Blessings to the New Representative
"Blessings to the new Area 7 representative who will carry on your role."
"What?" Bangeoki, her stomach wrapped tightly in bandages, looked puzzled at my words. (Since her real name and hero name were the same, I decided to just call her Bangeoki.) She probably realized that "the new Area 7 representative" referred to herself, but the mention of "your role" must have thrown her off because Sevens wasn't there. Or maybe it was because the superpowered healer who had come to treat her had just left the room, and I had blurted this out with no context whatsoever.
"More importantly, who are you..."
"You'll hear the details from Sevens. I'm leaving."
"What!?"
"Let's go, Mari."
The moment the words left my mouth, Mari flung the door open as if she couldn't wait to get out of there. It felt rude to treat someone who was about to become a district representative this way, but considering our first meeting had been her unconscious from self-inflicted wounds, it wasn't entirely incomprehensible.
"No, seriously, who are yo—"
Thud. The door shut behind us, cutting off the rest of her words. She'd mentioned spending a lot on facility upgrades last time, and the soundproofing really was impressive.
"But... is it really okay for us to just leave like this?"
"It's fine, it's fine. Besides, she's got a selection match to prepare for. Keeping her here any longer would be awkward, wouldn't it?"
It was currently 12:57—essentially 1 p.m. Having her sit around an hour before the selection match was odd, but I couldn't exactly waste her time explaining my own situation. I needed to get home and watch the hero selection broadcast anyway. It was a shame I couldn't see it live, but if I went in person I'd have to leave early to avoid being recognized, which would defeat the purpose of arriving early in the first place.
"Oh, right. We don't have a TV at home, do we? Let's go to the office."
"There's a TV in the office? Wait, we even have an office!?"
"Mari. I'm the Area 4 representative hero~ You don't seriously think I wouldn't have a personal office~?"
"...Can I be honest?"
"No. I think it'll hurt my feelings."
I'd only visited my office on the first day. Her reaction was perfectly normal. As for how I knew there was a TV, every room in the Area 4 Association—including personal offices—was required to have at least one television as a matter of policy. It seemed like an excessive budget allocation, but with so few heroes in Area 4, the savings elsewhere were substantial. There had also been an incident where a villain hacked every electronic device in the building to make a declaration of war, and because almost no one had been inside at the time, it went unnoticed. And really, if the Hero Association chairman himself worked out of Area 4, who was going to complain? So naturally, my office should have a TV. If it didn't, I could always steal Ganema's or watch with him.
Whoosh. I yanked the car door open with force, and it swung wide. The memory of struggling and rattling it that one time must have left a deep impression, because I now always pulled with extra strength. Opening the door itself was no longer a problem. The real issue was the car's height—I practically had to jump every time I got in.
"Seatbelt on?"
"Do I really need one?"
"Then don't bother."
Vrrrrm. Hmm. Even at 150 km/h earlier, the engine hadn't sounded quite this loud.
"Actually, yeah. I think I do need it."
We arrived in Area 3 in the blink of an eye. I hadn't seen any structure marking the boundary between Areas 5 and 3, but I could roughly tell. Traveling at 190 km/h with occasional stops, we'd covered the distance in about an hour and a half, which put us near the edge of Area 3. Definitely Area 3.
Mari was an ordinary citizen. Even if the roads were perfectly straight and empty, a crash at this speed would leave her in the front seat with serious injuries. Yet she showed no sign of slowing down or fear. I was the one who wouldn't die, so why did she drive like she was immortal too? She should've been a racer or a chauffeur instead of a manager—
Screeeech—!
Scratch that. She should've been a racer, not a chauffeur.
2:29 p.m. At this speed, we could skip the boring first thirty minutes and catch the live broadcast. The oath and introductions would take thirty minutes, followed by the structure battle, street battle, and finally the one-on-one blood duel in the arena. Each event lasted forty minutes with twenty-minute breaks in between, for a total of three hours. Of course, they wouldn't fight nonstop for the full forty minutes, but as I'd said before, this was all a kind of show. They paced themselves, trading blows at a measured intensity. Even so, it was exciting enough that I had no complaints. I understood why Mari wanted to get there quickly, but...
"Mari, we're almost there. You can slow down now. You're driving faster than when a villain shows up..."
Mari eased off the accelerator at my words. She kept slowing until the car finally came to a stop. The clock read 2:30 p.m.
The hero selection match was popular—far more so than an ordinary holiday. Most restaurants and shops closed for the day, and people stayed home. But there were others who became active precisely because of that.
...
......
"...How many?"
