Irrevocable Decisions
April 12, 2020, 7:00 AM. Hero Association Headquarters.
"S-ranks really are on another level..."
Seung-hyung tilted his head this way and that, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror. It was unmistakably different from his A-rank days. Even after days of exhaustion and zero skincare, his skin gleamed flawlessly, not a single blemish in sight. As if it had read his mind about hating beard maintenance—something he'd only trimmed every three days—the stubble had vanished without a trace. His company's coordinator, who used to fuss over his makeup from dawn, had just fitted his outfit and slunk away dejectedly, muttering about losing one of life's joys as she trudged back to the office.
7:00 AM alarm.
His smartwatch chimed, and a news screen popped up simultaneously. Seung-hyung smoothed his hair while tuning in.
"Is it because I skipped that interview?"
On the final day of Cheon Ga-eul's funeral, a reporter had shoved a smartphone in his face at the venue, asking if he'd join the Seoul reclamation. Seung-hyung had politely deflected, saying he'd respond after the rites, but he'd unwittingly scowled, prompting bystanders to chase the reporter off. When he later sought her out for the interview, she'd been bombarded with abuse and vitriol, fleeing on leave. No official channels or media had approached him since.
"What the hell do I do?"
As a hero, he had to join. Seoul's stranded residents were refugees suffering amid monsters and villains. But he didn't want to go to Seoul right now.
"Because of me..."
The place where Cheon Ga-eul died. Even at the mourning's end, guilt clung to him like a shadow.
"Gwanggeom carries this burden for life..."
Mana leaked uncontrollably from Seung-hyung. Never once since hitting A-rank had emotions disrupted his control—yet now, at S-rank, they hit harder. The Executioner had suggested rest and counseling. Seung-hyung agreed it wasn't a bad idea. One hotheaded S-rank hero might scoff at therapy, but PTSD was routine for them now.
"Hoo. Time for some fresh air."
He left his room, wandering the endless corridor. Grabbing a canned coffee from the fridge, he took the long route to the terrace for a stroll.
Shhh—
Cold morning wind tousled his hair on the terrace. The sun was rising, but a chill pierced his side. Deep breaths absorbed ambient mana when a news ticker on the opposite billboard furrowed his brow.
"They're pulling every damn stunt. Seriously."
Seon Ui-cheol's influence was obvious. Seung-hyung felt leashed, tugged from all sides, disgust rising.
"Makes me wanna trash the whole drama."
He'd become an actor for one reason: Cheon Ga-eul's opposite. He'd even snatched the confirmed male lead spot for Last Love. Now she was gone—could he whisper "I love you" to some other woman?
The reporter blabbered on, oblivious.
"......Insane."
A curse slipped out. Archival footage of actresses eyeing Ga-eul's spot looked like sly vixens, souring his mood. He shook his head fiercely.
"Get it together. It's a golden opportunity for them. They're desperate too."
Like how he'd swallowed pride, begging Seon Ui-cheol for Ga-eul's opposite role. A national drama averaging 30% ratings, two episodes left—survive the spotlight, become a megastar.
Glug glug.
"Ah. Should've grabbed another."
The can was empty. Seung-hyung gripped the bottom, sparking mana.
Whoosh.
White flames ignited inside, vaporizing remnants. A self-developed control drill from academy days, still useful at S-rank. Eco-friendly bonus.
"Trash bin... over there."
A can recycler sat by the vending machine. Distance: 20m. He cupped hands like shooting a basketball, focusing mana for a perfect arc—
"Father!"
Seung-hyung leaped, landing at the front gate scuffle. The wheelchair-bound old man, pleading with the guard, lit up and wheeled forward excitedly.
"Aigoo, Hero Lee Seung-hyung! Perfect timing!"
"Fire Fist. Sorry for the early trouble. Uh..."
"You old fool!"
Ga-eul's mother, panting from afar, pried his hands away. She bowed frantically to the guard and Seung-hyung.
"We're so sorry! He's still not right in the head..."
"No, no. I understand. Your grief... I'm the sorry one."
"She's alive! Our Ga-eul's in Seoul!"
The old man shook off his wife's grip with surprising strength, wheeling to Seung-hyung, eyes glinting mad.
"Please, find our girl in Seoul! You promised! Before this old man's death..."
"Aigoo! You fool!"
His wife seized his hands fiercely, spirit breaking his. She whispered in his ear:
"...Ga-eul said keep it secret!"
"But they need to know. If something goes wrong in three days..."
"You'll make it worse...!"
"What was that?"
Seung-hyung approached. S-rank hearing caught whispers crystal-clear.
The dazed old man snapped focused.
"Ah, nothing... Heh heh. This senile fool again. Sorry for the ugly scene, young folks."
Sweating coldly, he bowed to Seung-hyung and the guard. The couple feigned calm, but Seung-hyung saw through: acting.
"Ma'am, sir."
He took their hands.
"Let's go inside somewhere quiet. Tell me everything."
* * *
Same Day, 8:50 AM. Association Briefing Room.
"So you're telling me to announce it and go?"
Yoo Yeong-ho, caught en route to Busan at dawn, shook briefing papers irritably.
"W-what choice do we have? Should I do it?"
Kang So-yeon was near tears. PR team or execs should've handled it, but dawn notice sent them fleeing. It landed with Yeong-ho after passing hands.
He crumpled the papers.
"Fuck, so make me the punching bag? I've eaten shit already—more won't hurt?"
"Reporters outside, Director! Your words, your dignity..."
"Where's that bastard Association Leader?! He took the seat for times like this!"
Yeong-ho growled like he'd devour him. So-yeon teared up, bearing the rage.
"Golfing with the PM—"
Bam!
Yeong-ho's mana-kicked heel embedded in concrete.
"Wha—"
A reporter peeked in cautiously. Yeong-ho roared, demonic-faced:
"Who said enter the green room?! Can't you see we're prepping?!"
"S-sorry!"
Pale, she fled. But murmurs leaked in: