Hero Eroge Reality Bites Back
Combining the condolence money from all the other heroes brought the total to a staggering 15 million won clutched in his hands.
Fuck yeah... I actually have money now. Won't starve to death anytime soon.
Ha Ohu hugged the thick wad of checks to his chest and let out a deep sigh of relief. But bitter reality soon crashed back in.
Of course... more than half of this'll get blown on that special cleanup for our house.
No regular cleaning crew would touch a biochemical-terror-level crime scene like that. Ripping up the blood-soaked, brain-splattered, bone-stuck linoleum and doing full biohazard decontamination? It was obvious it'd cost a fortune. No way he could splurge on a Gangnam officetel lease and live large right now. But at least he had enough to snag a cheap goshiwon room and scrape by until the cleanup finished.
Clutching the leather bag tight, Ha Ohu stared down at the cold, empty lobby floor. His mind cleared with startling sharpness. With money in hand, his perspective widened, and the brutal essence of this world hit him like a sledgehammer.
Right. I'm Ha Ohu, total garbage in body and soul. But no time to wallow in self-pity.
This wasn't some ordinary 21st-century South Korea. Heroes existed, which meant real villains—monsters to match—crawled the shadows too. One wrong turn down a dark alley, and some ability-wielding psycho could rip his limbs off. Sure, he had the vicious Hypnosis App to mind-fuck others, but it was just a joker card for 1-on-1 ambushes. If a flying, fire-breathing villain charged him, this unawakened fatass body wouldn't even get the app's camera open before his head rolled.
Survival first. Everything else second.
His gaze drifted to the two contact numbers in his hands. Left: Detective Park. Right: Director Park Ayoung.
Detective Park's a genuinely good guy. But frontline homicide cops with just a pistol can't protect me in this world.
If a villain showed up, kind-hearted Park might die shielding him. Park Ayoung was different. Behind her stood the Korean Hero Committee and her father, S-grade hero Rapid Star—one of the world's strongest. Power, wealth, might: the ultimate fallout shelter in this deadly hero society.
Fuck if it's humiliating... to stay alive, I gotta stick to an S-grade hero.
Sure, he'd endure Rapid Star's contempt and abuse. But he could tough out the mental hits with app commands. Better a bruised ego than a severed spine.
Ha Ohu texted Detective Park politely: Thank you so much, sir. No need to worry.
Then he took a deep breath and punched in the gold-embossed number on Ayoung's business card.
Ring ring ring—
It connected after a few rings.
"...Hello?"
Ayoung's voice came through, oddly muffled and echoing more than usual.
Shhh— Faint water sounds in the background suggested she was in the bathroom or fresh out of the shower.
Called too late and interrupted her bath?
He tensed but bit back his first impulse to thank her for the 5 million.
Diving straight into money talk might scream desperate.
"Sorry to call so late, Director. It's Ha Ohu."
"Ah... Ohu. No, it's fine. Did the funeral go smoothly?"
Even with the bathroom reverb, her voice was warm and gentle, laced with genuine care for the deceased's son.
"Yes, thanks to you covering all the costs. Really... really grateful. But..."
He trailed off, letting his breath tremble faintly.
"I hate to ask, but... I need a little help right now."
"What's wrong? Speak freely."
"...I picked up Mom's urn, but I don't have anywhere to go."
The water sounds cut off abruptly on her end.
"As you know... our house is that crime scene. Unlivable stench and blood—needs a special cleanup crew to gut it. I don't know anyone for that, and tonight, I can't even find a room to crash with the urn."
Anyone hearing that sob story would pity him. Ayoung sighed deeply, full of empathy.
"Oh god... my bad. I focused on the funeral and overlooked your immediate needs. I'm sorry."
"No! You've already done way more than enough. I'm the one who—"
He waved it off frantically, but an uncontrolled slip escaped his lips.
"Um, Director. And..."
"Yes?"
"About Mom... I want to hear more about her glorious days."
The second hypnosis command, etched into her brainstem, shattered her reason with obsessive love.
"For 20 years, I only knew the beaten, bruised housewife in that hellhole. I just learned she hid her powers because of me."
His voice quivered. Hypnosis-spawned tears welled up.
"So I want to know. About 20 years ago, when she soared the night sky to thunderous applause... the Shooting Star I never knew. From you, who were closest to her."
Silence hung heavy after that plea. He bit his lip, tense—too emotional for a business ask? Did he burden her?
"Haa..."
