Regression (1)
The ruined city exhaled only acrid smoke and desperate screams.
The landscape before my eyes made it abundantly clear. Evil had finally triumphed. The age of heroes had faded, and the era of villains had dawned.
"It's a festival! Kill 'em all!"
"Woooah!"
Beyond the collapsed Hero Management Bureau building, a frenzy of madness unfolded. The villains, drunk on victory, rampaged like they intended to grind even the last remnants of order into the dirt.
"Perfect. Simply perfect."
"A truly equal world has finally arrived…!"
"Ahh, what an ecstatic sight…!"
Beside me, they exchanged contextless chatter fit only for lunatics. These were the culprits who had wrought this world—the Archvillains, each one a powerhouse of malevolence.
"What do you think, Woojin? You agree, right? Huh?"
In that world, I had somehow clung to life. Solely because I was a cherished puppet of one Archvillain: the villain Marionette.
Whether I could truly call it "surviving" was debatable. It had been years since I'd become a mere doll, stripped of all freedom, repeating only commands.
To Marionette's mocking question, all I could do was roll my glazed eyes.
This was the age of Authorities and superhumans. Before the overwhelming injustice of violence, the powerless had never stood a chance.
Yet my consciousness remained painfully sharp amid it all—that tormented me most. Not that it excused the countless atrocities I'd committed under her orders.
"Everyone, keep fighting to the end! For revenge on those who've gone before us…!"
Heroes. The last remnants of resistance in this city. Rather than flee, the survivors chose to stand against the villains to the bitter end. True guardians of the people—unlike a collaborator like me.
Boom! Kaboom!
Flesh sprayed, and dazzling Authorities erupted everywhere. Amid the hellish scene, even through my hazy mind, I instantly recognized the one at the forefront.
Radiant golden hair. Eyes as vibrant as midsummer leaves. A hero in a blood-smeared bodysuit carved through the villains indiscriminately, forging a path.
Flame Mist. From icon of new justice to the final hope. And… my last regret.
"We should have rooted you out sooner. So much sooner…!"
Cornered, Marionette shamelessly shoved me forward as a meat shield, buying a few more precious seconds. No matter how cherished, to her, a puppet's worth was exactly that.
"Woo…jin…?"
Flame Mist recoiled in horror at my unmasked face, revealed by the wind. The ferocious momentum of vengeance had long vanished. Her eyes trembled like an earthquake.
"Is that… really you…? You're really alive…?"
She never finished. A sharp blade from behind pierced her chest through the suit.
"Woo…jin… you're alive… thank… goodness…"
Slash.
Again, she couldn't complete her words. Her head tumbled to the ground with a thud and roll.
I picked it up absently. Flame Mist's head felt unrealistically light. And it still gazed at me with a faint smile.
The last hope flickered out so pathetically.
One thing was certain. I had killed her—not the blade.
"Ah… aghh."
A metallic grind leaked through my clenched teeth.
"Ack… ugh…"
I howled like a beast. That was the only mourning a doll stripped of emotion and reason could muster.
"Ha, fuck."
Stab.
A dull, aching sensation spread from below. Marionette's blade had pierced my heart clean through—just as it had Flame Mist's.
My dulled senses registered no real pain. I simply crumpled sideways.
"You filthy pervert bastard. I told you not to look at other bitches. Fuck, you disgusting mutt…"
Marionette hurled vulgar abuse. My unexpected familiarity with the Flame Mist who'd nearly killed her had clearly irked her.
She, who had bound my body and mind for years, finally freed me—at the very end. Through death.
"Yuha…"
Falling, I endlessly murmured a name. The one who'd smiled at me until the last moment.
No reply came, of course.
"Sorry…"
Cruelly, my mind was clearest now, in these final years. Only facing death's end did I realize.
"Sor…ry…"
This was my punishment. For trapping myself in stubbornness, ultimately devoured by evil.
"Sorry… really…"
My fading vision went utterly black.
