I'll Do Whatever You Say, So Please!! (4)
The sunset viewed from the West Sea carried a tranquil, almost lonely beauty. Park Chun-deuk chewed on a cigarette, staring at the evening glow sinking beneath the horizon, then spat thickly onto the ground.
“Fuck. I’m so damn jealous.”
“Jealous of what?”
“You see the girls they brought in this time? I heard one of them is even that Botal Rabbit.”
“Does that make any sense? Why the hell would Botal Rabbit get dragged into a shithole like this?”
“That’s what I’m saying, you idiot. Ha… If they were average goods, the boss might’ve let us have a turn on the boat. But these are premium stock. Doubt he’ll let us lay a finger on them.”
Chun-deuk clicked his tongue in frustration. His junior, standing beside him, took a long drag from his own cigarette and muttered,
“Still, the boss told us to handle that Lamborghini that came in. Just selling that should cover our bonuses, right?”
“Even at four hundred million, we’d each pocket a thousand. Yeah, that part’s nice. Oh, speaking of—did you see the guys the boss brought? The ones from the Shanghai Guild who call him big brother?”
“…”
“Hey. Yo.”
“…”
Chun-deuk spat again and scowled. The little shit was ignoring his senior? He cracked his neck with a loud pop and turned around.
The junior was slumped on the cheap smoking-area chair, neck bent at a grotesque angle. The moment Chun-deuk looked—
Thud.
The body twitched once, then crumpled lifelessly to the floor.
“You… fucking…!”
Clack.
He flung the cigarette butt away and yanked out his pistol. The shock was so severe his hands shook too hard to even operate the radio properly.
Clack.
This sound hadn’t come from the gun. The instant that realization hit, Chun-deuk’s entire body froze rigid. Like a herbivore staring into the eyes of a predator.
A hand reached from behind him, cold as metal, and clamped around his throat. The other hand snatched the radio from his grip and crushed it with a wet crunch, the way someone might snap a biscuit in half. The message was clear: your neck is next.
The hand around his throat felt chillingly metallic.
A metal hand.
He stammered in terror.
“C-Chrome Fist, boss?! W-why all of a sudden…? P-please, spare me!”
“Shh.”
The last thing Chun-deuk ever heard was the sickening crack of his own neck bones snapping apart.
The man propped the limp corpse against the dead junior, arranging them side by side on the chair as if the two were simply enjoying a smoke and watching the sunset together. Good senior and junior, sharing a quiet moment.
Thirty-two left.
“Hmm.”
Want me to clear the rest before you go in?
“We need to remove every variable before the real fight starts.”
You really are meticulous.
Nightsight tried to sound casual, but the faint undercurrent of fear in his voice was unmistakable. A former disaster-relief hero, now showing zero mercy to civilians. He carried out the killings with the emotional investment of someone stamping paperwork. And the infiltration itself had been flawless—clean enough to belong to operatives specially trained for covert work.
Considering the public image Iron Colossus had cultivated, this level of ruthlessness was jarring.
Were you ex-KGB? MI6? Something like that?
“No.”
Then a national black-ops agent?
“No.”
I don’t think I could have done it cleaner…
“I had an excellent teacher.”
The skill he had learned—Trace Reading—could just as easily be called Trace Erasure. The experience of navigating disaster zones by noticing the tiniest details others would miss had taught him how to eliminate those same traces entirely. In that sense, receiving direct instruction from Onyx Knight, the undisputed best in the country at Trace Reading, had granted him infiltration capabilities that stood head and shoulders above other superhumans of the same rank.
Eight gang members killed inside the warehouse. Slightly more than ten minutes total. And in that time, over twenty percent of the entire crew had vanished without a single person inside noticing.
At this pace, we’ll hit the main site in under thirty minutes. Any experience fighting villains?
“Not much.”
…Then can you at least handle three villains head-on?
“Plenty.”
Iron Colossus answered indifferently and melted back into the shadows of the warehouse.
Many people used the words interchangeably, but hero and superhuman were fundamentally different concepts. Superhuman referred to anyone who had awakened supernatural abilities. Hero, however, was a title of respect reserved for those who swore to use those abilities for the benefit of people and society.
Whether they hid their faces, concealed their identities, or never registered with the Association at all—if they acted out of genuine goodwill, sacrificed themselves for the greater good instead of personal glory, moved for the sake of justice and conviction rather than fame, willingly took responsibility for the consequences of their actions, and ultimately earned the admiration and respect of the public—then citizens would call them a hero without hesitation.
