I Don't Need To Log Out

Nearly eight hours had passed since Arlon had taken his first step that day.

The end of the floor was close now.

He could see it—what looked like a crooked old building stitched together from mismatched architecture.

Jiroeki's house.

Or at least, what passed for it.

Calling it a house still felt wrong.

It wasn't a proper structure, not in the way most people thought of one.

It was chaotic, warped in shape, patched together like a dream someone forgot to finish.

Floating stairs, disconnected hallways, windows that opened into nothing.

But even so, Arlon's heart beat faster as he drew near.

This was the place. The destination he'd gambled everything on.

His pace didn't change, but his breathing quickened. Every step hummed with anticipation.

And finally—after a full year of relentless, measured movement—he reached the door.

Without a pause, he raised his hand and knocked.

And at that very moment, the creature appeared beside him.

Of course, it wasn't really a sudden appearance. Not technically.

It hadn't teleported.

Just like Arlon, it had walked eight hours every day.

The illusion of space on this floor was just that—an illusion.

Their arrival was simultaneous because their time had been matched.

The floor had always treated them as parallel streams, moving toward the same fixed point.

There was no real distance here.

And now that the final step had been taken, both of them stood at the same place.

This—this was the moment Arlon had been preparing for.

He didn't reach for his sword.

He didn't activate a defensive spell.

Because he already knew that the Absolute Shield wouldn't work.

Not against this thing.

Not anymore.

If his plan failed now—if the gamble he'd staked everything on didn't pay off—then there wouldn't be another moment. Not in the Tower. Not in Trion.

This would be the end.

And then, it moved.

The creature's hand shot forward.

But this time, it wasn't like before.

It wasn't a lazy swipe or a test of strength.

It was a real strike.

A full-speed punch aimed straight at Arlon's head.

Fast enough to blur the air around it. Laced with the kind of force that could collapse a fortress in one blow.

And Arlon saw it.

He didn't see the fist since it was too fast for him to see. He saw one second into the future.

Thanks to his Eyes of KET**, which had begun functioning properly after his recovery a month into the floor, he could perceive it clearly—frame by frame.

But even that didn't matter.

Even knowing what was coming a full second ahead, Arlon couldn't have dodged it.

Not with his current speed. Not at this range.

But he didn't need to dodge.

Because what he needed—who he needed—was here.

And his gamble…

It worked.

The moment the creature's fist was about to connect, its body froze mid-motion.

Then, without warning, it collapsed to the ground.

No roar. No resistance.

It just crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

Arlon exhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat before it finally escaped.

It was over.

At least, this part was.

He raised his head, slowly, and looked toward the doorway.

Standing there, calm as ever, framed by the twisted architecture behind him—was Jiroeki.

Silent. Watching.

And maybe smiling.

He still couldn't read its face well.

---

Arlon's gamble had been simple in theory.

If he could reach Jiroeki's house, maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't have to die.

Of course, maybe was doing a lot of heavy lifting.

There wasn't a rule carved into the floor that explicitly forbade fighting. But there was a rule. One that mattered more than the rest.

Those who came here in search of knowledge would be granted it.

Those who came to harm the Tower would be harmed.

The last time he'd stood here—when he'd tried to attack Jiroeki—it hadn't triggered any punishment.

He hadn't been hurt. Because back then, his intent wasn't to damage the Tower. He was just desperate.

And even though he'd tried to attack, Jiroeki hadn't struck back.

This time, Arlon hoped that distinction still held.

Because the creature behind him… that was something else entirely.

If Jiroeki perceived its presence as a threat—if the fight in front of this twisted house counted as damage to the Tower—then maybe it would intervene.

Maybe not to protect Arlon.

But to protect the Tower.

Or maybe just the house.

It was hard to tell with a being like Jiroeki.

Arlon didn't know what rules it followed, or whether it even needed to follow them at all.

All he knew was that it had acted before.

And now, it had again.

The creature had fainted. Dropped like a stone the instant Arlon knocked.

Arlon's lungs still hadn't caught up with the relief. His heart was still pounding as if expecting a delayed death to arrive any second.

Then, Jiroeki stepped out.

"So, you're here again..." it said.

Its voice was calm. Almost amused.

Arlon swallowed and nodded.

It felt like it had been forever since the last time he had spoken out loud.

It hadn't actually been that long. Not compared to his first visit.

But something about the past year—about being followed day after day by a monster that could end him at any moment—had made time stretch.

It warped in his mind like the house itself.

"Yes," Arlon said. "I'm sorry for this. I thought… this was my last chance."

He didn't lie. There was no point.

Deceiving the Caretaker was pointless. It had probably watched everything—the controller, the floor, the walk, the creature.

It was probably reading his mind like Karmel did. Since they were both ascended beings, Arlon thought they both could do it.

"I'll need to check," Jiroeki said after a moment. "Whether this counts as harm to the Tower."

The answer was neither warm nor cold. Just a fact.

Arlon felt a chill creep up his spine.

It wasn't a yes.

But it wasn't a no, either.

And honestly, it was better than certainty.

Because if Jiroeki said no, then there would be nothing left for him.

So Arlon nodded.

He'd take the uncertainty. He'd take maybe over death.

But then—

The creature stirred.

Unlike Arlon, it hadn't needed recovery time.

Its eyes opened as if nothing had happened.

But this time, it didn't look at Arlon.

Its gaze snapped to Jiroeki—the one who had made it collapse.

There was no confusion in its movements. No hesitation. Just understanding.

It knew who had brought it down.

And in the next instant, it lunged.

It didn't roar or charge with theatrics. It simply threw a strike with the same precision it had tried to use on Arlon.

Only this time, it wasn't testing.

It was trying to kill.

Jiroeki, however, didn't move.

It didn't blink.

Because this was no longer a matter of preference.

This was the Tower being attacked.

Jiroeki wasn't just a guardian. It was the Tower, in a way that even Arlon still didn't fully understand.

And when the Tower was harmed—it responded.

It gave one warning.

Just one.

The second attack never landed.

The creature didn't fall.

It didn't scream.

It didn't even disappear in a burst of magic.

It simply ceased.

Vanished—utterly and completely—from the world.

Gone.

Arlon hadn't seen what Jiroeki did.

All he saw was the light.

A massive pillar of it—white and blinding—rising from the ground and stretching into the sky like a spear of judgment.

And then, the notifications followed.

[You have leveled up!]

[Congratulations! You are the first to reach Level 300.]

[You will be observed.]

Arlon blinked, staring at the message.

Observed?

His pulse, which had just started to settle, kicked up again.

What does it mean?