Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Prologue - Is the Dark Knight a Hero or a Villain?
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"Cheers~!"
The friends, who hadn't gathered like this in ages, downed shots of soju that reeked of pure alcohol.
They were the same crew who'd spent their wild, hormone-fueled teenage years together, but time had flown by like bullets, turning them into thirty-something office drones before they knew it.
Back in the day, they'd stuck together like burrs, itching if they didn't see each other for even a day, roaming around town as a pack. But as one by one they started landing jobs, meetings dwindled to maybe once or twice a month—if that.
Still, the time apart only meant the stories piled up like mountains. They could've talked all night and still not unpacked everything.
"Ugh, that bastard Park from our office..."
As fellow wage slaves, the conversation kicked off with trash-talking their bosses.
It was like a competition to see whose superior was the biggest piece of shit—everyone scrambling to one-up each other with their war stories from work.
"Hey, you guys remember her? That super hot girl from our grade..."
"Ohhh~ Her!"
Once the boss-bashing wrapped up, it was time to dive into nostalgia.
Whoever said guys don't gossip about girls? Once their mouths got going, they could chatter as much as any woman.
They kept hopping from one spot to the next, stories flowing, until one buddy—nicely buzzed on booze—finally spoke up.
"Hey. So, is the Dark Knight a villain or a hero?"
"....."
"....."
The table went dead silent in an instant, like someone had cast a spell. Faces flushed from drinking, they all pondered the fresh bombshell of a topic.
For the record, this Dark Knight wasn't the movie character.
He was the moniker netizens had slapped on a mysterious superhuman who'd burst onto the scene like a comet.
The friend with noticeably glazed eyes broke the ice.
"He's a hero, obviously. How many villain scum has the Dark Knight taken out so far? Those bastards always whine about human rights and keep 'em alive, but every time the news says he offed one, I just wanna clap."
He was a staunch Dark Knight supporter.
Even when villains got caught, on-site kills were off-limits. They'd go through trials, then rot in a villain containment facility based on their crimes.
Public opinion strongly favored the death penalty for villains, but Dark City hadn't carried one out in ages.
The Dark Knight, though? No mercy in his strikes. He either killed villains outright or left them in a state worse than death.
Once word got out, tons of people rallied behind him, cheering him on.
"Nah, come on."
That's when another friend—too hammered to drink from a glass anymore, just soaking his clothes in booze—fired back.
"I get that killing villains is a good thing, but he does plenty of shitty stuff too. Remember that spot? Sector 7 or whatever? He robbed like three or four banks there. And he took out five heroes who showed up. The Dark Knight's a villain, straight up."
This time, a new voice jumped in to counter. Another Dark Knight defender.
"Dude, that fake news broke ages ago. The Hero Association spread it to trash his rep once he got popular. I saw a post on Tweetter from someone who was actually at the bank—no deaths. Said the Dark Knight was super polite, even."
The back-and-forth escalated. The next guy to chime in was anti-Dark Knight.
"Tweetter? That's fake news too. I checked the guy's profile after seeing that post—he doesn't even live in Sector 114, let alone work at a bank. It was just some fanfic bullshit. The Dark Knight's a murderer, plain and simple. A murderer who knows how to spin a good image. He only picks villains to kill so people love him for it."
"The Dark Knight's a hero..!"
"Villain..!"
Before long, the group had split into two camps, locked in a heated debate.
Even though the whole point was arguing whether the Dark Knight was a hero or a villain.
"Hero!"
"Villain!"
"What a load of crap."
A lone man glanced at the guys noisily arguing about the Dark Knight behind him and snorted under his breath. Unlike the packed tables around him, he was drinking solo.
He didn't even bother pouring the soju into a glass—just chugged straight from the bottle, then muttered at the wall.
"Player, you morons."
After draining the bottle, he slapped some cash on the table for the bill and stood up. Strolling through the bustling night streets of the noisy city, gazing at the sky, he muttered again.
"Seriously, why the hell do people cheer for a guy who kills?"
The man shook his head, utterly baffled.