I Want to Fuck a Hero (4)
I punched in 4-3-2-8, and with a nostalgic beep-beep-boop, the door lock clicked open. Maybe it was because it had been so long since I'd heard the sound of home, but my heart felt strangely fluttery. Like revisiting the house from my childhood after years away... Not that I'd ever actually done that, so I wouldn't know what it really felt like.
I fumbled briefly with the switches—mixing up the bathroom light and kitchen light—sending a series of clicks echoing through the place. But that didn't last. Once I hit the right ones, the room, darkened by the pouring rain outside, began filling with white light.
I shrugged off my coat, which squelched with every movement, and took in the familiar sight. A 350-square-foot one-room apartment. Plenty comfortable for a single guy. Excellent soundproofing, too. The only downside was the landlady grandma, who was so chatty that every phone call turned into a pointless twenty-minute ramble. Other than that, I liked the place.
It's been a while here, too. My first one-room, bought with money I'd earned myself back in my high school days. The moment I got the deposit, I went for a two-room place and got royally scammed on a lease fraud. After that, it was off to an officetel.
True to my messy nature, the place was a bit grimy. I cracked open a 2-liter water bottle I'd left lying on the floor and chugged it down. With the boiler off, the icy water filled my gut.
And as I did, a stray thought crossed my mind. Even when I'd slapped my cheek hard enough to draw blood. Even when I'd unilaterally ditched the "company" contract. Even when I'd nearly gotten hit by that truck. Even when I'd chatted with that unknown trainee hero whose name I still didn't know.
A lingering dreamlike haze had tickled one corner of my heart. But now, after thoroughly probing her "tastes" as a test and committing every detail to memory, as I gulped down the cold plain water...
For the first time.
"Phaaa..."
...I felt alive.
Typing practice over. I showered quickly, set the notepad by the window, and searched the things that had been nagging at me. Past regression, time reversal, delusions of returning to the past, and so on.
A bit came up about depression and schizophrenia, but disappointingly, nothing caught my eye.
So, who was behind me returning to the past? Or why had ten years' worth of memories suddenly slammed into my head? Public internet info had its limits for digging deeper.
And even seeing a psychiatrist wouldn't help much. What if I introduced myself like, "I came from ten years in the future"? The outcome was obvious. Until I nailed some major future event, both the doc and I would end up labeled as the crazy one.
Whatever. Skip the shrink. Once shit hit the fan, my time travel story would become truth overnight.
Hmm. If it still bugged me, I could just embrace the extra ten years of youth as a gift.
No way it's schizophrenia. Convincing myself of that, I mashed the backspace key.
Next up: Miren Academy's recruitment guidelines, one of the hero training institutions. I typed "Miren Academy" and scrolled lazily—rrrr, rrrk.
First thing: practical exam. Not a big deal. It mattered for middling transcendents, but healing-type ones were irreplaceable manpower.
Next: written exam. I stared at those two words for a while before giving up and looking elsewhere. Simple reason—villains don't study.
Then my mouse paused. There it was: "Recruitment Period."
The first digit was a 1. December. And January. I'd just checked the date on my phone—it was February.
Looks like meeting that girl would take another approach. She'd mentioned looking for a weekend gig, so scout places with job flyers. Or "accidentally" bump into her on her way home from classes.
Something like that. If even that was too much hassle, ditching her was an option.
This wasn't the old days with just a couple heroes per city. These days, every high school class had two or three transcendents. They just rarely had powers strong enough to be useful.
Anyway. If she was too much trouble, drop her. But as a Miren Academy student, she could connect me to other heroes, right? No need to kick away luck falling in my lap. Plus, tons of famous heroes were Miren alums, so who knows...
...Gonna lock it in for now.
I dropped the 22KB notepad file titled "1" into a desktop folder called "Puppy," about to shut down the computer.
That's when I spotted a word way down past the recruitment info, almost at the bottom, and scrolled further.
What it said was...
"...Hm."
Job Opening
"......"
Click. Rrrr, rrrr. The quiet sound of the mouse wheel rolling filled the room.
I couldn't even look at the slogan without cringing. Seok Jaehwa, principal of Miren Academy, sat with his laptop open, tapping the desk endlessly with his fingertips.
Of course, the "best heroes" part wasn't embarrassing. They'd produced so many... No, it was the "best academy" that stung.
As a former top hero turned principal, Seok Jaehwa had busted his ass inviting active top heroes from every field as guest teachers. The combat dummies and AI were the latest models, better than any other academy, and he spared no support to hone students' abilities to the max. (Though really, it was their tuition paying for it.)
In those facilities, students came and went freely, set their own schedules, trained as they pleased, hung out with friends, and bloomed like flowers.
