I Want to Fuck a Hero (3)
Even in this "new era" where transcendents had started popping up here and there, their numbers were still drastically fewer than ordinary people. According to Statistics Korea, the ratio was about 1:10. And that was just for kids around 10 years old these days—the older you got, the rarer they became.
But even so, it was impossible for the remaining nine out of ten to live exactly the same daily lives as before.
...Well, some came pretty close. Take a doctor who'd devoted their youth to medicine and finally earned their license, for example. They lived slightly unfair lives too, since a healing-type transcendent could heal wounds in seconds. Luckily, healing-types were so rare that most worked in private clinics, as university professors, or as military doctors—places where transcendents still couldn't easily reach, just like old times. Their salaries hadn't changed much either.
The cashier at the mart was the same. Living the same routine as before.
The schoolteacher was the same. Living the same routine as before.
Here's the thing. What if it wasn't a job like doctor, but one where heroes could completely steal their rice bowl?
Transcendents who effortlessly surpassed average human physical abilities, wielded all sorts of bizarre magic, and even inherited animal traits to truly "transcend" humanity—what happened to jobs where physical prowess determined the cutoff?
A prime example: the police.
Cops became seen as inferior even to low-rank heroes, reduced to manning the CCTV infrastructure that had already been in place. Only those handling patrols, interrogations, and minor complaints were left. A pitiful reality.
Of course, it was a godsend for me right now.
"Haa..."
On a road turned into a mess of rainwater and debris, she checked the dump truck driver trapped by the airbag after she'd ripped off the door. She dry-heaved lightly, then sighed at the paralyzed traffic.
CCTV picks up the incident from citizens: 1 minute.
Contact the nearest hero: 1 minute.
If the hero's free, they arrive within 3 minutes.
Situation resolved. That was all a 20-year-old trainee hero could do.
After that, it was the realm of real adults, not just big-bodied ones.
And a minute had already passed.
"......"
Should I talk to her? Will she think I'm suspicious? If I miss this chance, will another like it come?
When was the last time my face had been in the news? Before I looked like a lunatic, I pulled my umbrella back on and quickly googled "Seo Woojin" on my phone.
It felt like a decade since my last interview. Surprisingly, the most recent hit was from a year ago. Some article plastering a photo of me from my student days—stolen from who knows where—hailing me as Korea's third healing-type transcendent, sucking up with endless praise.
A year ago, I'd have been 19. Already zoning out at school, seriously pondering, "How can I use my power to fuck a hero...?"
The rest were from 7 years ago, 9 years, 10 years. Most from around when I was 10.
Another healing-type had appeared since, along with all sorts of weirdos, burying my name in the noise. Perfect.
They might not recognize my face, but the proof that "this is the guy" remained intact.
I pocketed my phone and cautiously approached her as she tried using her uniform to shield from the rain. My rain-soaked coat felt unnecessarily heavy.
"Um, thanks. For saving me."
"Huh? Oh, no need for thanks. I only did it hoping for academy store credit."
I'd tried easing her guard slowly, but she fired back bluntly. Maybe she was just shy about gratitude from civilians. Hard to read precisely yet, but her stiff expression suggested she wasn't the type to like strangers.
No way she'd drop her guard and wag her tail excitedly just because I offered candy. Hmm.
I'd briefly wondered if the piercing in her ear meant she was a slutty girl. Guess it was just fashion after all.
I liked that. Made her value higher.
"It's not that. I overheard you say your ankle hurt earlier."
"...And?"
Her voice sharpened. Probably annoyed I'd approached after hearing her mutter to herself. Note to self.
"I'm actually this kind of person."
"......?"
Saying "Seo Woojin" wouldn't ring a bell. Time for easy visual aids. I pulled up that year-old news on my phone, brushed back my rain-stung bangs, and showed my face.
School hair regs kept it short in the photo; I'd grown it out post-graduation. ...Actually looked better short. Maybe cut it again.
"Seo Woojin. Healing-type transcendent..."
"Yes."
Her expression finally softened with goodwill. She'd probably pegged me as a pervert trying to chat her up after she saved me. Guard up ridiculously high, yet her real thoughts leaked all over her face.
"Um, but... uh..."
But oddly, the wariness that had vanished crept back onto her features.
...No, not quite wariness. Something else.
How to put it? Eyes brimming with hesitation, jade-green and misty. Lips hesitating, mumbling. Right leg testing the ground lightly, gauging pain, straining her ankle.
Like puppy ears had sprouted invisibly on her head and folded down pitifully.
What the...
"Um, I don't have money..."
"......"
Ah.
"I appreciate it, but I'm still a student, so I don't have anything to give you..."
Suddenly, bits of what she'd said earlier clicked. Weekend part-time? Glancing down, her mint tee clung damply to her body, filling my view. ...Weird patterns, huge mystery words across her chest. Unknown brand. Probably bootleg.
The star earring didn't scream expensive either. I could picture her backstory.
"Not asking for money. What kind of person asks the one who just saved their life?"
