[There are three ways to endure despair. Bury it. Fight it. Or let it consume you. For Seo Mirae, none of these were choices. Despair had been her only companion.]

{The ticking of the clock... It felt louder today.}

Outside the frost-covered window, the city lights flickered faintly. But here, in this cramped apartment, it was just her. And the noise.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

{It never stopped.}

It was on the night of her eighteenth birthday, a night like any other, that Mirae found herself staring at the cracked ceiling of her bedroom.

"There has to be more than this," she whispered. It wasn't a plea. It wasn't even a wish. It was a statement, a cold declaration of fact.

Life as it was now? It wasn't enough. Mirae needed more.

Her eyes scanned the forum thread on her computer, barely absorbing the text as her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

The discussion was the same as always: speculation, theories, and rumors about the latest phenomenon. Today, the buzz was centered on a game called The Tower of Deception: An Open Beta Experience.

She scrolled past heated arguments and outlandish theories until her gaze landed on the developer's cryptic announcement.

[Welcome, participants. The Tower awaits. Ascension is not just a challenge but a revelation. If you choose to climb, be prepared to lose everything.]

A notification sound shattered the stillness, making her flinch. Her eyes darted to the corner of the screen.

Invitation Received: You have been selected to participate in the closed beta of The Tower of Deception.

The cursor blinked. A small, unassuming question lingered on the screen:

"Do you think your life has meaning?"

{The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the computer. The glow of the monitor was the only light, casting shadows on the walls.}

Seo Mirae leaned back in her chair, the faint creak of the worn-out wood breaking the stillness. She stared at the words, her lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. Meaning? That was a luxury for people who didn't spend their nights listening to the dripping of a leaky faucet and the distant arguments of their neighbors.

{The clock on the wall ticked, each second dragging the moment out longer than necessary.}

Mirae's eyes wandered across the cluttered room. Her desk was covered in a sea of crumpled notes, half-empty ramen cups, and pens that had long since dried out. The heater had given up days ago, and the winter chill seeped into her bones. But this wasn't unusual—it was just another night.

She returned her gaze to the screen. The question hadn't changed.

Seo Mirae was invisible. Not in the dramatic, tragic way people wrote about in stories. It was far more mundane than that. To her classmates, she was the girl who never raised her hand, who slipped in and out of school unnoticed. To her teachers, she was a name on the attendance sheet that never caused trouble. To the world, she was another face in the crowd.

But Mirae saw herself differently.

{She had always been good at observing, at noticing the cracks in people's words and the lies they didn't want to admit even to themselves.}

Her classmates thought she was strange, whispering about her when they thought she wasn't listening. But Mirae heard every word. She didn't care. Their lives revolved around popularity contests, petty drama, and fleeting validation. She had no interest in their games.

{The real world was cruel, and Mirae had no patience for illusions.}

A soft chime brought her back to the screen. The question had disappeared, replaced by a single line of text:

"You have been chosen. Click to confirm."

Mirae frowned. She hadn't signed up for anything. Suspicion crept into her thoughts, her mind jumping to scams and phishing schemes. But there was something strange about it. The message didn't have the hallmarks of a cheap trick. It was… clean. Simple.

{Her finger hovered over the mouse.}

Curiosity whispered in her mind. What was the worst that could happen? Her laptop was already falling apart—if this ruined it, it wouldn't be much of a loss.

{She clicked.}

The screen went black.

For a moment, everything was still. Mirae's reflection stared back at her from the dark screen, distorted and faint. Her breath hitched when the silence broke.

A line of text appeared in red, each letter bleeding onto the screen:

"Your life is meaningless."

The words settled heavily in the air. She should have scoffed, but something about seeing it written out felt different. More real.

Another message appeared beneath it:

"Do you want meaning?"

Two options blinked into existence: [YES] [NO].

{Mirae's hand froze.}

It was ridiculous. She knew that. Yet her heart pounded against her ribs. Was it the phrasing? The abruptness? Or maybe it was because, deep down, she didn't have an answer.

{Her finger moved before she could stop herself.}

She clicked [YES].

Light exploded from the screen, washing over her like a wave. It wasn't just bright—it was overwhelming, pressing against her skin and her thoughts, forcing its way into every corner of her mind.

{Then, it was gone.}

Mirae opened her eyes to find herself standing.

{The room around her was gone.}

Instead, there was nothing but darkness, stretching endlessly in every direction. The ground beneath her feet was smooth, reflecting a faint glow that came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, their movements too fluid to follow.

She wasn't alone.

Figures stood scattered around her, their faces pale and their eyes wide with confusion. Some muttered to themselves, others clutched at their chests like they were trying to steady their breathing. Mirae remained still, her gaze sharp as she assessed her surroundings.

{A voice echoed through the void.}

"Welcome to The Tower of Deception."

The words were calm, almost polite, but they carried a weight that settled deep in Mirae's chest.

Above her, letters began to form, glowing faintly against the darkness:

"Climb, or be forgotten."