The Savior Returns
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. A square room with cement walls that hadn’t even been properly plastered. Though the space itself was fairly large, the furniture was sparse—just a desk, a chair, and a few bare light bulbs—giving the interior a desolate, empty feel. There weren’t even any windows, and the air inside felt thick and stifling with dust. It was the kind of room where spending even a single day would probably shave years off your lungs. Whose room was this, and why was she lying here?
“Ah, you’re awake?”
Just as she was trying to gather her scattered thoughts and make sense of the situation, someone spoke to her. The moment she heard that voice, all her memories came rushing back. Layla jerked upright in shock and whipped her head toward the sound.
“Sorry, just give me a minute. I’m almost done.”
In contrast to her panic, the man didn’t even glance her way. He sat with his back to her, completely absorbed in whatever he was doing at the desk. It was Freddy.
“There, finished.”
A moment later, he turned around with a bright smile. As he moved aside, Layla’s eyes fell on the desk. Sitting there was a small picture frame, no bigger than the palm of her hand. Inside it was a lock of hair in a very familiar color.
“……”
Without thinking, Layla reached up and ran her fingers through her own hair. The carefully styled hair she’d worn for the stage was now a complete mess. As she smoothed it down, her fingertips brushed against a spot where the strands had been roughly cut short.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Freddy stroked the hair inside the frame with a dreamy, almost reverent expression.
“To think you’d give me a gift like this. You really are the best star.”
He slowly rose from his seat. His steps were sluggish at first, but then he suddenly sped up. Before Layla could react, he grabbed her chin roughly and forced her face upward.
“So beautiful. Your hair, your nails, your teeth, your eyes…”
Years ago, the first time he’d seen her on TV, Freddy had fallen for her at first sight. Ever since, he’d always thought the same thing: he wanted to meet her in person. He wanted to have everything that was hers.
“You’re mine. Because I’m your fan.”
With a brutal grip on her chin, Freddy slowly leaned in, bringing his lips toward hers. Layla’s eyes filled with terror. She thrashed desperately, but his hold was unbreakable. It was a living nightmare. Why was this happening to her again?
Please… someone help me!
Just like that day. Trapped in a situation where no one could save her, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed with everything she had.
“Listening to this bullshit is giving me a headache. Seriously.”
At the same time, a thunderous crash echoed through the room. One of the cement walls exploded inward, and blinding sunlight poured in alongside a figure who stepped through the wreckage.
“Took me a while to find this place, you little shit.”
Who was this? Long hair that reached the nape of his neck. At first glance, he looked almost feminine—delicate features, faint traces of makeup, and colorful nail art on every finger. The stranger sauntered in with a cocky gait and an even cockier tone.
“……”
Maybe it was the situation, but everything about him felt strangely familiar. Almost like the man who had saved her ten years ago.
“Who the hell are you?!”
While Layla was still trying to process everything through tear-filled eyes, Freddy—furious at being interrupted—shouted at the intruder. Before she could even register what happened, Freddy was sent flying across the room and slammed into the opposite wall.
“Who do you think you’re yelling at? Show some respect in front of your senior.”
The stranger’s figure vanished. When Layla spotted him again, he already had Freddy pinned face-first against the wall, one foot pressing down on the back of his head.
“I did some digging. Someone trashed Freddy Dog’s place recently, and this building’s been his old hideout for years. That was you, wasn’t it? The one who took out Freddy Dog.”
He ground his heel into Freddy’s face like he was stubbing out a cigarette.
“I don’t know who you are and I don’t care, but you’ll pay for messing with an organization under our direct control.”
That punishment would come from Pride himself. Finding out about Freddy Dog’s disappearance had only been a side effect of tracking this guy down. Right now, he had more important things to do.
“Who gave you permission to ruin the concert, huh?! Answer me!”
He drove his foot deeper into the wall, crushing Freddy further. Still not satisfied, he slammed him against the concrete again.
“Do you have any idea how much our lady was looking forward to this performance? And you had to go and screw it up?”
Even the lady had been scheduled to meet Layla before the show. The underworld could cover up the kidnapping if they moved fast enough, but at the very least, she would find out that Layla had been taken.
“Our lady’s got a soft heart and cries easily! What if she starts crying?! No, she definitely will cry, you bastard! You made our lady cry?!”
He kept stomping Freddy into the wall over and over. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Layla. Yes, it had been exactly like this back then too. Someone had suddenly appeared and beaten Freddy into the ground without mercy, again and again, until his rage was spent.
“Haa, shit. My shoes got dirty for nothing.”
This was why he hated getting worked up. Once his temper flared, he lost all sense of reason. Now his shoes were covered in that ugly bastard’s blood. How was he supposed to wear them now?
Looking down at Freddy’s face smashed into the wall like some grotesque piece of modern art, the man sighed and kicked off his bloodstained shoes.
“These were expensive, too. Whatever. You can have them.”
The moment those shoes hit Freddy’s body, something changed. The fingers of the man Layla had thought was unconscious twitched. Cracks spiderwebbed across the cement wall where Freddy’s face had been buried, and the entire section collapsed in a shower of debris.
