Hugh was a young man living in an ordinary world, leading a life that appeared unremarkable in every way. His parents had always stood by him, believing in him without hesitation. He was intelligent, the kind of person people quietly expected great things from.
And yet, something was wrong. Hugh was far from perfect. His flaws did not come in dramatic excesses or tragic wounds, but in something far more subtle—and far more dangerous. Laziness. A quiet resistance to effort, a refusal to engage with anything that felt even mildly dull. Because of it, his talents lay dormant, slowly fading, not from lack of ability, but from lack of will.
And yet, there was one thing Hugh never seemed to tire of. In fact, it was what he did most. He read.
He read the most predictable stories imaginable—tales where the protagonist was overwhelmingly powerful and everything unfolded in their favor. Stories where victory came easily. Without effort. Without sacrifice.
He was drawn to them because he wanted the same for himself. He longed for a life that moved smoothly, one that demanded no struggle and no sweat. In the triumphs of those protagonists, Hugh saw the life he himself dreamed of living.
Deep down, Hugh knew that this was not truly how he wanted to live. He, too, had once dreamed of greatness—of being seen, of being recognized by the world. He had dreamed of happiness. He had dreamed of truly living, of savoring his own life rather than watching it pass by.
He knew, with unsettling clarity, that if he worked for it, all of this could be within reach. And yet—why? Why couldn't he bring himself to try? Why was he unable to break free from this curse that clung to him so tightly: his laziness?
He wanted to live up to the expectations his family had placed upon him. He wanted to repay everything they had given him. He truly did.
But he couldn't.
He was simply too weak—mentally. The talent he was said to possess amounted to nothing. Talent meant nothing if the one who carried it refused to use it.
The child who once soared high on majestic wings had become an adult with those wings torn away, long since fallen into the sea, now sinking ever deeper as he struggled to breathe.
On yet another ordinary day of his university life, Hugh chose to stay home reading instead of attending his classes. When hunger finally pulled him outside, he left his apartment to find something to eat—and then, suddenly—
BANG.
Hugh was crossing the street when one of the countless cars flooding the city struck him.
His consciousness slipped free of his body. In an instant, there was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel. Only darkness remained. And within it, thought.
So he thought.
He thought about how he should have done things differently. About how much there was still left undone. He thought of his family, of how they would react to his death. Of how they would react to the carelessness that had led to it. He thought about dying. And he thought about living.
Damn it. I died, he realized.
He, who had read countless stories where the protagonist died only to be reborn in another world, had simply… died. Nothing more. No second chance. He drifted, alone with his thoughts—his thoughts and himself, himself and his thoughts.
Time passed. Or perhaps it didn't. There was no way to tell in the state he was in. In his mind, hours slipped by. Then days. Then years. And still his consciousness remained—awake, intact, alone.
Why? he wondered. Why can't I even die in peace?
Somehow, he hadn't gone mad. He was still himself. Or maybe very little time had passed after all. There was no way to know.
Until—
Hugh woke up.
Or rather, his senses returned—and with them, the world. He found himself back in his old bedroom, the one he had slept in during high school.
He wandered through the house until he came across his younger sister, Eleanor.
"What day is it?" he asked.
"The twentieth," she replied.
"And the month? The year?" he pressed on.
"July, 2025?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Right. I must've forgotten," Hugh said with a light laugh.
In truth, he wasn't surprised to find himself months before entering university. The time he had spent dead—if that was what it had been—had stilled his thoughts and hardened his resolve. He felt ready for this.
Somehow, Hugh had been sent back in time.
Then, without warning, something appeared—something Hugh had desperately hoped to avoid.
A message.
It came from something calling itself a System.
[Greetings to all inhabitants of planet Earth.]
[In three years' time, your world will be invaded by monsters beyond anything you can possibly imagine.]
[In order to protect yourselves, you must enter the Divine Tower. There, you will obtain powers and methods capable of opposing the monsters.]
[Conquer the tower and return to your world if you wish to survive.]
[Entering the tower is not mandatory—but it is strongly recommended.]
[Good luck.]
Hugh stared at the message in silence.
Of all the things he could have received in this second chance at life, this was the one he had hoped—foolishly—would never come.
[Do you wish to enter the Divine Tower? Select Yes / No.]
Hugh had only just returned to the world. He was back—finally.
Somewhere deep within him, long before conscious thought could interfere, he had already made a decision. If he were to be reborn, if he were to be granted another chance by some uncaring universe, then he would not abuse the power it offered. He would not seize it greedily.
He did not want to be the protagonist.
He didn't deserve to be.
All he wanted was time—time to spend with his family, time to live quietly, without spectacle or destiny pressing down on his shoulders.
Without hesitation, Hugh selected "No."
[Error!]
[The selected option is not available for this individual.]
Hugh froze.
It seemed that, whether he wanted it or not, the world had already chosen a role for him.
[Option "Yes" automatically selected.]
[The individual will be transported to the Divine Tower.]