I Became the World's Strongest Father (1)
A place overflowing with dazzling spotlights. In the heart of a colossal stadium in New York—the kind large enough to host the Super Bowl—more than a hundred thousand spectators had packed the stands, roaring their cheers toward the center.
“Take me with you, Arcane!”
“You’re America’s hero!”
White or Black, Southern or Northern—it made no difference. Everyone draped in the Stars and Stripes thrust their cans of beer high, pouring out praise from the middle of that stage. This wasn’t the Super Bowl finals or a halftime show. Five young men and women stood on a platform decorated like a field of stars, waving at the crowd.
Ladies and gentlemen!! You’ve waited long enough! The 2029 World Champions!! Give a massive round of applause for the five heroes who defeated every superhuman on Earth and claimed this year’s title!!
The cheers swelled even louder. Blond white men, Black men with dreadlocks—everyone stared at the stage with tears streaming down their faces, as if to say they could die happy now that they had seen it with their own eyes.
Introducing! Our shield! Our tank! Mr. Rock Hurt!
One by one. Every time the emcee made an introduction, the spotlight swung to a different superhuman. Some wore suits straight out of a sci-fi fantasy. Others dressed like cowboys to symbolize America. One woman had the logo of a globally recognized company plastered boldly across her back.
And then, the last.
As the entire crowd held its breath, the giant screen displayed a single black-haired Asian girl.
She stood roughly 153 centimeters tall. Her face was as beautiful as a doll’s, yet she wore the uniform of a Korean high-school girl straight out of a teen drama.
Silence.
It was so quiet it felt staged. If this were bullying, it would go down in history as the most spectacular ostracism of all time.
I ask you, our hero…
The macho, muscle-bound emcee’s voice cracked with emotion.
Our light. Our ace. Our sun. Because of you, New York achieved a regional title it had never managed once in the last eight years. Because you carried us all the way to the Worlds, the American team reached the quarterfinals for the first time in five years. And!!
At the center of the starlit stage, a silver trophy larger than an average adult began to rise.
Our diva—thanks to you, we have claimed the Worlds championship trophy for the first time in nine years! You are the pride of New York—no, of all America!
Flutter.
In the stands that had been wrapped in silence, something began to wave. As though it had all been rehearsed, the spectators lifted wide boards and started a card section.
Thank you.
We love you.
Our Hana, farewell.
The final message was written in Korean, not English. The girl bathed in the spotlight—a Korean high-schooler in uniform who looked not even twenty—waved to them all.
“Everyone.”
Without a microphone, the voice of one high-school girl spread across the stadium (or rather, what should be called a fan-meeting venue), and all one hundred thousand spectators fell utterly silent.
“Thank you for everything until now. I’m truly grateful. Even without me, I know you’ll all do wonderfully. So… promise me.”
Some had called her a girl. Others, the Fairy of Victory. Still others, the Fucking Korean Killing Machine. This high-school girl spoke softly.
“Let’s meet again at next year’s finals.”
A Korean-born S-class superhuman. At seventeen years of age, the one who had turned the perennial cellar-dwellers New York Tyrants into the 2029 Superhuman World Championship winners.
“I’ll be your enemy, but let’s fight with everything we have in the finals.”
A living legend in this league.
“I’m sorry. I have to return to Korea now.”
The girl who had brought America its first-ever Superhuman World Cup title.
She was leaving the team and heading back to Korea.
…Why?
“Why are you leaving, Hana!”
“Stay our diva!! Please!!”
Everyone screamed. Please stay. Winner’s curse be damned—they’d even support her naturalizing as an American citizen if it meant she would remain on this soil and bring home another World Cup trophy next year.
“I’m sorry, everyone.”
World Champion, seventeen-year-old high-schooler Lee Hana gave a short bow and smiled bitterly.
“I have to go see my dad.”
To talk about superhumans, you have to go all the way back to that day in 1999.
December 25, 1999. The day monsters first appeared in the world. The day Tokyo crumbled, New York was destroyed, and an entire island in Africa vanished in one catastrophic event.
To humanity it seemed like the end of the world Nostradamus had prophesied, yet there was hope.
Superhumans. People who awakened supernatural powers. Beings who could soar through the sky, breathe fire, or lift airplanes with raw strength alone.
Those who awakened as superhumans defeated the monsters appearing across the globe.
