The Paragon's Joint Tactical Demonstration (1)

After the incident was wrapped up, I returned straight home.

The door clicked shut, and the strength immediately drained from my legs.

"...Phew."

Leaning my back against the wall, I slowly exhaled.

It's been too long since I pushed myself this hard.

Korean Awakeners generally possess a 'Status Window.'

They level up, enhance their skills, and train their bodies.

The problem is that they are incredibly weak in the beginning.

And I was not yet... a fully realized human capable of physically throwing myself into the battlefields of top-tier heroes.

The lining of my coat was scorched.

Parts of the insulating fibers had completely melted together.

The wrist launcher had been trembling faintly ever since its second use.

On top of that, the impact from blocking Electric Vixen's attack still lingered.

"...Oof, I need to put some pain patches on."

The dull ache was persistent.

In many ways, there was a lot of room for self-reflection.

But that was just an analysis of my physical limitations.

There was something else I needed to analyze properly.

...Great America.

First, her.

For now, Great America was better off than in my past life.

In my past life, she had been brilliant from the very start of her debut.

She was a woman who solved everything with brute force.

But as that pattern repeated, she began to find ecstasy in the public's reaction.

...That fueled her arrogance and twisted self-love.

But she was different now.

She had someone to restrain her.

Someone to serve as her moral compass.

But did that mean she had truly improved compared to before?

Of course not.

I didn't think so at all.

For instance, it was the same when we were heading home.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"Because the work is finished."

"Then I will go with you."

"...What?"

"I still have many questions. So shouldn't I naturally stay by your side?"

"...No, you can't."

"Another thing added to the forbidden list, I see."

This was exactly what I had intended.

My goal was to imprint myself on her, making her mimic me.

But.

...She's too dependent.

I wanted to establish the standard for her value judgments, but the problem was that she had no interest in thinking for herself.

Value judgments? Why should she bother?

I would do it for her anyway.

That was her fundamental way of thinking.

You couldn't really say Great America saved those people.

She had merely avoided doing what I disliked.

The reason she didn't kill, the reason she protected the hostages, and the reason she spared the villain—it all ultimately traced back to me.

And the problem wasn't just her.

Napalm.

She wasn't normal either.

Whether in my past life or now, Napalm was consistent.

One of America's top star heroes.

Yet, within The Paragon, she had been steadily pushed aside.

Great America stole all the spotlight with her overwhelming physical abilities and symbolic status.

Naturally, Pax Corporation treated Napalm not as a flagship product, but as a mere sidekick to spice up Great America.

"Napalm, let's blow it up a bit bigger this time."

"The public wants flames."

"If you don't want to be overshadowed by Great America, shouldn't you show off your overwhelming firepower?"

Napalm had accepted this as a matter of course.

Why? Because she had to be the best.

She didn't want to lose to Great America, and she wanted to remain at the very top.

And the result... was not very good.

It started with numbness in her fingertips, but later... she said ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she felt a burning pain in the nerves beneath her skin twenty-four hours a day.

The problem was that Napalm refused to admit it.

"I'm fine."

"It's always like this."

"All fire-manipulators go through this, you dumbass."

No matter how much I warned her and worried about her condition.

"What does a support-geared bastard like you know...!"

"I'm a pro. I know my own body best."

She had only laughed it off.

And not long after that, while fighting a powerful villain—

"Ah."

"Are the cameras still rolling?"

"Then... I have to smile."

Heroically, smiling in front of the camera, showing no weakness, she had ended her life like a true 'professional.'

She ignored the warnings.

Her body broke down.

And after being consumed by Pax Corporation, she refused to acknowledge her limits to the very end.

But things were different now.

If I manage her well starting now, she can recover.

Even if she was hiding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the numbness in her fingertips, it was still mild.

She's still at a stage where she can listen when told to stop.

She was prideful, but not yet completely broken.

On top of that, she's conscious of my words.

She disliked me, but she was already paying attention to what I said.

So, what I had to do for the two of them was clear.

I had to turn Great America from a weapon into a hero, and Napalm from a product into a human.

As I retraced these goals in my mind and jotted down as many memories from my past life as possible—

Ding.

The sender was Hope.

Well, since the gear had been put straight into actual combat, it made sense that she wanted feedback quickly.

But I had no intention of going to her right now.

Because...

...For today, I felt like I needed to call it a night and rest.

I collapsed onto the bed as if passing out and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning.

As soon as I finished showering, I headed straight to The Paragon's meeting room.

Upon arriving, the ones waiting for me were, naturally—

"Ah, you're here."

Great America.

"...Tsk."

And Napalm.

The remaining two members of the team hadn't been requested to attend, and they had other events scheduled, so they weren't present.

However, something was strange.

...Why is Great America standing?

She wasn't sitting down.

There were assigned seats in the meeting room, and Great America's nameplate was right in the center. But she wasn't sitting; instead, she seemed to be gazing out the window.

Well, I guess she just wants to stand.

Without thinking much of it, I took my assigned seat at the far end of the table.

But it was at that moment.

Thud.

"...?"

Great America sat down right next to me without a moment's hesitation.

"That's not your seat."

"Then whose is it?"

"Sit where your name is written."

