Chapter 436: Prelude to the Final Chapter – Kim Hyun-sae
Chapter 436: Prelude to the Final Chapter – Kim Hyun-sae
“You’ve brought me another article like this?”
The Bald Editor-in-Chief glared at my manuscript and began his interrogation.
“Is there a problem?”
I knew exactly what the problem was, but I wasn’t about to admit fault so easily.
“I ask you every time: do you honestly think the readers will want to read this?”
The Bald Editor-in-Chief shoved the manuscript back toward me.
At the very top of the printed A4 sheet was the title of this piece:
‘The Management Bureau’s Current Personnel Procedures: Prioritizing Popularity Over Performance. Is This Sustainable?’
It was a social critique, a direct jab at the current system of the Management Bureau.
I had handled everything myself—from the research and interviews to the final structure—so I knew the contents inside and out.
“The rest of the articles are all the same old fluff anyway. Slipping one of these in shouldn’t be a big deal.”
After all, the magazine was filled with nothing but who was dating whom, so-and-so’s latest fashion choices, or how incredible someone’s physique looked.
It was low-grade trash, the kind of tabloid filler no one would even notice if it disappeared piece by piece.
“That ‘same old fluff’ is exactly what the readers want.”
“Then I suppose we should just tell them to go read those tabloids like the old Weekly Hero, the ones filled with fake news.”
I was being biting, mocking both the defunct Weekly Hero and our current publication, Weekly Hero.
At my sarcasm, the Editor-in-Chief let out a long sigh.
“…Look here, Reporter Kim Hyun-sae.”
“Yes?”
“How long has it been since you started working here?”
“Thirteen years. I’ve been here since the day the company was founded.”
“And I’ve been here for ten.”
He sighed again, staring at me intently before speaking.
“How much longer do you plan on remaining a low-level reporter?”
“…”
His words were no longer a rebuke for bringing in a manuscript that didn’t fit the current Weekly Hero. They were heading in a different direction.
“I know what you’re trying to say. You’re lamenting how we ended up like this.”
I wanted to open my mouth and argue, but the words wouldn’t come. What I wanted to say was different, yet the sentiment wasn’t far off, so I played along.
“…It’s a bit awkward to say it myself, but I believe our newspaper played at least a small part in improving the lives of Heroes and pushing the Management Bureau in the right direction.”
I didn’t think those were empty words.
In the past, we had shone a spotlight on Heroes who were undervalued by the Bureau’s system, ensuring they received the recognition their achievements deserved. We had exposed the Bureau’s blunders, forcing them to implement better policies.
In our own way, I believed we had fulfilled the proper function of the press.
“But it’s different now. To be honest, I’m starting to wonder how we’re any different from entertainment reporters.”
Editorials on Hero achievements or Bureau administration, reports on the flow of war and new technologies, dispatches from the front lines as war correspondents…
That was the vision our weekly magazine had when it was founded.
But now, instead of seeking out those stories, the junior reporters are too busy chasing the coattails of popular Heroes.
‘Successful stakeout: Secret romance between beautiful Esper and Martial Artist in his thirties caught on film.’
How very dignified.
And I don’t even know what goes through the heads of those who don’t even bother with field reporting, instead just scouring the internet to write articles about how a Hero’s outfit is provocative, how the color scheme is nice, how it accentuates their figure, or how their muscles pop.
If they’re going to write that kind of garbage, why did they even bother buying cameras worth thousands of dollars? It’s not like they’re actually going out to take the photos themselves.
The frustration I had kept buried in my heart began to flare up at the Editor-in-Chief’s single comment.
“I know. Who wouldn’t? I’m someone who was moved by the Weekly Hero of that era and changed careers because of it.”
The Editor-in-Chief spoke with a sigh, placing his hand on the article I had pushed toward him.
“But what can we do? The readers want to see the glamorous lives of Heroes rather than that kind of news. Besides, unlike the past, society has stabilized. It’s hard to fill the pages with only those kinds of stories.”
The article that had been rejected once was pulled back into the Editor-in-Chief’s hands.
“…I’ll try to get this one in, using my discretion. If it’s just one or two, no one will complain.”
And so, the article I had poured my heart into for months was placed alongside the others—right next to a piece I had lazily scribbled together while surfing the web yesterday.
Anger surged within me, but…
“Understood.”
I gritted my teeth, hiding my fury as I bowed my head.
Even though I had snapped at him out of frustration, I knew it was thanks to the Editor-in-Chief that the social affairs section of Weekly Hero was even being maintained at all.
However, just as I was about to leave before my resentment toward a man satisfied with such a meager compromise could leak out…
“…As I said before, why don’t you consider leaving the field? There’s a limit to what one person can do alone…”
The Editor-in-Chief continued, but I cut him off.
“Excuse me.”
I walked out of the room.
I knew it was rude. But I had to be this blunt for my resolve to be understood.
It was a suggestion I had heard many times—to leave the field. My behavior was meant to signal that I would never accept it.
Click.
As the door closed behind me, I stepped out into the hallway.
That ended sooner than I thought.
With that thought, I made my way toward the breakroom.
I had been prepared for a massive row over whether to publish the piece or not, but it had passed surprisingly easily.
So, what should the next article be?
I grabbed a canned coffee from the vending machine and was heading back to the office when a voice caught my attention.
“What you are seeing now is Detroit, which only twelve hours ago was a scene of explosions, flames, and smoke.”
The voice drew my gaze to the TV hanging in the breakroom. It was a live news broadcast.
With the Management Bureau Defense Force cordoning off the area in the background, a reporter was delivering a live update.
