2. New Generation Hero, Spark
2. New Generation Hero, Spark
I opened my eyes and found myself in a comic book world.
...If I said that, it would sound like the cliché opening of a third-rate novel, but that was exactly what happened to me.
The moment I turned the first page of the special comic issue I received as the grand prize for winning the Imagine Comics 100th-anniversary quiz show, my body was sucked into the book as if it were a lie. When I came to my senses, I was standing in the middle of a musty back alley in 'The City,' the setting of the original work.
It was the fictional, massive metropolis modeled after New York, that demon's den where villains and heroes run around smashing things up every other day.
Fortunately, the grand prize from Imagine Comics was quite thorough.
I had been given a perfect identity and background.
The memories of this life were all in my head, too.
I was Kang Jin-woo, a Korean-American young man who inherited the laundry shop that my parents, who immigrated in the 1980s with the American Dream, had built up their entire lives, and I was running it diligently after they passed away.
The shop's name was [Kang's Laundry].
It was an old but tidy shop that handled everything from laundry and repairs to my specialty, custom tailoring.
I quite liked this ordinary, small-town life.
Although I had awakened an ability that allowed me to imbue the characteristics of designs and materials I perfectly envisioned in my head into real fabric, I had absolutely no intention of making a fortune or becoming famous by making hero costumes.
'A regular person with zero combat ability like me will get fucked if I get involved with superhumans.'
Getting caught between superhumans would only result in a shrimp getting crushed in a whale fight.
I was just planning to live my life feeling a small sense of pride by sharply ironing the suits of the neighborhood folks who visited my shop and mending their torn clothes.
That is, if it weren't for that damn shootout tonight.
Tatatatatatang-!
"Aaaargh!"
"Shoot 'em all, you bastards!"
The heavy sound of rifles, which easily drowned out the noise of the washing machines, rang through the alley.
I put down the shirt I was ironing and let out a deep sigh.
"Ah, those crazy bastards from the Cassandra Family, seriously."
Gangs shooting at each other was a common occurrence in a hero world where law enforcement was weak.
Even then, there seemed to be an implicit agreement not to use anything beyond automatic rifles, so no heavier weapons were flying around, but it didn't matter since getting hit once meant death anyway.
"Guess I'm working late tonight."
My life wasn't cheap enough to wander out into the open where bullets were flying without a second thought.
The front window of the shop was made of bulletproof glass, so... I'd just stay here.
Just as I sat back down in front of the sewing machine, thinking I'd get some work done until the situation calmed down.
Kwang-!
The laundry shop door swung open violently, and someone collapsed onto the floor.
"Huk, hu-huk......."
A woman wearing a tattered skate suit that looked like it had zero defensive capabilities, with a crude mask pulled over her face.
Bright red blood was dripping from her right side, staining the clean tile floor of the laundry shop.
"......Spark?"
"Haha, hello..."
"So-p... no, Spark, what are you doing here...?"
I almost blurted out her name from the original work.
Her name was Spark, and her real name was Sophia Rodriguez.
She was a next-generation hero pushed by Imagine Comics after the world reboot, a superhuman who manipulated static electricity.
She wasn't my absolute favorite, but she was a character I was quite fond of.
"Ah, excuse me... I'm sorry, but could you hide me for a second... please, ugh!"
She groaned in pain and clutched her stomach.
I could feel rough footsteps approaching the laundry shop along with the light of flashlights outside the window.
I moved reflexively.
"Get under the counter for now. Don't make a sound."
After shoving her into the corner, I quickly grabbed a mop and scrubbed the bloodstains off the floor.
As soon as I threw the bloody mop deep into the laundry basket, three gang members with menacing expressions kicked the door open and entered.
I knew all three of them.
If you live in this neighborhood for about 25 years, you get to know everyone, starting with the gangs.
"Hey, Kang! Didn't a bleeding bitch just run by here?!"
A large guy with tattoos shouted, pointing the muzzle of his submachine gun at me.
I deliberately puffed out steam from the iron with a bored expression.
Chi-i-ik-!
"I was just about to close up and hide because of the gunfire outside, so why would anyone come in? If someone had, I would've called the police before you guys."
I pointed to a cleaned suit and added.
"More importantly, Tommy. Your boss's suit you dropped off is done. You taking it today?"
"...Is it here right now?"
The gang member called Tommy hesitated and lowered his gun, looking awkward.
"Yes. You said a button fell off and it was torn, so I fixed it up nicely."
"Did you put the bulletproof pads in?"
"Of course. Oh, you already paid, so you can just take the clothes and go."
"We're in the middle of a fight, so I can't take it. I'll tell the boss, and he'll send someone tomorrow."
"That works too."
In this back alley, my laundry shop was a kind of sanctuary.
I was an expert who could perfectly restore an expensive Italian suit for a gang boss without a single bloodstain, and I didn't report to the police or heroes first.
Just receive the clothes, do the job, get paid, and that's it.
Because of that, I had quite a few gang and mafia members among my customers.
Of course, it wasn't a big loss.
Gangs were obsessed with their image, and surprisingly, they paid well and on time.
"Fuck, fine. Where the hell did that spandex bitch scurry off to like a rat? Let's go!"
The gang members spat out rough curses and moved away.
After confirming that their footsteps had completely disappeared, I locked the door and pulled down the blinds.
"You can come out. They're gone."
"Haa... thank you, boss. I almost died for real."
