Hiding Strength Protagonist Trait) Not Hiding (1)
Hiding Strength Protagonist Trait) Not Hiding (1)
The place where the winged ogre flung me was Korea.
...Not 2026, but Korea in the 2090s, though.
On top of that, right in the heart of Seoul, there's this insanely massive Tower piercing beyond the atmosphere.
'Thanks to that, three years ago it was really...'
First things first, I had to remake my identity.
In this Korea, a guy named me—Lee Hyun-do—never existed to begin with.
So... when I staggered into the district office in my busted-up, blood-soaked armor, all hell broke loose.
If I hadn't bothered changing Clare's form along with me, I probably would've ended up on the 9 o'clock news.
You know, "Unknown armed assailant storms district office."
Anyway, after some back-and-forth, the me from three years ago managed to snag Korean citizenship and barely escape being an illegal immigrant.
Having legit ID opens up a ton of possibilities.
You can open a bank account, get a phone plan, apply for a driver's license, and all that jazz...
[500m remaining to destination. Proceed with a left turn. Use lane 5.]
A soft, gentle navigation voice flowed from the phone mounted on the holder.
I, once the Hero who saved the world, am now doing deliveries.
As a rider for the Hero of Delivery platform.
Three years ago, with nothing but the clothes on my back, the only gig that let me eat right away—helmet to bike all rental—was delivery rider.
Later, I got cheeky and turned Clare into a motorcycle... which saved me a bundle on bike rentals.
"If you weren't around, what would I have done?"—that's the line that comes to mind, right, Master?
"Shut it and get going."
"Ahhn...! Every time Master the former Hero handles me rough...!"
-Honk honk!
Thanks to this damn perverted Holy Sword, the car behind me laid on the horn.
Haa... why is life so damn hard...
Even with the Blessing of the Holy Sword, my body and magic honed over 80 years, I can't just laugh off life's exhaustion.
Specifically, the exhaustion called inflation, living costs, taxes, and rent crushing me.
'Hunter, huh...'
I gazed at the Tower looming gigantic even from afar.
Hunter.
In this era, every kid's dream, the ladder to status anyone would kill for.
To climb that ladder, you need government or corporate training, then pass the hiring exam or public recruitment.
Proving my career as a former Hero would make becoming one a breeze, but...
"You want to savor a bit more of this peaceful daily life for now, huh?"
"Well... can't say no to that. By the way, since when can you speak normally?"
"What do you mean? I am Hauteclere, the Divine Weapon forged by the goddess herself to guide the Hero."
"A Holy Sword that moans the second you touch it, what kinda..."
"Kyaaang♥ Master's ridicule♥ So thrilling♥"
Maybe I should've left this one behind.
The thought crossed my mind.
[You have arrived at your destination. Navigation ended. Please double-check that you haven't forgotten any drinks or side menus.]
The calm, gentle nav voice snapped me back to reality.
This is the real Holy Sword guiding the Hero. A delivery Hero, sure, but still.
Anyway, I parked Clare in front of an officetel and pulled out the still-piping-hot chicken bag from my Inventory skill.
'Chicken for dinner tonight?'
Thinking that, I stood in front of the elevator.
This time, clipping Clare—now in bodycam form—onto my jacket.
"Hey! How long's it been since I ordered, and you show up now?!"
The second I set the chicken at the door, it flew open and out burst a pale, flabby pig.
Up close, it was a person. A woman. Seemed young... sort of.
'Haa... yeah, they pop up sometimes... cheap trash who think they're kings over a few bucks...'
In cases like this, best to just say what they wanna hear most.
If that doesn't end it, I gotta protect myself.
"Sorry."
"Sorry? You think an apology fixes it? How am I supposed to eat this cold-ass chicken!!!"
"If it's cold, I'll refund you. Out of my pocket."
"Yeah? Then refund me. Keep the chicken."
The pig's eyes narrowed slyly, her venomous tone rounding out sweet.
Looked like she'd pulled this scam more than once or twice.
You see it all the time in delivery work.
Assholes—commonly called karens—who nitpick for freebies.
Of course, I held up the still-steaming chicken right in the pig's face.
"Check it. See if it's cold or not."
"Huh, fine?"
-Rustle, rustle.
How does fat even creep into your fingers?
Her pudgy fingers dug into the chicken bag.
The next words were obvious...
"Ow, hot."
"Hot, you say?"
"...N-no, I didn't?"
"Delivery complete. I'm off. Enjoy."
"Hey! I said I didn't say it was hot!"
I silently parted my jacket a bit.
Inside was Clare, shaped like a bodycam just in case.
I tapped her lens and stared down the pig.
"This is a bodycam. Wanna call the cops and check?"
Usually, they give an awkward laugh and slink inside.
Or they blow up and slam the door.
But today, I must've hit the jackpot.
"Y-you...! I didn't say it! You, you!! This bitch-ass is calling the cops!!!"
"Haa..."
Worst pattern ever, straight out of the stories.
