The Oh-Pan-Mu Hero

In the Capital's central plaza, I stared blankly at the crowd around me.

"There's so many of them."

There really were. The plaza was packed, and every last person carried a distinct mark etched somewhere on their body—arms, necks, the backs of hands, even faces. Location and design varied wildly from one to the next. And I already knew what it meant.

Every single one of them was a hero, same as me.

"Does this even make sense?"

In the novels I'd read in my past life, there was always just one hero. Two or three at the absolute most. Yet here, a rough count put the number in the hundreds.

"Form ranks."

A cold voice rang across the entire plaza. The murmuring heroes fell silent at once. All eyes turned toward a massive platform where the Capital's power brokers had gathered—royals, high nobles, great merchants, senior priests, even the Mage Tower's representative.

And standing proudly before them was a single woman.

Black uniform. Silver-rimmed glasses. Long black hair falling to her waist, every button fastened to the collar without a single gap. A uniform so perfectly regulation it almost choked the air. Strangely, though, the more thoroughly she covered herself, the more she stood out.

Was it the slender figure still visible beneath the fabric? That unforgiving, buttoned-up severity somehow produced a strangely sensual effect. Even the stiff cloth of her uniform couldn't hide the long, voluptuous curves that shifted with every step. Under that crisp fit, the silhouette of a body honed by years of real combat—taut, flexible—bled through with quiet insistence. Because she had wrapped herself so completely, her figure was thrown into crueler relief. A contradictory, devastating visual.

"Who is that?"

The moment I muttered it, people nearby began whispering.

"That's the Director of the Hero Management Bureau. Elena Hartmann."

"She's come out in person again."

"Of course she has. She's personally subdued rookie heroes who lost control of their authorities before. With all those important people sitting up there, she's the obvious choice for security."

"I heard high-rank heroes have been trying to recruit her into their parties for years."

"She turned them all down. Her skill is the real deal."

I looked back up at the platform. An insanely strong and gorgeous director big sis? Excellent. For a second I actually felt glad I'd become a hero. At that level she could pass for some noble young lady and no one would bat an eye.

I clearly wasn't the only one thinking it. Every rookie's gaze was locked on that platform. Elena herself, however, looked utterly used to the attention. She opened her mouth as if none of it mattered.

"We will now begin the twenty-sixth cohort of Rookie Hero rank evaluations."

The plaza went dead quiet.

"As explained every intake, this evaluation is not a ranking competition. Today's results will determine sponsorship scale, support stipends, party recruitment prospects, and your initial grade within the Hero Management Bureau."

The rookies' expressions turned serious. Elena continued.

"Prove your abilities. The treatment you receive from this day forward will depend on them."

Words that made the heart pound just to hear them. Under normal circumstances I might have been buzzing with excitement like everyone else, dreaming of the glorious future ahead. But I was a little different. Until a few days ago I hadn't even been sure I was a real hero.

I thought back to that day—specifically, the day they tried to determine whether I was a hero at all.

The Capital's central temple—the Pantheon of All Gods. The place that kept records of every deity in this world.

I sat before the priests with the back of my hand extended.

"This is the mark."

They nodded and immediately began flipping through sacred texts. One volume, two, ten, twenty.

"Nothing here."

"Not in this one either."

"Strange."

The atmosphere turned odd. At first I assumed they simply couldn't find the entry, but the priests' faces gradually hardened. Their hands moved faster through the pages; they kept glancing back and forth between my hand and the mark. A few even started looking at me strangely.

Was there a problem? I shifted in my seat, sat up a little straighter, and carefully rested my hands on my knees before speaking.

"Is something wrong?"

One of the priests fixed me with a stare.

"You're certain this mark appeared suddenly?"

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't carve it yourself?"

A bad feeling crawled up my spine.

"Hold on—"

"We've had many hero impostors lately. Some even tattoo themselves with fake divine marks."

The priest's suspicious tone froze me solid. Were they seriously treating me like a con artist?

"I'm telling you it's real!"

"There is no record to prove it."

"How am I supposed to know about that?!"

The mood was turning ugly when an elderly priest hunting through a battered old volume in the corner suddenly shouted.

"Wait!"

Every gaze snapped toward him. He frowned down at the book, carefully touched a page, then peeled apart two sheets that had been stuck together with a soft riip. Inside, a single mark was revealed—identical in every detail to the one on the back of my hand.

"Found it!"

The temple erupted in murmurs. Priests crowded around; I swallowed hard. Finally I would learn which great god had chosen me.

Then the old priest muttered in a dazed voice,

"Impossible. Does this mean a completely Forgotten God?"

There was no record. No name of the god, no domain, no authority, no temple location, no name of any order. Nothing but the mark itself.

The conclusion was simple. I was a hero. But no one knew whose. And that fact still hadn't changed.

The evaluation itself was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more straightforward than expected—a stage for revealing physical ability, knowledge, combat skill, and authority.

"Next."

A boy stepped forward. The moment his mark flared, a stream of water cut through the air and danced at his command.

"Hero of the God of Valleys."

The spectators nodded.

"Not bad."

"Still, the true peak of water is the God of the Sea. There'll be limits."

People muttered like that, but I saw it differently. A valley is narrow. Narrow means fast current and plenty of bends. Wouldn't that actually make it better for precision work? Perfect for binding someone or slipping into gaps. Apparently no one else thought so.

"Next."

A sturdy young man walked up. His mark blazed; red light wrapped his body and his muscles visibly swelled.

"Hero of the God of Struggle."

More nods from the crowd.

"Combat type."

"The absolute peak of combat is still the God of War, but this one looks pretty useful."

I tilted my head again. War commands armies; Struggle is personal combat. In a one-on-one fight, couldn't Struggle actually be stronger? I couldn't understand why everyone judged by the god's rank or name recognition instead of the authority itself.

Then gasps erupted from the stands.

"Oh!"

"It's the Hero of the Storm!"

Every eye locked onto one spot as a young man strode onto the evaluation platform. The instant his mark ignited, a violent gale swept the plaza.

KWA-AAAANG!

I shut my eyes on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pure instinct. Only after the wind passed could I open them again.

"Whoa."

That was on a completely different level from everything so far. Several rookies staggered; banners whipped wildly.

"Oooh. At last the God of Storms has chosen another hero."

"It's been empty a long time since the previous Storm Hero fell. Good to have a successor."

"Looks like this cohort's top seat will go to the Storm Hero."

"Sponsorship offers are already flying, I bet. Talent like that, you want to get in early."

Even I had to admit it this time. That one was genuinely strong—almost embarrassing to group with the rest of us rookies. I ended up staring blankly at the Storm Hero for a while.

"Next. Hero of the Forgotten God."

Elena's voice cut through.

"Hero of the Forgotten God, please step onto the evaluation platform."

"Me?"

Oh no. It was already my turn. I scrambled up onto the platform. Whispers were already starting around me.

"Isn't that the guy with the impersonation rumors?"

"I heard even the god's name is unknown. Does he actually have an authority?"

Honestly, I was curious about that myself. Once I was standing there, Elena spoke in a calm, flat voice.

"Use your authority."

I locked up solid. Use my authority? I didn't even know how. Cold sweat rolled down my back. Elena's brow twitched the tiniest bit.

"Is there a problem?"

Yes, there are several problems. First of all, I have no idea how to use my authority. But I couldn't exactly say that out loud. Suddenly I remembered every hero who had gone before me. The ones from the Gods of Valleys, Struggle, and Storm—every time they used their power, the mark on their body had glowed.

I slowly looked down at the back of my hand. A mark with no record, no name, no identity. Right now it was the only thing I could trust. Whether it worked or not, I had to try.

I focused my mind on the mark. It began to glow faintly.

Yes!

And then... nothing happened. No flames, no lightning, no water pillar—nothing. The cold sweat intensified. Was I really going to fail in front of this huge crowd?

The moment that thought hit, something strange started itching inside my skull. Like someone whispering in my ear, or trying to show me something. A hazy shape slowly rose into my vision.

"Black?"

What had looked like a blurry scrap of cloth grew clearer.

"Silk?"

I was baffled. Why silk? The information sharpened further.

"Lace?"

A moment later the form fully resolved, and I understood.

Wait—is this... pan—

BANG!

A tremendous crash rang out. I jerked my head up to find Elena had slammed her hand down on the platform. Was it just me, or did her face look a little red?

"Evaluation complete."

"What?"

"Next hero, please step onto the platform."

"Hold on—"

"Next!"

"No, wait—"

"Next!!"

The plaza went quiet. Then, a few seconds later, a voice rose from somewhere in the stands.

"Didn't he say black?"

"I think I heard silk too."

"Lace? Don't tell me..."

Every gaze in the plaza swung toward Elena at once. Someone cleared their throat.

"Ahem. It would appear the Director enjoys more... adventurous undergarments than expected."

Elena's eyes swept the stands. Those cold crimson irises moved slowly across the crowd and the entire plaza froze solid. Even the people who had been talking moments earlier clamped their mouths shut in a hurry. Only then did Elena speak again, in a voice that pretended the previous conversation had never existed.

"Next hero."

I climbed down from the platform with a dazed expression. Something had clearly happened, but I had no idea what the actual problem was. All I did was use my authority. It felt unfair. What did I even do?!

In one corner of the stands, an elderly mage wore an intrigued smile.

"Oho. An ability that reveals what is hidden, is it?"

He stroked his beard while watching Zick. This might prove more interesting than expected. Perhaps even useful for his own purposes.

A short distance away, a goblin clicked his tongue.

"Heh. That hero fellow is in deep trouble right from the start."

Even a hero couldn't do everything alone. Sponsors were necessary. Companions were necessary. In the end, the talent to gather people was part of being a hero—and what just happened had been fatal.

The goblin stared at the platform Zick had just left.

"The panty talk is already more famous than his actual ability. In that condition, even a pariah like me would think twice about joining him."

Elsewhere, a golden-haired knight watched the platform with a cold gaze.

"Pathetic."

Swordsmanship was garbage, and he didn't even know how to use his own authority. The knight clicked his tongue as if he couldn't understand how someone like that had been chosen as a hero. But a moment later his expression shifted, subtle and strange.

"Still... at least he didn't run."

Even while mockery poured down on him, he had stayed on that platform until the end. The knight let out a short snort of laughter.

"What a peculiar bastard."

Even after Zick's evaluation, the Rookie Hero rank assessments continued. All manner of authorities, talents, and possibilities flashed by. Yet the shock Zick had left behind was simply too large. What remained burned into everyone's memory was, ultimately, black silk lace.

Time flew. Before long the sun began to sink westward, and the twenty-sixth cohort's evaluations finally drew to a close.

"This concludes today's evaluations."

At Elena's declaration the rookies dispersed, each already guessing at their results, while high nobles and potential sponsors began moving to secure promising talents. Elena released a quiet sigh. Another long day. She headed straight for the director's office to finalize the rank assignments and draft the initial evaluation reports. Overtime was already locked in for tonight.

"Elena."

At the familiar voice, Elena's expression hardened as she turned. A blond man in a flamboyant white coat, wearing a smile far too self-assured for anyone's good. Mikhail Lumen—top of the twelfth cohort and Hero of Radiance. One of the active High-Rank Heroes, and the human Elena disliked most in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world.

"What business do you have, Hero of Radiance?"

"Still so stiff. Between us, there's no need for titles like that."

"Separating public and private is part of my job."

Mikhail shrugged.

"Today's evaluation was a bit unexpected, though. I was watching from the VIP seats."

The corner of his mouth curled upward.

"I never imagined a single rookie would fluster you that much."

Elena's brow narrowed by the smallest fraction.