"Five that I can see. Five vehicles as well."
Villains who usually stayed hidden sometimes appeared on days like this. Their thinking was simple: with no one around except restaurants, reports would be slow even if they committed crimes. They could loot everything and escape before any heroes arrived. The representative hero was at the central branch, so only the remaining heroes would be left. Someone on my level would need to show up to stop them, and so on. These were the types who were too afraid to act normally but figured today was their chance—appearing only on days like this.
"Mari. Hand me the lighter."
"What!? Why would you look for that on me!?"
"You smoke."
"That was when I was younger! I don't anymore!"
Wasn't it the opposite—you weren't supposed to smoke as a kid, but as an adult it was fine? Still, if she didn't smoke now, that was good.
"Agh, I was hoping to get some adrenaline going before the fight."
From the last fight, I'd noticed my sense of pain had almost completely returned. It used to take a long time to adapt to pain, but with this many people and this scale, I probably wouldn't get that time. I'd planned to adapt using the most painful burning sensation first, but without a lighter, I'd just have to manage.
I shrugged off my coat and rolled up my sleeves. I tucked my shirt back into my pants and tightened my belt another notch.
"No brass knuckles, I take it?"
"You really think I'd have something like that?"
"I figured you'd at least carry some kind of self-defense item."
"I'm not even a superpowered person. How am I supposed to protect myself with just brass knuckles..."
Thud. Thud. I clenched my fists and struck my shoulders and thighs to pump adrenaline. I'd hit pretty hard, but it wasn't having much effect. Scratching my arms with my nails would probably release adrenaline faster, but I wanted to minimize Regeneration use if possible. Normally I'd just charge in, but right now my body was in this state—if I regenerated, I'd stay like this even longer, so I was being careful. Of course, I could just ignore those guys and keep going, but then the villains would resume their crimes after I left. Some other citizen would get hurt, and I'd be passing the damage onto them through my own incompetence. That wasn't fitting for a hero like me.
"Then I'll be right back."
"Okay~"
Thud. Just as Mari said, there were five cars in front, but more people had gotten out—nine in total. Behind them were three more cars and seventeen people. The citizens who'd been visible on the street earlier had already disappeared, so I hadn't miscounted.
Crack. Crack. I loosened up my body.
Crack-crack. I clenched my fists tight.
Huuu. Haa. I took a deep breath.
My preparations weren't perfect. But that wasn't a reason not to start.
"Get him! Even if he's a superpowered person, it's just one brat!"
"Uwaaaah!"
They didn't even wait. A wooden club flew straight at me without spinning. It could be telekinesis, straight-line movement, or the wood itself being the ability. But with so many opponents, there was no way to tell who had done it.
Thud. I caught one of the clubs flying toward me. Pain flared as it scraped across my palm, but I didn't let go.
Whack. Whack. I swung the heavy club in my hand and knocked the others aside. Despite the speed, the weight felt like it was being held by superpowers. Yet even with that, the fact that I'd taken it from someone using superpowers—someone who should have had strength beyond a child's—felt strange.
"They're Scarecrows."
With the rise of superpowers, the labor value of superpowered individuals had also inflated. No matter how strange their ability, a superpowered person's basic physical capabilities were on a completely different level from ordinary people. That was why superpowered workers commanded different wages. But if a single superpowered person made multiple ordinary people look like they were using powers, those ordinary people's wages would match a superpowered person's. Scarecrows. That was the nickname that had emerged for them. One powerful superpowered individual could mimic an entire group. Even when using ordinary people, the cost was the same as hiring actual superpowered workers—a miraculous loophole. These shortcuts were more common in regions where the value gap between superpowered people and ordinary citizens was large. In Area 4, where ordinary people were more valuable than superpowered ones, such practices had mostly disappeared. For the same reason, the population could be maintained even in high-crime areas.
As the number of Scarecrows surged, the Hero Association had implemented mandatory superpower registration to catch them. There had been opposition, but the increase in labor costs outweighed the gains in production efficiency, accelerating inflation. It was a natural consequence of artificially inflating wages through loopholes, and if the situation had continued, experts said the currency would have needed a new unit after the "won." Most Scarecrows had vanished, and the few remaining ones were mostly in criminal fields that didn't require Association registration anyway.
The presence of Scarecrows here meant someone had deliberately hired and stationed them. If it were their own organization acting independently, there'd be no need for this kind of deception. So this was subcontracted work. And the fact that they were blocking this road on the day and at the exact time of the selection match could only mean one thing.
I looked at them and asked,
"Who sent you?"