"Really? For free...?"
"Yes. Really."
"But getting healed by a healing-type usually costs like 5 million won easy..."
"Keep that up and I'll just go."
"Ah, no! I won't say it! I'll be quiet!"
A sadistic urge bubbled up; I seized conversation control lightly, and she clamped her hands over her mouth, cutely extending her rain-soaked right leg. With a weird "Hoit!" sound effect to boot.
One promise of free healing, and we were suddenly besties? No. Recall her initial stiffness—too soon to let guard down. Just relaxed from playful banter.
Ignoring the shutter clicks from behind, I held out my umbrella.
"Hold this for me?"
"Sure!"
"And no need for formal speech. I'm 20."
"Huh? Then I'm your noona?"
"Pardon?"
"I'm your noona. By. One year."
Maybe because I'd been 30 just 30 minutes ago in my head. I'd said drop the formalities, but getting "noona"-ed over one year irked a bit.
"Should I call you noona?"
"...N-no. You're the one healing me, so you're oppa. Yeah."
"I'll kneel roughly, so no need to stick your leg out like that. Noona."
"Okaay..."
Whatever. Titles weren't a big deal.
"What a relief... I was thinking another hospital trip would cost over 50,000 won."
"Only 50,000 won?"
She nodded vigorously, holding the big black umbrella, grinning ear to ear. Puppy-happy-like from eating sweet potato, but whatever—that smile meant "saved some cash."
"You healing-types might not know, but that's expensive? You haven't been to the hospital much?"
"Hmm."
"Plus casting and all. Can't do classes or club properly then..."
There was a type among evolution-type transcendents. Strength already beastly, but immature—lose focus and strain hits fast.
This girl seemed exactly that.
"...Oh. Before we start."
"Yes?"
"Gotta touch your body. That's okay?"
"Just the ankle, right? Saw in that news you showed."
"Yes. Just the ankle."
"No problem. Not touching anywhere weird."
"Then..."
"...Um, wait."
"Yes."
"If midway it feels pervy, will you just leave?"
"...?"
"...Sorry. I'll be quiet."
Thinks we're buddies now? Tosses incomprehensible jokes. Low bar for closeness? Total stranger. Super close friend. Something like that.
'Hasn't even told me her name yet...'
No ears or tail, so definitely evolution-type. But every behavior, thought—why so neighborhood-dog friendly?
...Whatever. Headache. Permission granted; I knelt on one knee before her, gently caressing the proffered ankle.
Cheap slippers in the rain, not sandals—irrelevant.
Now for the real part.
"This okay? Just keeping fingers on."
"J-just kidding. Feels totally normal."
"Good."
Healing-type transcendent. For me, cost was brief fatigue. Activation: at least three fingers on the wound area.
Most knew only that. Healing-types don't spill the "truth," and normals don't imagine beyond healing.
Like a painting—you see what's on the canvas, rarely pondering what's outside, dissecting the void.
Summon-types summon spirits, golems, giant autonomous mechs.
Magic-types cast spells.
Evolution-types get superhuman.
Mutation-types blend animal traits into human bodies.
Healing-types heal injuries.
So no one knows they can do "other things."
...Maybe because we named it "healing-type."
"Hoo..."
First time like this? Tense sigh from above. I ignored it, carefully infusing mana into her ankle.
Ah, "mana" was my coinage. When activating, hot energy flows heart-to-arm-to-fingertips-into target. No better word.
Explained it as "mana" from games to others. Easy to grasp, done.
"......"
Slowly. Slowly.
Slipped mana into her slender white ankle, probing inside delicately.
How to describe? Poke blockages till they break.
Don't know the principle. Just works.
Like explaining arm movement—instinctive. Mana too.
And when I'd smashed all the ankle's faults...
"...Weird. Doesn't hurt anymore."
"......"
"Ah, I'll be quiet..."
Shifted mana upward from ankle.
Passed knee. Firm thighs from training, same.
Split at pelvis. Two ways, three, four—fanning out.
To scan her body meticulously.
"......"
Where she was most "fragile."
Where she'd "damaged" herself.
Where she thought her erogenous zones were.
Real ones.
All of it. Like with my practice-toy girls.
Thoroughly.
"...Um, isn't it done?"
Deepest spots no normal fuck reaches.
Midparts scraped endlessly by thrusting.
Finger-friendly entrance.
Outer entrance for no-penetration fun.
Throat, armpits, thighs, backdoor, breasts, feet, back, etc.
Checked everywhere, I...
Gulp, swallowed.
Slowly withdrew mana.
"Done. Noona."
"Thanks... Eek!? Cramp in my leg..."
You don't know yet.
Far more sensitive spots than the ones you rub during masturbation.
"Miren Academy, right?"
"Yeah, second... W-wait, support me a sec... Kyaa!"
"Hmm..."
"...Wait, are you my hoobae...?"
"Who knows."
"Huh?"
"Didn't submit an application."
"Huh? It's already February...?"
...Curious.
What face you'll make, looking up at me when you learn by force.