The True Hero Exposed
After handing over the horrors of Bupyeong Station—swept by slaughter just as the script predicted—to the KHC, Ayoung Park's pickup truck tore through the predawn air. No one spoke inside the vehicle. Han Eunbyeol and Nyaistringer, slumped side by side in the back seat, sagged against the cushions from the adrenaline crash of their brush with death.
"Hoo..."
Ha Ohu, riding shotgun, stared blankly at the dawn landscape whipping past outside the window. The medical serum had knit his wounds fast, but the lingering muscle ache and stiffness from bones and cartilage forcibly rebuilt still throbbed.
They drove on for a bit until the pickup reached the police and military barricade blocking the Gyeongin Expressway on-ramp. The truck slowed for the checkpoint.
Screeech—.
They'd barely cleared it when Ayoung slammed the brakes, halting the truck dead.
"......What the hell is that?"
Ha Ohu's brow furrowed as he peered out the window. This witching hour on a highway that should be deserted—beyond the barricade, in an empty lot, news vans and broadcast rigs had set up camp. And the instant the pickup stopped, dozens of reporters surged forward, heavy cameras and mics raised like weapons.
Flash! Bang! Barrage!
A blinding storm of camera flashes poured through the windows, enough to sear retinas. Ayoung engaged the parking brake and spoke in her crisp, professional tone.
"As I mentioned back at the training ground before we left, these are media reps here to interview Ms. Nyaistringer and Miss Eunbyeol."
"Hah? Even for scoop-crazed reporter scum, gathering like a rabid dog pack at this godforsaken hour, nya?!"
Nyaistringer glanced out the back window and clicked her tongue.
"I've laid the groundwork to some extent."
Ayoung adjusted her glasses and continued.
"It's the core pitch for our Unmarked Crew rollout. A retired villain teams up with an unlicensed underdog hopeful. To sell the underdog tale of averting catastrophe through grit and grit alone, I've used my pull to whisper the right teases to desks at major outlets ahead of time."
Ayoung's eyes flicked to the backseat duo via the rearview.
"Word among the press is already buzzing: these two women heroes risked it all to evacuate innocent immigrants dying pointlessly in a kill zone the cops wrote off, holding the line to the bitter end."
Once they punched through this flash frenzy and wrapped interviews, Eunbyeol and Nyaistringer would own every Korean portal site's front page come morning.
"Get out, all of you."
Ha Ohu twisted around and said flatly to the back.
"Go nail the interview. Make it badass. That's how you become real heroes and snag that association fast-track."
At his command, Nyaistringer and Eunbyeol drew deep breaths, hands on door handles. Ayoung twisted cautiously from the driver's seat to eye Ha Ohu, whispering low enough Eunbyeol wouldn't catch it.
"Um...... Aren't you doing an interview, Mr. Ohu? You pulled off the heaviest lift..."
"Don't make me say it twice."
Ha Ohu whispered back, slicing her off cold. He flipped the passenger seat all the way back to dodge the glare, then curled deep into the shadows where no window could spot him.
Past trauma from online hate mobs during his bullying days still clawed at him.
Click.
The back doors swung open. Eunbyeol and Nyaistringer emerged—and chaos erupted.
"They're out!! Here! Eyes this way!"
"Nyaistringer! Or Ms. Namiyang! Villain retirement for real?!"
"Miss Han Eunbyeol! What went down in Bupyeong Station's underground mall? Civilian toll?!"
Reporters lunged mics like they meant to vault the barricade, questions flying. Blinding flashes laid bare their blood-soaked, shredded clothes.
"Ah, ack...... Too bright..."
Eunbyeol threw up an arm to shield her face, but Nyaistringer struck a bold pose, hands on hips. She beamed an extra-hammy eye smile at the camera lenses and launched in.
"Yup, spot on! Namiyang here's hanging up her dirty back-alley snuff film broker gig for good, effective today! Nya~!"
Channeling Ayoung's script from memory, Nyaistringer hammed it up shamelessly.
"Ran into this plucky little hero-wannabe kid in Bupyeong's alleys by chance, and get this—even with death breathing down our necks, she's bawling her guts out dead set on saving folks, so I just...... got totally suckered by the feels, heartstrings yanked hard, yey!"
Nyaistringer slung a chummy arm around Eunbyeol's shoulders and flashed the press a grin.
"So me and my girl Eunbyeol's justice vibes went ~fusion kaboom! Lightning team-up to evac everyone trapped in that Bupyeong underground mall!"
Ex-villain redemption meets aspirant purity. Reporters scribbled furiously, flashes exploding. Nyaistringer's theatrics lit the scene on fire.
"Alright, Miss Han Eunbyeol! No license yet, guns blazing in a death-trap quarantine zone—how'd you even think to pull civilians?!"
