The Follower

When I opened my eyes again—

"…."

I found myself in a place that was both familiar and not.

A space as dark as the vast cosmos, yet strewn with what looked like countless stars. A sensation like drifting through a dream, and yet every bit of it felt real.

…It's been a while.

This was a place every Korean awakener visited at least once in their life. The so-called Awakening Room.

You only came here by surpassing your own limits, or by leaving behind an achievement the Status Window deemed worthy of recognition. Only by clearing those prerequisites could you set foot in this place.

"…I'm already here?"

Honestly, I couldn't believe it at first. What I'd done still felt short of anything that would qualify. I'd simply done what needed doing — I didn't think I'd accomplished anything that grand.

Still, it wasn't a bad thing. So I quietly checked the cascade of status windows rising before my eyes.

The first thing that caught my eye was the boost to my special ability's proficiency. Compared to my previous life, when I'd been able to see a full minute ahead, it still felt lacking — but considering how precious a single second was in the field, it was more than acceptable.

And then—

…A simple but thrifty stat point bonus on top of that. All in all, a satisfying haul.

"…Alright. This is enough."

The moment I thought I'd collected everything there was to collect—

—Fwaaaash——!!

The cosmos-like space flooded pure white. And when I opened my eyes once more—

"Hey—, you're awake."

Hope was sitting in a chair right in front of me.

"…Where is this?"

"Where do you think? A hospital."

Somehow it felt familiar. I'd seen a scene like this a few times in my previous life, too.

"Your thigh got grazed by a bullet, your shoulder's bruised, and the gear I gave you — how rough did you treat it? Overload and damage across the board…."

Unlike me, who was relatively calm about it, Hope let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Congratulations! Calling you a durability-test dummy would suit you better than calling you a person."

"What about the gear?"

"That's what you're worried about before your own body?"

Hope stared at me like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. When I didn't offer any particular answer, she finally sighed and jerked her chin toward the table beside the bed.

There lay a half-scorched coat, a wrist device, and a thoroughly scratched grappling unit.

"The heat-resistant coat's inner shielding layer is half-dead. The grappling unit — if the axle had been off by even a little more, the line would've snapped midair."

"…That bad?"

"'That bad'? Hey. Jun."

Hope leaned back against the chair.

"What I build is hero support gear, not suicide-assist gear, got it?"

"…."

"And same goes for your body. Thigh, shoulder, back, wrist — you wrecked yourself evenly. A civilian would be hospitalized. Even by hero standards, you're supposed to lie still for a while."

"How long is 'a while'?"

"At least a few days."

"That's not happening."

"Ugh. Of course you'd say that."

Hope pressed her fingers to her forehead. I tried to sit up slowly — and a tearing pain shot up from my thigh.

"…Kh."

"See?"

Hope gave my forehead a light shove with her finger.

"Lie down."

I set my head back on the pillow. My condition was clearly bad. During the fight, the adrenaline must have masked it — but now, even drawing a breath made the inside of my back throb.

"What about Napalm and Great America?"

"Napalm got called out. There are still reporters and cops at the scene. PAX probably told her to at least show her face."

"And G.A.?"

"Rescue and site control. More accurately, Vendor practically dragged her off. At first she refused to leave your hospital room door."

"…The door?"

"Yeah. Said she had to stand guard."

"…."

"Anyway, both of them are busy. That's how it's supposed to be."

She was right. This was the immediate aftermath of a terror attack. Even if there were no fatalities, there were injured people, and the site would still be littered with collapsed facilities and wrecked drone debris. It would have been stranger if Great America and Napalm had stayed glued to a hospital room.

"Oh, right — did the base's defensive magic get sorted out?"

"Do you care about everything more than your own body or what."

Hope let out a short, incredulous laugh and continued.

"It's done. I don't know jack about magic, so I don't have the details, but she said it was finished."

"And she's gone back?"

"Seemed that way."

Hmm. Another reason to get back to the base as soon as possible. But there was still something I needed to confirm.

"What happened to the Director."

At my question, Hope's expression darkened a little.

"…What do you mean, what happened. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He's alive."

"Transfer?"

"Should be happening around now. NYPD and the Superpowered Crime Response Team are on it. Destination's probably a containment facility."

"…Right."

I let out a short breath. He wasn't dead. That alone was enough.

Superpowered containment facilities lived up to their name — harsh places. Managed intensively by the few ability-nullifying superhumans that existed, so comfort was never on the menu. Part of me wanted to grind him into paste… but I couldn't kill him in a public place crawling with cameras. And in this life, it was still only attempted murder — so personally executing him would create complications.

Besides… Great America was right there.

Hadn't I just warned Great America that killing was far too easy an act? If I made that choice myself in front of her, there was no telling what effect it would have on her. I had to approach this kind of problem as carefully and delicately as possible….

I had no doubt I'd made the best choice available in that moment.

Then—

"Oh, and."

Hope suddenly clapped her hands lightly.

"One more thing to celebrate."

"What?"

"You're famous."

"…What?"

Instead of answering, Hope picked up the TV remote hanging on the hospital room wall.

—Beep.

The screen came on, and the first thing that appeared was a news channel.

On screen, the footage of me diving in front of Napalm's flames played on a slow-motion loop. Next came the scene of me throwing myself into the path of Great America's fist, then charging toward the black van.

"…What the hell is this."

I stared at the screen without a word.

"Want me to flip channels?"

Hope pressed a button and switched to another station.

Another channel.

And another.

I raised an eyebrow slightly at that phrasing.

"Core member, huh."

Until not long ago, they'd been trying to use me as seasoning to make the main act — Great America — look better. They'd been planning to burn me as Great America's love interest. And now they were saying this.

"Funny, right?"