Crack.
Which meant that right now, Iron Colossus was not a hero.
Crack.
In this moment, as he used every ounce of his power solely for himself, he was shattering the creed he had once lived by: I do not kill.
He moved like a machine, emotionless. This was the first time he had taken a human life, yet strangely there was no shock, no revulsion. It simply felt like completing a necessary task. The quiet fatigue of approaching without a sound. The fragile sensation of a spine beneath his gripping fingers.
So before disgust at the act itself, what he felt was disgust at how little it affected him.
“Not bad.”
His focus must have slipped; he noticed the approaching man a moment too late. Still, there was no fear or surprise. He simply raised his fist in cold indifference.
“Whoa, whoa, easy there, Bread Fist. How about we talk before we start swinging?”
A man sat atop a shipping container, grinning down at him. The sky had grown dark enough that his face was hard to make out, but one thing was certain—he was an awakened. His build ruled out Blacksmith or Chrome Fist.
Blacksmith entered with two people who looked like awakeners.
Nightsight’s earlier report floated through his mind. As expected. It had been too easy. Iron Colossus nodded and took one measured step back, scanning the area. Now that his position was exposed, he had to account for snipers given the Shanghai Guild’s armament. He shifted until he stood outside likely firing lanes, tucked into their blind spots.
“Mercenary background? Then we’re basically in the same business. Why not talk this out?”
The man seemed to have misinterpreted Iron Colossus’s silence and movements. There was no need to correct him. Iron Colossus slowly lowered his fist and tilted his head.
“Talk?”
After I’ve already killed several of your men?
Whether the meaning got across or not, the man laughed.
“Those disposable grunts? We can import as many replacements as we want from Shanghai. Who doesn’t dislike heroes these days?”
“…Hero?”
“Huh? Oh! Not in the traditional sense, of course. But if you lead the people, aren’t you a hero by definition?”
The man kept smiling as he spoke. What a chatty bastard. Iron Colossus narrowed his eyes, calculating distance.
Heroes, was it. He knew the situation in China. The country had devolved into near-anarchy, with regional warlords wielding real power. After the Gate crisis, the mass awakening of ordinary citizens had made centralized control nearly impossible. Between uncontrolled superhumans, vast territory, and insufficient administrative reach, the government had chosen to tolerate autonomy in exchange for “taxes”—which usually meant human trafficking, drug running, and exploitation of the masses.
That was why China had no villains. Because even villains could operate openly by simply calling themselves heroes.
“Whoa, calm down. What’s the point of fighting right now? You came alone, didn’t you?”
“How can you be sure?”
“I watched you kill the first ten. Nice skills. Nice balls, too. Our Shanghai Shanhehui Triad doesn’t usually recruit outsiders… but if you’re interested, we could use a guest enforcer. The benefits are better than you’d expect.”
“Why would you trust me?”
“It’s the same principle as the old Communist Thousand Talents Plan. We consider it part of our national tradition.”
The Thousand Talents Plan had been the Chinese government’s final desperate attempt to recruit foreign talent with money and prestige, milk them dry, then discard them. Hearing the man speak of such a cynical scheme so shamelessly was almost impressive in its audacity.
Iron Colossus tilted his head slightly and lowered his stance. The distance was perfect.
“Wait, damn it. Can’t you Korean bread-fists understand basic business negotiations?”
BOOM!
One leap carried him over two containers. He twisted mid-air, redirected with a swing of his fist, and slammed downward. The man barely dodged; the corner of a steel container crumpled like paper with a deafening crash.
“Shit! Xiaoping! Shoot him!”
Sniper.
Iron Colossus shielded his head with a gauntlet and charged. A gunshot cracked; sparks flew from his armored fist. Whoever was hidden in the darkness was skilled enough to hit a target moving at this speed. Must be the second awakener Nightsight had mentioned.
As he pursued the fleeing man, Iron Colossus whispered,
“Nightsight.”
Yeah. I’ve got the position.
Bang!
A single suppressed shot echoed from afar. From the shadow of a distant container came a choked “Urk!”
Ah, damn. He dodged. Don’t worry—I’ll handle him.
“Thanks.”
Still ten gang members left. Watch yourself.
“Understood.”
Which meant only ten remained. Iron Colossus gave a short nod and sprinted after the fleeing man at full speed. There was no longer any point in staying hidden after this much noise.