"Why?"

"Because the meeting is about to start."

"...? I have many things to ask you. Naturally, I should sit next to you."

Watching this from across the table, Napalm's eyebrow twitched slightly.

"..."

Of course, she didn't say a word. But her discomfort was glaringly obvious.

...She's definitely conscious of being sidelined in yesterday's incident.

I could infer that Napalm's psychological state was highly unstable.

"Napalm—"

Just as I was about to strike up a conversation with her—

Swoosh—

The automatic doors of the meeting room slid open.

The one who stepped through was, of course, Brook Vender.

"Everyone is already here, I see."

He walked into the room with precise, disciplined movements. Without any further pleasantries, the meeting began.

"It was good."

At his cryptic statement, I responded reflexively.

"Zero casualties. All hostages survived. And Great America caused no collateral deaths either."

Brook Vender tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

"An excellent result."

"But that wasn't what I was referring to as 'good.'"

"...Then what is it?"

"You and Great America."

Brook's gaze shifted to Napalm.

"And Napalm, who explained it all."

...He was blatantly using Napalm to prop us up.

"What are you trying to say?"

Napalm, catching on, spoke in a slightly aggressive tone, but—

"The footage from the scene has ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already surpassed ten million views."

Vender continued unbothered, as if her attitude was of no concern to him.

"Do you know which part was replayed the most?"

"I don't know. I don't really watch those things."

"The scene where Great America looks at you and smiles."

"..."

"And the scene where Napalm explains the chemistry between the two of you."

Brook Vender was a thorough capitalist. If it made money, he did it; if it could make more money, he did it even faster. To him, human relationships were ultimately subordinate to the logic of capital.

"So, I've scheduled a shoot for tomorrow."

Naturally, he wouldn't miss such a money-making opportunity.

"The Paragon's Joint Tactical Demonstration. A training video for public release."

"This is the first I've heard of it."

"Because I just decided on it."

The very people I was trying to turn back into human beings...

"Isn't the composition perfect even now? You, with your K-pop idol-like looks, standing next to the symbol of America. It's already picture-perfect."

...that man was placing them right back onto the product display shelves.

And.

Napalm's lips tightened.

The words she had spoken herself—the formal comment asking for interest in Pax's official demonstration video. She was clearly conscious of it.

I had no intention of just letting this slide.

"First, let me ask. What exactly is this Joint Tactical Demonstration?"

"It's exactly as it sounds. We are producing a promotional video showing you all fighting or using your abilities."

"...Ha."

"What we are showing the public isn't entertainment. It's controlled power."

Saying so, Brook brought up the location of the vacant lot he had rented on the presentation screen.

"The objective is a mock hostage rescue, with a time limit of three minutes. Jun will command, Great America will break through, and Napalm will clear the path with her flames."

Clearing the path.

"Isn't it perfect?"

In other words, she was support, not the main act. His intention was glaringly obvious.

But I had no intention of shooting it that way. Treating Napalm like background decoration? That would only accelerate her downfall.

She would become even more self-destructive. She would burn away her own life to prove herself with even greater firepower.

Therefore,

"We shouldn't sell it with that composition."

I decided to shift the board a little.

"Napalm shouldn't just be limited to clearing the path."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"She should be in charge of securing the evacuation route."

"...Oh?"

"Don't just have her block the view with flames. It would be better if she's the one opening the path."

"In what way is that better?"

"The public is used to flames just exploding. Isn't it far more 'heroic' to see people emerging alive from the midst of the fire? That will leave a much longer-lasting impression."

Vender listened to me, then tilted his head slightly. He seemed to be running the numbers in his head. After a brief moment, he spoke.

"Well, fine."

"Are you approving it?"

"Yes, you take the lead on this."

He made his decision.

"However, if the results don't show in the numbers, we do it my way next time."

"Deal."

"Then I'll send someone over shortly. They'll explain the location, the scenario, and the camera angles."

"Understood. Thank you for your time, Mr. Vender."

With those final words, Vender left the room. His expression was completely devoid of emotion, looking like a man simply going back to work.

Watching him leave, I thought to myself: no matter how I looked at it, that man... was incredibly insidious.

Meanwhile, Napalm felt a surge of intense irritation as she watched the meeting unfold.

...I'm being treated as an extra?

Napalm gritted her teeth.

Clearing the path with fire? It sounded fancy, but... in the end, wasn't it just a role to make Great America and Hajun stand out?

Napalm of the Flames, a top-tier hero of America, was supposed to be someone else's background decoration?

She wanted to burn down the meeting room table right then and there, along with Pax Corporation and Vender for treating her this way.

But what irritated her even more was—

Why, why are you stepping in again...! You absolute bastard...!!

The fact that Hajun hadn't left the composition as it was.

Securing the evacuation route. People emerging alive from the midst of the fire. That Asian man who had completely flipped Vender's terms with just a few words.

The man who had redefined her role—not as lighting, decoration, or background, but as someone who saves lives.

"Sigh... I'll go look into things, so you two wait here. I have a quick meeting to attend."

"Understood."

What was most infuriating was that, because of those few words...

...This is so damn annoying.

She was already worrying about what kind of expression she should make for tomorrow's shoot.