Spark crawled out from under the counter and sat down, leaning against the wall.
I rummaged through the drawer and took out a first-aid kit.
"If you're not going to the hospital, at least use this for first aid. Looks like you got shot."
"Ah, it's okay. The bullet didn't go in deep. I couldn't breathe for a second, but once I take the bullet out and stop the bleeding, I'll be fine."
She nonchalantly placed her hand on her side.
Through the gap in her torn skate suit, I could see a clear gunshot wound on her healthy, bronze-colored waist.
Even though she had been hit by a rifle round, her superhuman body was so tough that the bullet had stopped about 1 centimeter under her muscular flesh.
"Ugh."
Spark shoved her two fingers into the wound, grimaced, and forcibly pulled the bullet out.
Ting-
The bloody bullet casing rolled onto the tile floor.
I handed her bandages and disinfectant with a disgusted look on my face.
"You're really reckless... just stop the bleeding properly."
"Hehe, sorry. Bleeding all over someone else's business."
As she skillfully wrapped the bandage, the bleeding stopped surprisingly quickly.
'...The recovery power of a superhuman.'
Spark caught her breath for a moment and stood up, swaying.
"I owe you one. I'll get going now."
"Wait a second."
I called her back.
"Yes?"
"I heard you help out the neighborhood folks a lot. One of my regular grandmas said she was saved from a mugging thanks to you and was really grateful. I want to give you a small gift as a thank you for protecting this neighborhood, so wait a moment."
"A gift...?"
Spark widened her eyes behind her mask.
"What are your body measurements?"
"What?! M-measurements? No, why suddenly body measurements......!"
She was startled and covered her body with both arms.
I clicked my tongue and pulled out a measuring tape.
"I'm a tailor. That skate suit of yours is cheap spandex that doesn't even control static electricity and rips at the drop of a hat. You'll end up dead if you keep playing bullet sponge in that. I'll make you a proper bulletproof suit, so call out the numbers."
Perhaps overwhelmed by my firm demeanor as an expert, she opened her mouth in a small, timid voice.
"I'm 67 inches (168 centimeters) tall... and, uh, 37-24-35. My frame is on the thin side, but... the top is a bit, big... so off-the-rack clothes don't fit well......."
Compared to her thin frame, her chest was quite glamorous, a typical trait of Imagine Comics' art style that was reflected here as well.
I inputted the measurements into my head and went straight into the workshop.
'Based on the original costume design, the material will be carbon nanotube fabric with heat and insulation properties. I'll mix in spandex to maximize mobility.'
As I drew the blueprint in my head and put my hands on the cutting shears and sewing machine, my ability activated, and the fabrics in front of me began to take shape as if by magic.
10 minutes later, I came out with a lightweight yet sturdy tactical suit with a matte black base and smooth blue lines.
"Try it on."
Spark, who had gone into the changing room and come back out, stood in front of the mirror, unable to close her mouth.
"Wow, this is insane...! Oh my god, it fits like a second skin but it's not stuffy at all!"
"I made it with lightweight, functional bulletproof fabric. It'll deflect handgun rounds, and even if you get hit by rifle rounds like earlier, it won't penetrate. You'll get some nasty bruises and it'll hurt, though."
"Wow, broken bones or bruises heal after a night's sleep! You're the best, boss!"
She jumped up and down with joy.
Then, suddenly realizing reality, she muttered in a dejected voice.
"But... this looks really expensive, and I don't have the money right now... It's tough enough paying off my student loan interest. I'll definitely pay you back!"
"Forget it. Like I said, it's in exchange for keeping the neighborhood safe. Just don't ruin the clothes. I don't like seeing scratches on my work."
I waved my hand coolly.
It was made using my ability with leftover fabric scraps anyway, so it didn't cost much.
Spark bowed repeatedly, then disappeared like a flash through the back door of the laundry shop.
And the next evening.
As I was about to close the shop shutter and head home, a silhouette appeared, sliding down the wall of the dark alleyway upside down right in front of me.
It was Spark.
She appeared wearing the suit I had made for her yesterday, holding something in her hand.
"Boss! Thank you so much for yesterday!"
She shoved a thick envelope into my arms and flew back up the building.
"What is this- Aaaargh!"
I received the envelope in a daze and was horrified when I checked the contents.
It was filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
It looked like at least ten thousand dollars.
Inside was a sticky note with crooked handwriting.
[I raided the drug deal those gang bastards were having yesterday, beat them all up, and confiscated the deal money! I'll pay for the suit with this! I'll come back for repairs soon!]
"......Crazy, this is drug money. If the Cassandra Family finds out...!"
Just as I was clutching my head and screaming.
Someone opened the door of the laundry shop, which hadn't been closed yet, and walked in.
Jingle-
"Welcome."
"Hey, are you closed? Someone I know told me about you, said there's a master in the back alleys who makes suits that stop bullets and have an amazing fit."
As soon as I heard the rough, gravelly voice, I knew exactly who had walked in.
Military boots, a tactical vest covered in weapons, a t-shirt with a bright red skull printed on the chest, huge muscular arms, and a face full of scars.
"Huk...!"
It was the dark hero who went around slaughtering criminals without mercy— <Mama Butcherer>.
Looking back and forth at the brutal dark hero striding into my laundry shop, I realized one fact painfully.
My quiet, small-town laundry life was completely fucked the moment I got involved with Spark yesterday.