A mic jabbed toward Eunbyeol's frozen lips. Script called for heartfelt lines: couldn't scrap the villain head-on due to green skills, but with Nyaistringer's backup, poured heart into herding folks out safe.
But.
"......"
Eunbyeol picked her words carefully.
"Well......"
Locking eyes dead-on with the cameras, she delivered a raw, off-script gut-punch in a voice thick with strain.
"Even if Bupyeong's a lawless quarantine dump, those folks illegal immigrants shut out from real welfare...... no excuse in this world for villains to slaughter them innocent."
Her voice—clear, unyielding—sliced the dawn chill.
"We're raw rookies, no match to brawl villains direct...... But seeing people bleed out dying right there? We had to grind justice as hard as we could. So we busted ass evacuating them out."
Short gasps of awe rippled through the press pack at the aspirant's raw conviction.
"Nailing the interview, Miss Eunbyeol."
Ayoung muttered to herself in the truck.
"Like Mom?"
"Th-that's...."
Ayoung ducked her head at Ha Ohu's loaded jab.
Ayoung's blueprint, laced with Eunbyeol's ironclad integrity, would etch an untouchable saint image into the public's mind via these reporters.
'Oh...... Kid's got pipes. Thought she was shaking like a leaf, but camera magnet, nya.'
Nyaistringer nodded and hummed timely backup from the side.
But.
Under the spotlights, as shiny righteous words won praise, Eunbyeol's chest twisted like thorns raking flesh.
'What...... What bullshit am I spouting.'
Nails bit palm in her clenched fist.
Practiced justice? Led evac? True enough. But that was just shuttling the wounded he'd dragged out to safety behind the fence—rear-guard scraps.
The one who'd hurled her breaking body into the 1,400-shop labyrinth trapping thousands.
Through bullet hail and cannibal villain hell, self-hypnotized to the brink, dragging out lives—the true hero.
That hero now huddled truck-bound, terrified of the world's jeers and trolls.
Next to her? A shivering do-nothing hack lapping glory under glamour and glare.
Cognitive dissonance shredded her conscience raw.
Eunbyeol's eyes welled red.
Then.
"Miss Han Eunbyeol! One more!"
A frontliner reporter surged forward hot, jabbing a finger at her face.
"Red hair, looks—uncanny twin to Shooting Star, who passed so tragically recently!"
The reporter's eyes gleamed. Media craves fresh icons, juicy labels.
"Special ties to Shooting Star? Heroics tonight at Bupyeong got folks dubbing you Second Shooting Star, her heir—fair?"
Blatant hook: hype a bombastic hero tag, milk dead icon nostalgia.
Script: bashful nod, "Thank you. I'll carry her will."
But.
"Shooting Star's heir" snagged her ear like a barb.
"......"
Eunbyeol's quaking shoulders locked ramrod.
A pent-up tear finally spilled from inflamed eyes.
'How...... How dare I claim her legacy.'
The true blood heir to that legend.
And tonight, Shooting Star reborn—stormed inferno, saved hundreds—crouched in that truck.
"......No."
Eunbyeol shook her head rigid at the cameras.
"Huh?"
"I'm......"
"Nya....? What's up nya....?"
"Just a fan aping Shooting Star. Real hero who saved lives tonight...... her true heir is......."
Eunbyeol whipped half-around, arm spearing straight at the pickup's passenger window behind her.
"Not me...... right there in that truck!"
"......?!"
"Hey, hey!"
Reporters' breaths choked mid-flash.
Nyaistringer's grin shattered bone-white.
'You insane brat! What the fuck nya!!'
She gouged Eunbyeol's ribs with an elbow, lunging to muzzle her—but Eunbyeol clamped the mic and bellowed.
"Our backup? Shooting Star's real son! Wielding her acceleration power! Legs shattering, hands shredding—he dove that underground hell and hauled everyone out!"
Tears drenched Eunbyeol's face.
"We did jack! Just...... herded his life-risk rescues past the fence! Real hero's Ha Ohu in that truck!!"
Silence blanketed the barricade.
Her cry's echo hung.
Then it died—and explosion.
"Sh-Shooting Star's son?!"
"Acceleration awakened?! Wasn't he a normie zero?!"
"Her blood in that truck!! Shoot!! Truck window now!!"
Flashflashflashflash—!!
The pack wheeled, mobbing Ayoung's pickup passenger side. Zombie horde clinging, lenses jammed flush, flashes merciless.
"W-without a plan.... That psycho bitch for real......!"
Cameras everywhere—no decking Eunbyeol outright—Nyaistringer twitched a rictus grin.
'Master gets scarred, then what!!!!'
Inner inferno raging.
"......Ah."
Truck interior. Seat max-reclined, shadows cloaking him as he eavesdropped the interview—Ha Ohu's jaw dropped.
'She's lost it?! Ha... Shit, can't even curse—looks too much like Mom...'
He thrashed deeper, scrabbling to burrow under.