Hana Takayama's Perspective
Hana was sure she would wake up dead.
Just like the professional athletes she always followed on social media—collapsed on a bench, too drained to even shower and go home after a brutal match.
She was certain her body would be wrecked after what she'd put it through last night.Her skin pale, her stomach unsettled, every muscle screaming from the abuse.
After all, she had spent more than eight hours fighting with barely a pause in that virtual world.
But this game—The Awakening of the Black Tower—was simply magical.
When she opened her eyes, she felt alive.
More than alive.
It was as if every thread of her nervous system had been finely tuned overnight.As though those endless hours inside the Tower had polished her body in some invisible way: her reflexes sharper, her breathing steadier, her muscles ready to leap.
It was a dangerous feeling.That clarity after a fight was addictive.
It made her blood rush, made the world look full of targets just waiting to be locked in.She could almost picture herself vaulting out her fifth-floor window, sprinting through the trees after the squirrels that always darted around the yard.
She would catch them. Roast them for lunch.
And then—she felt it.
There was a line she couldn't cross.
She drew a breath and reason snapped back instantly: five floors, hard ground, reality. Death was just as real as the pavement outside her home.
She rose slowly, muscles answering with a kind of joy.The bed creaked, the room still held the smell of night air and the faint perfume she'd forgotten to remove from her coat.
She opened the wardrobe, fingers gliding across the fabrics with the calm of someone who had repeated this ritual countless times: choosing clothes was part of the discipline.
No uniform today. Nothing predictable.
She picked what she liked best—pieces that gave her freedom of movement, clean lines, sober colors, precise cuts. She didn't need to show anything to anyone; she needed to feel aligned for the day ahead.
In the mirror, she adjusted her bangs, pulled her hair into a practical ponytail, and studied her own gaze.Something new glimmered there: not arrogance, but a steady, sharpened focus—the same look she wore when sighting a target a hundred meters away.
Good.Satisfied, she left the room with steps measured, almost musical.
She went down for breakfast with a single thought in her mind: don't let anything ruin this day.
That was her promise.
A simple one.
She wanted to keep her own energy under control. To savor it. Hot rice, bitter green tea, maybe a plain omelet. Nothing grand. Small victories.
In the kitchen, the morning sun filtered through the curtains, slicing the table with straight beams of light. The smell of fresh rice guided her like a note in a song. For a moment, she believed she could protect that aura she had sworn to herself.
And then she remembered.
Her parents. They were home.
And with a cruel twist of fate, she knew her plan would fail today.
It wasn't just their physical presence—it was everything that came with it: questions, glances, those invisible rules reminding her there was a world outside the Tower, a world of schedules, duties, and expectations hanging over every choice she made.
They were always pragmatic: training was training, games were hobbies; school and future came first. Nothing unexpected, nothing hostile—just a presence that reminded her real life had limits.
That thought cast a shadow across her face for a moment. Her resolve wavered.Not because she needed their approval to exist, but because with them around, the day would carry another weight of obligations and adjustments.
Hana sighed.Inside, she had already reshaped her plan. The day could still be hers—just not as free as that first breath after waking from the dungeon.
She straightened her posture, lifted her shoulders, and placed a small, restrained smile on her lips.
She walked toward the kitchen with precise steps. In the glass door she caught her reflection—and she couldn't help thinking she could run away, eat somewhere else.
But she knew: she couldn't run forever. They were her parents.
It wasn't as if Hana hated them.In truth… maybe she did. Just a little.
But it wasn't the kind of explosive hate that burned inside and out.It was more like a constant irritation, a splinter lodged under the skin that you could never quite pull free.
Because they never really felt like parents.To her, they always seemed more like agents.
Not that it happened often—after all, they were rarely home.
Work, work, and more work.And when they weren't working, they were planning the next deal, the next merger, the next trip abroad.
Hana understood.No one ran one of the five largest companies in Japan without drowning in responsibility. It was natural. Logical.
And yes, it brought benefits.The mansion they lived in was a daily reminder. The vast bedroom, the endless hallways, the fifth-floor balcony view, the constant supply of food, the cars in the garage. Hana had never worried about bills, meals, or her future. Everything had been secured for her since birth.
And yet, it built a golden wall she could never cross.
Any friend of hers, if they heard Hana wasn't completely satisfied, would say the same thing:"Spoiled rich girl."
But only she knew what it felt like to live inside that gilded cage.
Money and power came with an endless list of problems, invisible responsibilities, and above all—limitations.
Limitations her parents—no, her agents—made sure to remind her of whenever they could.Where she could go.Who she could talk to.How much time she could "waste" on games or archery.What future plans had already been mapped out for her, without her ever saying a word.
With no real choice left,
Hana adjusted her stance before stepping into the dining room.The smell of hot rice still lingered in the air, mingled with the bitter scent of freshly brewed tea. For an instant, she wondered if it was truly impossible to keep her promise—to let nothing ruin this day.
But the moment she saw the two figures seated at the head of the long dark-wood table, she already knew the answer.