For roughly twenty years. After the last monster fell in 2020, humanity finally reclaimed peace from the monsters after two decades.
And then—
—So what do we do now?
The monsters were gone. But the superhumans remained.
The ones strong enough to slay monsters had burned away gloriously like heroes, yet just as humanity had survived, quite a few superhumans had survived too.
Yes. Beings who literally transcended humanity were left behind.
If only the superhumans had lost all their power the moment the monsters disappeared. If nations had possessed the military strength to suppress them. If children born from superhuman couples or superhuman-normal couples hadn’t awakened new powers.
The world might have peacefully entered an “era without abilities.”
But superhumans remained, and their numbers were just large enough that neither nations nor society could oppress them outright. At the same time, they weren’t numerous enough to declare they would conquer the world.
A truly bizarre equilibrium.
Too many to simply purge after the threat was gone, yet too dangerous to leave unchecked—like living bombs that could cause international incidents if they gathered in one place.
How should superhumans be treated?
The world had found peace, but politicians in every country agonized for days and nights.
Treat them too well and their influence might swell until “nation-level superhumans” appeared. Treat them too poorly and they would simply emigrate, saying the country was trash, and be eliminated from the global superhuman competition.
Exclude them completely? Monsters weren’t appearing now, but what if they suddenly returned in 2034?
After endless debate, one idea emerged from somewhere.
—Why don’t we hold a World Cup just for superhumans?
No one knew which country first proposed it. The suggestion that creating an atmosphere of competition and mutual restraint among superhumans would be good quietly gained tacit support from many governments.
Stories spread on the internet, were translated, and swept across the globe. As they exploded through superhuman SNS networks and the world overheated—
—Hey. All of you who think you’re stronger than me, get over here.
The first champion, S-class superhuman S-Man, issued a declaration to the entire planet.
—Let’s find out who the strongest superhuman is. If you don’t show up, I’ll take it as you admitting you’re weaker than me.
A pure, trick-free provocation aimed at the whole world on the single question of “who is the strongest.”
The world was naturally shocked. And it screamed.
Because the action was absurd? No. Because it was perfect.
How should we treat superhumans?
How could we channel their powers away from monsters and toward society or national interest?
What would keep them active in their home countries, satisfy their desire for glory, and prevent them from turning against the state?
Ah. Of course. When a national crisis or something that captures the entire country’s attention arises, nothing works better than sports.
—We will host the Superhuman World Cup!
Bring the superhumans’ battlefield down into the realm of sports. Make them direct their powers not at citizens but at fellow superhumans standing across the same ring. Drive them into a coliseum, slap sponsor logos on their uniforms, and bind them with money and contracts. Ensure they can never turn their violence against governments or civilians. If any do, let society brand them as trash. Then let the superhumans who step out of the ring defeat those societal evils like heroes, so the public cheers them with all their hearts, follows their SNS, and buys their merchandise.
If we mishandle this, we risk the age of superhuman apocalypse. So let us drag their domain into the realm of entertainment.
2021. After roughly a year of preparation, the international competition hosted by the World Superhuman Association finally opened.
—The Superhuman World Championship… begins nowwwww!!!
The entire world stepped into the era of superhuman sports.
And in that era, I…
“Team Leader Lee Dokyung. Please become the coach of our Busan Giants.”
“Teacher Lee Dokyung. We humbly ask that you please consider the Daejeon Eagles…”
“It’s gone crazy.”
I’m working as a coach and manager, not a player.
“These guys have the nerve to try stuffing my daughter onto their teams.”
“The same bastards who wouldn’t even glance at us when we asked for an entry test in Korea…”
“Wasn’t it the same when you first saw your own daughter?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I seem to remember you saying something like that back then. You definitely said you wouldn’t give her any spe—”
Beep.
I cut the call. Not because I was afraid of whatever nonsense the old man was about to spout, but because a new call had come in.
“Dad, where are you?”
I picked up immediately.
“Yeah, kiddo.”
The faint sound of wind came through the receiver.
“…I’m at home, but hold on? You’re not seriously thinking of jumping down from there, are you?”
“……Jump, jumping down? What are you even saying?”
“If you’re coming home, don’t jump out of the plane. Use the airport like a normal person.”
“……The airport’s packed with people and it’s annoying. Hey, Dad. By any chance—”
“Of course.”
I slipped on my coat right away.
“I’ll head out and pick you up at the airport.”