“You son of a bitch!!!”
Freddy’s roar shook the room. An enormous surge of mana erupted from his body, and compressed fire bullets spiraled in his palms, whipping into a whirlwind.
“What? You’re a professional?”
Mages and martial artists who studied their craft and drew stars within their bodies were generally divided into five stages. One-star and two-star were beginners who had just learned to handle mana and were building the foundation of their studies. Three-star and four-star were intermediates who could finally call themselves mages or martial artists. Five-star and above were experts who had established their own path. Eight-star were superhumans who had reached the pinnacle of humanity. And beyond that—those who had broken through the wall of humanity itself and shattered the limits of the stars—were the Absolute Beings.
A five-star mage or higher was on the level of a Benedict Academy professor and was considered a highly valued asset no matter where they went on the continent. The flames flickering in Freddy’s bloodied palm—orange and yellow with streaks of white—were clearly high-level magic only an expert could wield. The heat was so intense it had to be his full power, fueled by rage so blinding he’d even forgotten Layla was an ordinary person standing right there.
“But you only just reached five-star, didn’t you? You were so pathetic I didn’t even realize you were an expert until now!”
Still, it wasn’t nearly enough to make the stranger feel threatened. Before Layla could even struggle to breathe in the rapidly rising temperature, he stepped in front of her, blocking the heat with his own mana. Then he looked at the incoming fire bullets and grinned.
“You’re really dead now.”
He should’ve just stayed quietly pinned to the wall and waited for Pride to deal with him. Instead, he’d gone and dug his own grave.
“Fair warning—close your eyes from now on. Things are about to get messy.”
The scene so far had already been something no one under nineteen should watch. What exactly was he planning to do that required an extra warning? Clearly speaking to her, the man’s words made Layla squeeze her eyes shut.
“Unlike some people, you actually listen.”
He glanced at her and nodded in satisfaction.
“Aaaaargh!”
A few seconds later, the chaos died down. Hearing the screams, Layla cautiously opened her eyes and looked ahead.
“So, which arm attacked me?”
The room was scorched black—desk, chair, everything. In the middle of it all stood the stranger, completely unharmed, casually pinning Freddy to the floor from behind while holding both of his arms.
Crack.
The arms were twisted and torn free. The sight of a living person’s limbs being ripped from their body was so shocking that everything else that had happened was instantly forgotten. The stranger tossed the severed arms aside, kicked the screaming, bleeding Freddy, then glanced down at his own clothes and let out a long sigh.
“Guess I need new clothes. Ugh, what the—there’s blood under my nails too. I just got them done.”
The peaceful complaint was completely at odds with the situation. He turned his head and tilted it at Layla’s pale, frozen face.
“I don’t think I told you to open your eyes yet.”
“……”
“Hey, you okay? Hello?”
Her body had gone rigid from shock. Even when he walked over and tapped her cheek, she didn’t move.
“Great. Now what?”
He’d told her not to look. Ripping someone’s arms off was pretty common in the underworld, but normal people weren’t used to seeing that sort of thing. Well, what was done was done. Might as well clean up the mess.
Ignoring Freddy’s screams behind him, the man stripped off his bloodstained shirt and draped it over Layla’s head to block her view. Then he channeled mana into her body, gently massaging her rigid muscles until they loosened.
Poof.
Just as her eyes were starting to regain focus, he pulled her head into his chest, covering her eyes completely.
“I’m not a mage, so I can’t mess with your head or anything. Just stay like this until you calm down.”
A handsome face could make any situation seem plausible. Imagine if an ugly, overweight stranger had rescued her by tearing off her kidnapper’s arms and then hugged her while covered in blood. Because he was good-looking, the scene almost felt romantic. If he hadn’t been, it would’ve been no different from what the kidnapper had done.
“You should count yourself lucky. Do you know how many girls would kill to be held in my arms even once?”
Who in the world would dare say something like that to the continent’s top diva, Layla Ruby? Yet the man sounded completely sincere, his voice full of confidence.
“……”
That confidence, combined with the steady sound of his heartbeat against her ear, was strangely comforting. Little by little, her panic really did begin to fade—just like when she used to clutch the shoe he’d left behind all those years ago.
“Alright, if you’re calm now, let’s get you back so you can finish preparing for the concert.”
Why else had he gone through all this trouble to save her? He’d even hugged her. If she dared say she was too scared to perform after all this, he wouldn’t let it slide.
With that thought, he shot a sharp glare at the back of her head.
“Just a little longer.”
Completely missing the look in his eyes, Layla pressed herself deeper into his embrace.
“If I go now, I’ll make mistakes on stage. So just let me stay like this a bit more. Then I’ll be fine.”
“……”
If she said it like that, how was he supposed to pull away?
I didn’t want this much plausibility in the scene.
Behind them, the armless kidnapper continued to scream in agony. The handsome man who had defeated him and saved the woman now held her tightly in his arms. It was like a page straight out of a romance novel. All the stranger wanted was for this annoying moment to end so the woman could return to where she belonged as quickly as possible.