Hope snorted a laugh.

"PAX is packaging your name with real care right now. Korean-born, handsome face that looks like a K-pop idol, rookie, on-site judgment, civilian rescue, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠zero fatalities. They're selling every angle they can."

"Doesn't seem like they're doing it because they want to."

"Obviously. But they can't not sell it either."

Hope tossed the remote onto the bed and held out her phone instead.

"Here. This is social media."

I looked at Hope for a moment, then took the phone. Inside the screen, short clips were flooding in endlessly. Beneath each video, countless comments were stacked up.

I scrolled slowly with my finger. New videos kept appearing. Endless clips and endless comments rolled past like waves.

The public had already seen it. That Great America had stopped without killing civilians. That Napalm had controlled her flames instead of detonating them. And that I had been the one giving orders between the two of them.

And PAX was selling me. More precisely, they had no choice but to sell me.

The rookie who captured the Director. The man who stopped Great America. On top of that, the hero who stood in front of Napalm's fire. Once the public stuck those labels on me, PAX had no option but to slap a price tag on them.

And a price tag meant room to negotiate.

Plenty of angles to exploit.

Equipment budgets. External collaboration authority. And the expansion of on-site command rights that I'd essentially already been granted.

"Look at that face."

Hope stared straight at me.

"You're already thinking about how to screw over PAX again, aren't you?"

"Well. Something like that."

"Nice."

I didn't deny it. Hope smiled like she'd known all along.

And then, with a half-lidded look, she opened her mouth.

"…But why have you been talking down to me this whole time?"

"…Ah."

…The habit of how I'd spoken to her in my previous life had slipped out a little late.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hope."

I apologized immediately — but then she answered:

"…Eh, just keep talking casually. It's more comfortable that way."

Seeing her say that—

"…Mm. Alright."

—I was just glad I hadn't been rude.

And then a message came through.

…A message from Vendor, full of angles to exploit in more ways than one.

Meanwhile, a superpowered criminal transport vehicle headed toward the outskirts of New York.

Inside rode four armed officers and two medical personnel. And in the center, strapped into a special seat fitted with restraints, sat the Director.

His face was a mess. The mask had already been stripped away, and faint breaths leaked through cracked lips. But his eyes were alive — moving slowly, but with clear intent.

"……The curtain…."

His lips moved.

"Hasn't… ended… yet…."

"Shut up."

One of the officers warned him in a low voice, but the Director didn't answer. He only tried to smile — though his ruined mouth wouldn't obey.

And then—

—Tuk.

The interior lights flickered once. Every officer's head snapped up at the same time.

"What was that?"

—Tuk.

A second time. Then a third.

—Pajik.

A radio spat a short burst of static.

"Control, this is Transport Three. Power anomaly inside the vehicle. Requesting confirmation."

No answer came. Instead, the vehicle slowly came to a stop. No — it was forced to a stop.

"Everyone on alert!"

The officers raised their guns; the medical staff dropped low. And in the next moment, a voice rose from the shadows at the rear of the vehicle.

"Please do not worry."

The voice was utterly calm.

"I will not kill you."

One of the officers who heard it spun, trying to bring his weapon to bear—

"Who—"

Unfortunately, his action never reached completion. A black shadow slid into motion. Before the muzzle could even rise, the officer's wrist was twisted and a short strike landed on the back of his neck.

"Ghk…!"

He collapsed without even a proper sound.

"Kraagh…!"

"Wh-what—grhk…."

The second and third went the same way. Their lives were never in danger. They had simply been knocked unconscious for a while. Without excess force, without a single drop of blood spilled — only as much movement as necessary had been taken from them.

"Please do not move."

At last she spoke to the remaining medical personnel.

"You are not sinners, after all."

Only then did her figure emerge from the darkness inside the vehicle. Black hair with a violet sheen. She looked down at them wearing a pure white dress that made no effort to hide her figure, and a black veil. In her hand, a single thin, long stiletto dagger.

The Director's eyes began to turn toward her.

"You…."

"—Seraph."

She quietly gave her name.

"You may call me that."

The Director's lips twisted.

"Have you come to kill me?"

"No."

Seraph shook her head.

"Because Lord Jun chose to spare you."

At those words, the Director's pupils trembled faintly.

"Jun…?"

"Yes."

Seraph's voice softened just a fraction.

"Lord Jun is one who saves people."

She stood before the restrained Director.

"Even for a sinner like you, He would not grant the easy ending of death."

And then the dagger slowly approached his throat. One of the officers tried to push himself up from the floor—

"Ugh, uugh…!"

—Tung!

Without even looking, Seraph kicked his radio away with the tip of her foot.

"Therefore."

Her violet eyes looked down upon the Director.

"The matter of punishment — I shall handle it."

The dagger vanished. Or rather, it only appeared to.

—Shiiik——!

In the next instant, it was already touching the back of the Director's neck.

Seraph's ability: Absolute Hit. Once she designated a target and a destination, the strike would inevitably land.

The wound was small, and almost no blood flowed. But contrary to that outward appearance, the Director's body went limp in the seat. His eyes still moved, and his lips still trembled — but below the neck, nothing obeyed his commands any longer.

"Ah… ah…."

For the first time, terror rose in the Director's eyes. Seraph looked at that face and smiled quietly. She wiped a single drop of blood from the tip of her dagger with a white glove.

"Give thanks for Lord Jun's mercy, Director."

Seraph looked down at him a moment longer, then slipped away from the scene. And on the edge of some building's rooftop, she slowly sank to her knees.

"Lord Jun, for the mercy You have bestowed…."

As if offering a prayer to somewhere far away, she bowed her head with a rapturous expression.

"I have added the sentence."

Only after finishing her prayer did a serene smile spread across her lips.