Thus died a wretched man, nameless and lifeless. With the perished world. Without a single word of repentance or farewell.
"Huh?"
I blinked vacantly. Then felt my pounding heartbeat.
Even simple breathing felt overly vivid. Sensations so natural, yet ones I'd long ignored.
I whipped my head around. The calendar showed today's date.
"Five… years… ago…?"
I muttered dumbly. My voice sounded strangely clear and bright.
Suddenly, I glanced at my hands.
"…They're fine."
The five fingers torn off my left hand for defying Marionette, the nails burned away on my right from villains' whims—all pristine, intact.
"What the…"
I scanned frantically. Only then did I realize I was in a hospital ward, lying in bed with a thick cast on my right leg.
Five years ago. Right leg injury. Hospital.
Overwhelming clues pieced it together.
-Hurry, please tell me…!
-Room 101… visitor, wait…!
Before I could sort my thoughts, commotion erupted outside. Footsteps rushed toward my room.
The door burst open, someone tumbling in.
"Woojin!"
Recognizing the visitor, I froze like stone.
The one who'd only smiled at me until life's end. Before that, the icon of new justice. Hero, Flame Mist. Real name: Baek Yuha. Once my childhood friend.
"Woojin! Oh my god, your leg… is it okay? Huh? Woojin…"
She, whose head had just rolled at my feet, now fussed over me with a tear-streaked face.
The hospital room fell quiet after the commotion. Only the old, crackling TV droned on with grim white noise.
I glanced sideways. Yuha sat on the chair by the bed, twisting her fingers awkwardly, peeking at me.
Her hair was disheveled, skin dry. Dark circles and chapped lips spoke of her turmoil.
"Eek."
Our eyes met; she ducked her head. Her golden hair swayed. Yet those cheeky green eyes kept stealing glances, like someone guilty.
"…"
I drew a sharp breath inwardly. Naturally, Yuha had done nothing wrong.
But that dejected gaze confirmed one thing. The sudden reality sank in fully.
I'd gone back in time. Exactly five years, to that day. When everything twisted because of my mistakes.
"…You sure it's okay to be here?"
"H-Huh?"
I blurted, unable to bear the silence. Yuha's eyes widened in surprise, stammering as if she'd never expected the question. Her vivid reaction felt uncanny.
After all, at the end, only her head had rested in my arms.
"You… must be in the middle of work."
I averted my gaze slightly. A pager disguised as an accessory buzzed at her waist even now.
Baek Yuha. A superhuman who awakened the Authority to wield flames freely, like her hero name Flame Mist.
Peerless in academics and athletics, beauty and talent—she dominated popularity among debut heroes. No need to elaborate.
She'd earned prospective hero status and special patrol privileges even before Yoram Academy enrollment. Admission? Special exemption, no exam needed.
Not surprising, considering she'd become the youngest S-rank hero. But still.
"You're still on duty, right…?"
"N-No!"
Yuha snapped back, words tumbling like rap.
"Today was my day off anyway, no patrols or anything, so don't worry about it, it's really fine…!"
Gibberish…
"S-So… um… you know…"
Her eyes stayed fixed below the bed. Under the silent pressure, I finally spoke.
"…Just a fracture. They said it'll heal soon with rest. No big impact on daily life."
"Really? Thank goodness…!"
She beamed, sighing in relief. Her sincerity only left a bitter taste in my mouth.
How did I react back then?
"What're you staring at? You think I'm that pathetic? Like a fucking cripple or something?"
"N-No, Woojin… don't get mad, please? I was just so worried…!"
"Get out! Get the hell out! Just disappear from my sight!!"
A conversation from five years ago—yet to happen—flashed vividly, like yesterday.
I let out a self-mocking laugh.
Cripple. No cripple was as pathetic as me.
"S-So… the entrance exam… um…"
Yuha timidly asked again, misreading my laugh.
I paused, then replied casually, feigning nonchalance.
"Failed, obviously."