A deep, trembling breath.
"...Me too, Ohu."
Her voice shed the stiff committee director title, raw and vulnerable.
"I want to hear about Sara unnie too. How she lived those 20 years. Why she had to go so miserably... So much to ask, so much to say."
Tears soaked her words. The formal speech melted into casual intimacy, like talking to a long-known nephew.
"This is personal now, so drop the formalities. Call me Ayoung Auntie from now on."
"Ayoung... Auntie?"
"Yeah. You're Sara unnie's only son—basically my nephew. Forget Dad's harsh words at the funeral. I'll take responsibility for you in her place."
The shared bond of Shooting Star crumbled the psychological wall between them in seconds. Ayoung truly grieved Sara, projecting that sorrow onto protecting her son.
"You're in the lobby, right? Stay put. Auntie's grabbing the car and coming now. Live with me from tonight. Got it?"
"Ah... Yes. Thank you. So much..."
Dazed, he nodded repeatedly. From street-sleeper crisis to the safest fortress: an S-grade hero's daughter's luxury home.
But wait...
A chill of wrongness prickled his spine amid her sweet, coaxing tone. His eyes flickered.
Auntie claiming guardianship. Beautiful older woman. Orphaned boy moving into her house.
This sticky cliché. In a hero world...
Ah... this fucked-up world. It's an eroge.
"Hang on, don't hang up. Throwing on clothes, grabbing keys. Ah, gotta dry this wet hair..."
Before disconnecting, her hurried sounds—rushing from the bathroom—echoed vividly.
Click. Door opening.
Thud! Something dull hit.
"Ow...! Ah, that hurts..."
Wet skin slapping, followed by a lewd, sticky moan that pierced his eardrum. Obviously a clumsy bump into the doorframe or furniture.
But that instant's breath dripped with such eroticism, it defied innocence.
Beep. Call ended.
Phone to his ear, mouth agape, he stared blankly.
...No escaping this.
No matter the choice, eroge drama or corruption awaited. He shivered, feeling the genre's chains acutely.
What if he'd called Detective Park instead?
Nosy, kind Park would've invited him home, not the station. Met by Park lookalike kids and his devoted, beautiful wife. Warm meals and excessive kindness for the pitiful orphan.
At night... the fallen protagonist with the Hypnosis App would hear demonic whispers. Ravaging the benefactor's wife, shattering a happy home—pure NTR trash route. The original's spicy flavor? 100% that way.
Fuck... lucky I picked Ayoung Auntie. Can't handle betraying a good samaritan's family. My mentality'd break...
Her auntie route might veer degenerate too, but better than ruining innocents. He comforted himself.
"Take your time, Auntie."
He blurted to the dead line, clearing his throat. Pocketed the phone.
Decision made. Path to survival open. Cleanup and bed sorted.
He cradled Mom's urn tight, slung the 15-million-won bag over his shoulder, and crossed the empty lobby.
Auto-doors parted; cool night air brushed his cheek. He headed to the funeral entrance, outdoor lot where Ayoung would arrive.
Late night blanketed the outskirts spot—city noise distant, silence oppressively still. Under yellow streetlamps, his mourning-clad figure with urn cast a long asphalt shadow.
"Yawwwn..."
Tension eased; fatigue hit hard. He yawned hugely, kicking a roadside pebble.
Shelter secured, fortune hugged—no wonder complacency crept in. And he realized his peril too late.
He knew this was a hero-villain eroge world. Yet here he was, fat stacks alone outside.
Shhh...
In the parking lot shadows beyond lamplight, a pair of greedy red eyes licked his back hungrily.
This remote funeral hall, visited by S-grade Rapid Star and name-brand heroes? Undercity lowlife villains and thugs already buzzed with the tip—info was cash.
The hidden predator stifled ragged breaths, wetting its lips.
Money stench. Sweeter, stronger than rotting corpse.
Bigshots' condolence pile? Unimaginable—thousands, maybe tens of millions.
And now? Heroes gone. Entrance unguarded. Just one fat, dull, unawakened normie host—yawning defenseless with a bulging check bag.
A cruel, vile grin split the villain's face. Easy prey. Snap the pig's neck, snag the bag, vanish into dark.
Crackle, zzt-zzt. Blue static sparked in the gloom, electricity coiling at the ability user's fingertips.
The instant he relaxed with cash and shield... death's footsteps approached unnoticed. Ha Ohu just craned his neck, peering down the road for Ayoung's car.