Next up, the spineless simp boyfriend who keeps a pig like that shows his face.
Sure enough, out waddled a pig bulked up on fat not muscle, even tattooed.
Tattoo Pig chucked the chicken box on the floor and spat a line thick with throat fat.
"Hey, chicken's cold as shit. Call the cops? Do it, you fucker. I'll kill you before they get here."
"It's not cold."
"Hah~ you little shit... what are you? Tough guy? Wanna end up a corpse?"
"Yeah, I'm a delivery rider. And yeah, I'm pretty damn good at fighting."
You're fucked, buddy—my man's a pro fighter?
The woman's voice from behind Tattoo Pig sounded just like an angry sow.
Emboldened by that, Tattoo Pig stepped toward me.
"This fucker's high on his height, huh. You're dead. No one'll find the body."
"Hmm... dunno. You and your girlfriend seem way more at risk than me? How's your fat even reach your fingers?"
"Ah, this bitch ate something wrong?"
"I'm dead serious—if you live like that, you'll really die. No one'll find the body."
"Fuck this, just!"
Fatso boar raised his plump ham fist.
For the record, I plan to take the hit.
Why? One punch in, then it's self-defense from there on.
I'm a Hero, sure, but not some saintly gentleman. Don't wanna be one either.
So I hoped the tattoo punk would keep swinging wild...
"Ugh, this chewing shit. Look at him strutting on height."
"Wanna take off the highball and go at it fair?"
"Highball my ass... old fogeys' bullshit..."
That's why punks are punks.
Truth is, it's not height—it's my massive frame packed with battle-compressed muscle.
Wasn't always big; blame the 80-year war with Demonkind...
Anyway, Tattoo Pig was picking up the chicken bag he'd tossed.
Kids these days don't say "highball" anymore...?
"Hey, fuck off. I'm leaving a review, so brace yourself."
"What the hell! Why aren't you doing shit!!"
"Just go inside!"
"Ah shit... phone bill this month was huge..."
With that, the pig couple squeezed their bulk through the door and vanished.
Thought about dropping one last line... but nah, turned around.
Won't see 'em again anyway.
"Sigh, kids these days. Why not just give 'em a light smack?"
Clare's words the second we stepped out of the officetel.
"It's fine. Not my kid, why bother."
"You could've moved without CCTV catching it, easy. Been three years off, sure."
"Then he'd die. Don't you know force is proportional to speed?"
"Newton's laws of motion? The 'force' Newton meant ain't the same as yours, Master. Science is way more rigorous and thorough than you think."
"Ugh..."
Won't shut up, this damn Holy Sword.
Simple reason Clare knows Newton whatever: While I sleep, she studies this world via phone.
"Anyway, time to clock out soon."
Like Clare said, it's 9 PM now.
Dinner rush usually wraps around here, so I finish up too.
Just me to feed—no need grinding late.
"Yeah, let's head home."
"Good work today, Hero."
"Oh... can you keep talking normal like this from now on? Holy Sword style."
"Heh heh heh, nah, rejecting that order. No fun."
"Tch."
Knew it.
Anyway, I hit the road home with a clear head.
Those karens from earlier? Already forgotten.
Compared to 80 years battling Demonkind, entitled customers are cute.
-Crack...
"Hm?"
"Hmm...?"
Some breaking sound from somewhere.
Not ears—my senses reacting. That rupture wasn't physical.
"Clare."
"Yes. Not Demonkind style, but something's ripping a Dimensional Rift. Like the sudden ones on the news... pretty big."
Dimensional Rifts are one side effect of that distant Tower.
Government and corps team up to suppress 'em, but humans ain't perfect.
"Hmm, looks like the authorities haven't detected it yet."
"Seems so. Usually hunter response teams deploy ASAP, but it's quiet. Civilians'll get hit at this rate."
"Yeah. Can't be helped."
Gripped the Holy Sword Hauteclere after ages, kicked off the ground.
Careful not to crater the concrete, so a gentle leap took effort.
Anyway, arrived at a construction site right before a Dimensional Rift popped.
-Kaboom!
Simultaneously, the Rift fully tore open.
Usually multiple monsters spill out, but this time just one.
An Undead-type Monster stitched from thousands of corpses, easy to see.
"■■■■■■-!!!"
The unknown Monster spotted me and unleashed a grotesque roar mixing screams and wails... but.
That was it.
"Kia... aak...?!"
Casually swung the Holy Sword, flicking blood off the blade.
When I decide to kill, it's instant.
80 years of war ingrained that habit.
-Splat, splat. Drip drip...
Leaving the Monster crumbling in chunks, I resumed heading home.
"Ugh, the smell. Hate Undead for this reason."
"Tell me about it. The rotting flesh and blood sticking feel is gross. Oh, not recovering the Core?"
"Nah. No way to process it anyway."
"Fair. Only Hunters handle Cores."
I ain't broke on pride.
Some old movie line popped into my head.