"I find it difficult to agree with the assessment that I was flustered."

"Really? The entire evaluation ground went silent. In the old days you would have handled it with far more composure."

A brief silence. Then Elena spoke, face blank.

"Did you call me over simply to say that?"

"No. I came to make another offer."

"I decline."

"I haven't even said it yet."

"The answer will be the same."

"Shame."

Mikhail tilted his head with a smile.

"Someone of your caliber sitting here pushing paper is a waste."

"The Bureau is my workplace."

"Workplace?"

Mikhail gave a short laugh and stepped closer.

"Elena, you belong on the battlefield more than behind a desk. And right beside me."

He reached out, fingertips aiming for her black hair.

Tak!

Elena knocked his wrist aside without the slightest hesitation.

"Do not touch me."

A chill silence settled over the corridor. Elena's face remained as expressionless as ever, but the pressure rolling off her was sharp as a blade. Mikhail looked down at the hand she had struck away and chuckled.

"Still the same."

"Hero of Radiance, I am still on duty. If your business is finished, step aside."

Elena turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor. Mikhail watched her retreating figure with a languid smile.

"She really is a difficult one."

Until now, every person Mikhail had taken an interest in had eventually stayed by his side—swayed by money, honor, or power. Elena was different. Which only made him want her more. The corner of his mouth twisted slowly.

"Someday. Without fail."

Back in the director's office, Elena sank into her chair and let out a deep breath.

"Exhausting."

The twenty-sixth cohort evaluations, and then Mikhail on top of it—today had been unusually draining. But work was work. She opened the stack of documents and began flipping through the rookies' evaluation sheets one by one. Her hand stopped on a particular page.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Elena looked down at the evaluation. A textbook low-tier assessment. Of course, among those who had awakened young or never received proper nutrition, there were heroes ranked even lower than Zick. But if the baseline was rookies immediately ready for field deployment, Zick sat near the absolute bottom.

Her gaze dropped to the final category.

Authority

The moment her eyes touched that line, Elena's brow twitched. A memory she never wanted to revisit: black, silk, lace... and pan—

"Ahem!"

She immediately cleared her throat. It was an embarrassing authority, yes. But embarrassing and useless were two completely different things. An authority was not a mere technique; it was a power that grew alongside the hero as they came to understand and accept their god's domain. That was why the Hero Management Bureau valued potential far more than current strength.

In fact, many heroes who began with overwhelming power overestimated themselves and died. Conversely, authorities that first seemed trivial had later overturned entire battlefields more than once.

Elena recalled the old records. There had once been a hero chosen by the God of the Sea. At the moment of his awakening, his authority could barely move a little water. Yet he spent his entire life trying to understand the ocean—the calm surface, the raging waves, the all-consuming storms, and the lightless deep. As his understanding deepened, so did the authority. The power that stirred ripples learned to command waves; waves became tsunamis; and at last he manifested the very terror of the sea itself. Inside those bottomless black waters, enemies were swallowed not only in body but in mind—drowned by fear and despair. That was the result of truly comprehending the concept called "ocean."

An authority transforms into something entirely different depending on how deeply one understands a god's domain. And Zick's authority—whatever its true nature—had pierced the defensive inscriptions woven into the Bureau's uniforms, her own magic resistance, and every perception-interference spell, then read the information with perfect accuracy.

Growth potential confirmed.

Elena wrote it down. Then a sudden question rose. Why was he carrying a sword? According to the evaluation notes, even his grip was wrong and his swings were clumsy. Anyone could see he had never been properly trained, yet he still wore a blade at his hip. After a moment's thought she let out a short, quiet laugh. Surely he wasn't wearing it just because it looked cool?

Somehow that felt exactly right. Elena couldn't hold back a small smile as she wrote the final lines of the evaluation.

A moment later she added one more line beneath them.

After a brief pause, Elena lifted her pen again and quietly crossed out the final sentence. Even so, that was not something one wrote in an official record.