“Although a significant amount of time has passed since the explosions ceased, the Defense Force has yet to make any official announcement regarding the situation, appearing preoccupied with maintaining control…”
The reporter was trying to maintain a serious tone, but then…
“Let go of me! This is an attack on the press!”
Behind the camera, a loud commotion completely unrelated to the report began to be picked up by the microphone and lens.
Four thugs were being dragged away by Defense Force members, one of them still clutching a camera. They continued to shout and rant.
Seeing that, my interest in the news vanished instantly, and I hurried out of the breakroom.
I knew exactly what was happening. They were likely rounding up amateurs who had ignored the reporting guidelines set by the Management Bureau.
It meant there were four idiots willing to risk endangering the world just to snag a scoop.
The quality of war correspondents has really gone down the drain.
Back when I was active in the field, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of such a thing. I had experienced firsthand what kind of trouble a single photo or a short ten-second video could cause if things went wrong.
I had seen people die because one stupid reporter took a photo with a telephoto lens from outside the restricted zone. I had seen a massacre occur when a sealed entity transferred its Main Body through a video recording.
That’s why, no matter how much you want a scoop, the Bureau’s reporting guidelines must be followed to the letter.
Kids these days…
Tsk.
I clicked my tongue.
At the same time, I surprised myself.
…Am I getting old?
To think I’d have thoughts like that.
I was closer to forty than fifty. I still thought of myself as young.
As my thoughts reached that point, I wondered if I really should consider the Editor-in-Chief’s suggestion to leave the field.
Gulp.
But that thought was washed down into my stomach by the sweet canned coffee filling my empty gut.
The Editor-in-Chief was right. There is a limit to what a single field reporter can achieve. If I wanted to change Weekly Hero, I should climb the ladder and wield greater authority.
If I truly wanted to change the magazine, that would be the right path.
However…
Thud.
Arriving at the office, I kicked my chair back and turned on my computer. I began to look through the various tips that had come in via email.
‘Reporting illegal acts by the Management Bureau.’
‘I have some information regarding Black Marauder.’
‘Reporter Kim Hyun-sae, who criticizes the Heroes sacrificing themselves for the world, should wake up!’
My eyes read the tips, but I didn't give the words my heart as I continued my internal monologue.
In truth, I didn't care if Weekly Hero was slowly rotting away.
I just wanted to fight against the world.
The reason I stayed at Weekly Hero was simply because they were still publishing my articles. If the day ever came when my work was rejected, I would leave that very day and find another outlet.
It would be a lie to say, ‘I don’t care if my writing gets no attention,’ but if even one person reads my article and looks at the world more critically, that’s enough.
The important thing here is the perspective of ‘my article.’
Suppose I got promoted, things went well, and Weekly Hero returned to its former glory. People would then sharpen their gaze toward the world as if they had read my articles.
But those wouldn't be the emotions they felt from reading my work, would they? It would be the emotions they felt from reading something written by someone else in a magazine I had changed.
I don’t want to change the world.
I just want to shout at it.
Like my middle school friend, whose name I can’t even remember now.
Like the friend I betrayed because I was young.
Thirty years ago. When everything changed.
Like the friend who became an Awakened and shouted at the world, not even caring for himself, enduring countless insults.
He probably doesn't even think of me as a friend anymore. No, just as I have forgotten his face and name, he has likely forgotten me too. There’s no way he’d still remember a friend who betrayed him, swept up in the atmosphere of the time.
I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I tried to look for him later, but society was so chaotic that simple personal records had long since become a mess.
However, I remember his actions.
He was someone who could have escaped the persecution faced by the current Heroes—then called the Awakened—because his original appearance and his transformed state were completely different.
Yet, he chose to reveal himself and roared at the world.
Because I couldn't forget that, I mimic his actions.
Perhaps that was why I accepted the interview with Black Marauder.
To be honest, what Black Marauder said was a mess.
The weak cannot protect the world, so they must become strong.
Then how does one become strong?
‘Trials.
Absolute trials that make you vomit blood, crawl on the ground, and bury you in tears.
By undergoing trials, a Hero becomes strong and gains power.
However, modern society lacks them.
So, I intend to become that trial.’
Coolly speaking, that was nothing more than the ravings of a madman, and as the one who edited and published it, I didn't agree with him either.
However, there was a desperate appeal contained within those words. A desperate plea that things could not continue like this.
Even if the content was wrong and the logic didn't hold up, those words contained an appeal to the world.
So, knowing the content was flawed, I published the article anyway.
Because of that, I was put on the Management Bureau’s blacklist and had my office searched once, among other things, but I don’t regret my actions.
Hmm.
Nothing useful.
I looked through all the tips that had come in today, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy.
…Should I go pound the pavement?
Just as I was about to head out, wondering if I should hunker down at a Bureau branch to find a story…
“Reporter Kim! Is Reporter Kim Hyun-sae here?!”
The Editor-in-Chief’s voice boomed through the office amidst a sudden commotion.
“What is it?”
I stood up from my seat and looked at him.
“Black Marauder.”
“Pardon?”
The incomprehensible name came out of the Editor-in-Chief’s mouth, and I asked back with a dazed voice.
“Black Marauder is here! Reporter Kim, he says he has something to say to you!”
As I stood there stunned, my brain trying to process his words…
“This is a breaking news update. The Management Bureau has just issued Defcon 2. Detailed information has not yet been released, but we will update you as soon as more information becomes available…”
The 24-hour news broadcast that always played in the office began to blurt out grave news as well.
I had a gut feeling. Something had begun to move.