half his age?
Lightning flickered weakly over Min-jae's palms, but it wasn't focused. His magic was unraveling with his temper.
Tae-yang turned away casually, as if the old man didn't matter anymore. He pulled a rolled parchment from his pocket, the map. Its edges glowed faintly, pulsing with runes, the ink shimmering like river water under moonlight.
He spread it open with a flourish, letting the magical lines burn across the air. Mountain ridges curled like dragon spines, forests glowed with emerald sparks, and each floor of the Tower was etched in dizzying detail. The barrier clearing became crowded with phantom images as the map's magic overflowed.
Tae-yang studied it with narrowed eyes. He could smell the parchment's old leather tang, mixed with the faint ozone of magic. The memory of dust and blood clung to it, a reminder of how many challengers had carried it before meeting their end.
But his smirk deepened.
"Useless," he muttered under his breath. "I already know everything this shows. Eleven years grinding this stupid game, plus the Ghost Bride quest filling my head with lore. What's a baby map of the first ten floors gonna give me? A tutorial? Please."
His thumb tapped against the rolled edge. He knew too much. The map was redundant. Yet he wasn't about to just toss it away. Knowledge, even knowledge you didn't need, was leverage.
And leverage, in Tae-yang's hands, was always a weapon.
His grin sharpened. The cunning glint in his eye was brighter than any lightning.
"Oh, but useless doesn't mean worthless. No way I'm handing this over like a good little boy."
His voice sank into a sly whisper, every word dipped in the promise of trouble.
Because for Han Tae-yang, every useless thing could be turned into a trap.
And Park Min-jae had just walked right into one.