Brunhilde's Desperate Rescue
Welcoming customers in an awkward pose, the motorcycle tore through the night streets. It blasted past at a speed blatantly exceeding the limit—a mad velocity no mere word like "speeding" could capture.
Please... please! I can't be late. Brunhilde bit her lip hard. The bike she rode was one of the WSC's precious artifacts. In the hands of someone without restraint, its sheer "speed" alone could lay waste to everything around it—a horrific, dangerous item. Unchecked, it could sprint freely and annihilate a nation with velocity alone. A terrifying, perilous object. But right now, it was being used to save a life.
You mustn't... make that choice! He was the sort who could readily sacrifice his own life to protect others. A noble soul. Even in the WSC, which dealt with matters tied to Earth's potential doom, few possessed such purity. Talk was cheap; when truly forced to weigh one's life against the world's, almost no one could embrace death without hesitation. But he had done it. Such a man deserved treatment befitting his valor.
-Brunhilde, move as fast as you can. We're checking his room, but... something feels off.
"I'm already giving it everything I've got!"
Arriving at his building, Brunhilde flew up the stairs. Third floor. At the door to his studio apartment, she punched in the passcode without a second thought. Such basic personal info had been in their possession the moment surveillance began.
...Huh?
The AP meter screamed in alarm. Brunhilde's unease surged. Something might have already happened.
"Are you in there?!"
Bursting through the door, Brunhilde caught sight of an ominous shadow. The room's lights were off. Light from a streetlamp outside illuminated something. A shadow lingered. A cord linked to the ceiling. Below it dangled the silhouette of an adult man, swaying gently. But the shadow's base didn't merge with the darkness. Light shone on his feet. There was space beneath him.
"Ah... aah!"
It might already be too late. Brunhilde hurriedly flicked on the room lights and rushed inside.
"...Eh?"
True to her grim imagination, a man hung from the ceiling by his neck. It was In Jisan. His eyes gazed down at Brunhilde with a sorrowful glint.
"Why... why, why..."
Unable to hold back, Brunhilde's tears spilled. She couldn't believe it. Just recently, he'd been laughing innocently with his followers, enjoying himself. Why had he chosen such a tragic path? How much anguish had he endured? How much torment? A man who could ravish any beauty at will had deemed it "evil" and resolved to end his own life—what colossal resolve must that have demanded?
Brunhilde couldn't accept the reality before her. Until moments ago on her way here, she'd watched him violate women while indulging in her own lewd touches. Though he wouldn't recognize her, she knew him intimately. That made denial even harder. It was as if he were still alive, still moving right befo—
Alive and moving?
A flicker of dissonance struck Brunhilde. Her senses were ruthless and precise, honed through countless life-or-death battles on the front lines. She might not be the strongest hero or villain overall, but Brunhilde was the WSC's unflinching combat operative—cool-headed and reliable in judgment. And her instincts now concluded: In Jisan is alive.
"Eh?"
Regaining her wits, Brunhilde peered into the man's eyes. They blinked faintly.
"Mm..."
Approaching cautiously, she sliced the cord around his neck with her prepared knife.
"Kkh! Hoo, haa, hngh..."
In Jisan gasped raggedly, then fixed her with a bewildered stare.
"Th-that... um, well,"
"P-please, speak."
"Tha... nk you?"
His face was a perfect mask of utter confusion, as if he had no clue what to say.
/////
Human situations mostly follow patterns. When someone shows kindness, you say "thank you"; when you err, "sorry"—instinctive, unthinking responses. But thrust into a once-in-a-lifetime scenario, every action and word demands deliberate thought.
Hm.
The instant my suicide attempt failed, I faced a blonde woman who'd casually punched in my passcode and entered my home. Naturally, I had to think through my words.
What do I say?
Should I demand how she got in? Thank her for saving me? Or... how am I even alive? Logically, she shouldn't know why I survived, but then again, logic didn't explain her knowing my passcode either.
"Uh..."
As I hesitated, she spoke first.
"I-I'm Brunhilde Wagner."
"Y-yes... In Jisan. Th-thank you so much for saving me."
Strictly speaking, I couldn't credit her with my survival. For reasons unknown, I was still breathing.
"I apologize for not being able to explain in detail. I'll share only what's essential."
"Go ahead."
"Mr. In Jisan, you must not die."
"That's..."
It didn't seem like some platitude about life's value or suicide's dangers.
"That's... kinda weird coming from me, but if I stay alive... bad things could happen, right?"
Having already chosen death, I'd shed any attachment to my life. Still, fear lingered.
What if some faction sees me as a threat, kidnaps and imprisons me...
The world would spiral into Common Sense Alterations beyond my control. I'd watch helplessly as reality warped, no one connecting it to my power or Anomalous Phenomena. They might not even notice the AP outbreaks. Villages where fathers-in-law ravish daughters-in-law as "normal," company bathrooms fitted with glory holes—such a world could emerge.
No. That couldn't happen.
"Hanging didn't kill me, but... with a rougher method... I could die, no?"
Like numbing my body with drugs and diving into lava, or begging a hero or villain for a devastating strike.
"If that didn't work, nothing will. And success brings its own problems."
"Oh?"
"Billions would die."
The strong-looking blonde, Brunhilde, stated it firmly.
"Er... isn't Earth's population around seven or eight billion?"
"I know."
"Hm..."
"I'm here to prevent that. If luck had been slightly worse, you might have died without me knowing... I aged ten years on that ride."
"I see."
I couldn't fully trust her. All I had was her word, hollow without proof.
But...
At minimum, this foreigner had rushed here without hesitation, sensing I might die. They probably understood the situation better than I did. Maybe my power and the "don't die" imperative were separate issues.
Either way, doubting them now and hunting "ways to die anyway" wasn't wise.
"I'm an agent of an organization dedicated to stopping that—"
"Is that org by chance the WSC?"
"N-n-no! Absolutely not that organization! I'm sorry I can't disclose the name right now, but please just—"
"...Got it."
Suspicious, but I'd let it slide with a mental whatever. No need to dig into secrets; if such a group existed, fine.
One conclusion: I had to keep living.
"W-would you like to touch my breasts?"
"Why the sudden offer?"
"I heard men... relax when they touch breasts."
She looked tough. Lean muscles everywhere, flawless Korean but stiff tone. Alluring, beautiful—like a Hollywood actress. And she was offering her chest.
No hypnosis on her, though...
Tempting, honestly. I knew the feel of breasts. Even compressed by clothes, hers weren't small—I could tell from experience. It'd feel good.
Is my life that crucial...
Instinct told me: In this dynamic, I held the power. Brunhilde, and her organization, would sacrifice much for my survival. If she offered her breasts, maybe her body too—
"No thanks."
"A-are you sure?"
"I wasn't suicidal from depression anyway. Thanks for worrying. But you don't need to go that far."
"..."
"I still don't get the full picture, but okay. I won't die. Don't worry."
"I'll trust you."
"Feel free."
After she left, I was alone in my room. I climbed onto the chair I'd kicked away, removed the hook.
"Ha, fuck. What do I tell the landlord..."
I bundled the severed cord, shoved it in the trash, and tidied up. My room looked as if nothing had happened.
"Now..."
I accepted the reality before me. I had to live.