Seok Jaehwa believed Miren was first among firsts. He was satisfied. If things went to plan—and if the guy to back up that "free training" showed up—it would've stayed that way.
"...No word on him enrolling elsewhere."
The principal murmured quietly, pulling up the applicant list again. His eyes stopped at the "Seo" section in alphabetical order.
Gone.
No matter how many times he checked—twice, three times, over and over—same result.
Healing-type transcendent. Seo Woojin. Where the hell was this guy?
Had he already joined some agency's sidekick program?
"Urgh..."
Sure, a healing-type didn't need the academy. Domestic big-name heroes, even overseas—they all treated healers special. If money was the goal, just hit up whoever offered top dollar.
Plus, he'd investigated rumors long ago: the kid hated media exposure.
If he'd quietly slipped into somewhere without a word, even the principal couldn't track him instantly. Connections? Sure. But ears on the ground? Just one.
Still, cross-verified facts from the interview reporter and middle-school classmates:
The reporter called Seo Woojin "a cold, stiff kid who knows way too much about heroes."
The classmate: "Creepy hero-backstory otaku bastard who looks normal but obsesses over digging into heroes."
In other words, he loved heroes. Specifically, their "info." Tons of it.
So Seok Jaehwa's bet: A guy like that would skip flashy agencies full of big names and pick the academy, packed with "fresh" heroes...?
Kimchi soup dreams.
"Fucked up."
Money over new intel, huh. The principal sighed, closing his laptop.
Now the situation made him regret holding back. No contact, lest he pressure the kid. That heartfelt, thousands-word email begging him to join? Drafted but unsent.
And so on.
What if he really doesn't come? What then...?
No other healing-type his age. Next one's a chubby fifth-grader.
Hence the embarrassing farce: They'd assumed Seo Woojin would enroll and built him a little infirmary on the first floor.
"......"
Fine. Soundproofed it quiet and comfy, figuring he was hikikomori-type. Fine. Shove in a regular medic, and it douses the fire.
Claim they expanded due to the old infirmary overcrowding—fool the students somehow.
Couldn't dodge the pitiful stares of "Why waste money there when it's not even crowded?" Though.
Bonus glares: "Put that cash toward hero activity grants instead." Sigh.
Stomach churning from tension, Seok Jaehwa rose from the sofa, straightening his clothes.
That's when.
"Hm...?"
Fishing out his phone, he noticed two missed calls from an unknown number.
Ah. Must've silenced it for vibrations during that lunch jjajangmyeon bowl earlier. Sloppy.
"Hmm..."
Spam usually shows just one. Who could it be? Straight to his line, bypassing admin?
Rubbing his grumbling gut, the principal raised the phone.
"Hello?"
"I'm telling you, it's true!"
"Yeah. Got it."
"My swollen ankle, the one about to puff up huge? It just... fixed right there."
"I get it already. Lee Hayun. Enough. You're giving me a headache."
"Oh, yeah!"
"...Anyway, glad it worked out. Ankle healed, full grant approved. Living expenses were tight this month."
Miren Academy gymnasium, second floor. Girl's shower room entrance.
Viiiing. Black-ponytailed hair like a starry night sky bobbed as she blow-dried.
And again. Less than five seconds later, the still hair started bouncing excitedly.
"You've never been healed by a healing-type either, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Feels super weird? Like this warm energy wriggles inside you..."
"...Shut up... ...Hoo..."
"Then it spreads all over, squirming every which way, and poof! Done."
"......"
"Healing-types fix you this fast—no more settling for casts..."
"......"
"H-Hey? Jiyoon? Your hair here's still wet, and here."
"Then dry it yourself. I wanna wander the academy more."
"Wha... That's mean... Sis has makeup classes soon..."
"......"
Clop, clop. The bobbing hair paused mid-stride. Nearly all white from mana overuse—only faint black roots visible when it swayed—a short white bob.
"...You'll stay quiet?"
"I wuv you tho mush I'll thtay thtill."
"No need that bad. ...Head hurts, so just be quiet. You know, sis. My chronic migraines."
"Yeth yeth."
Probably your fault, sis. She kept that thought internal.
"...Oh, sis."
"What?"
"What's that room on the first floor of the main building, no nameplate?"
"Huh?"
"Saw it on the way in."
Hmm, a pondering hum. Then the viiing of the hairdryer swallowed even that.
Evolution-type. Limiter release. Miren Academy 2-B class trainee hero Lee Hayun pondered a few more seconds before answering.
"Dunno?"
"...Forget it. My bad for asking."
"No, really, no such room... Classroom maybe?"
"Yeah. Now shut it."
"Hing..."