Chapter 04: Back in My Day
Hearing the news about Donghoon, I quickly hurried over. The wind harshly slapped against my face, yet I widened my eyes and sped up even more.
Tap—
I felt the concrete crack beneath my feet as I landed too harshly.
Tap.
From rooftop to rooftop, I kicked off the walls to propel myself forward:
Bang!
With swift movements, I leaped from one apartment to another, bouncing off the walls between buildings, charging ahead.
As I glanced downwards, countless beams of light streamed past me:
The yellow glow of car headlights, the cool shine of smartphone screens, the relentless allure of streetlamps tempting customers, and narrow shafts of light cutting through the darkness.
In the flood of illumination brightening the city, I noticed not a single glance directed my way.
Was it because I was lost in the shadows, where their light couldn’t touch? Or had they simply grown accustomed to heroes flying above them?
Lost in such thoughts, I continued racing through the dark night.
*
Crumble.
The asphalt cracked before me, likely due to my hasty landing outside the emergency room.
I stomped on the asphalt a couple of times to smooth it out before dashing inside, urgently shouting, “Donghoon!”
“This is the emergency room; please keep it down!” A nurse shot me a glare as I rushed in, wagging her finger at me.
From her tone and expression, it was clear she was treating me like a child.
While I wasn’t particularly fond of that, it wasn’t my first experience with it, and one has to keep quiet in an emergency room.
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart and said, “I got a call saying Donghoon was critical.”
“Is a guardian with you? Children aren’t allowed in the emergency room alone,” the nurse replied, attempting to shoo me away with a friendly tone, not bothering to check any paperwork.
I clicked my tongue and pulled out my ID, tossing it at her.
The decades-old ID, which I hadn’t updated since my face hadn’t changed at all, flew across the counter and landed right in front of her.
“Haram Lee, Hero Registration Number 01-005-M. Please take me to him.”
The nurse glanced back and forth between the ID and my face, her eyes going wide with shock. “I apologize, sir.”
Once she regained her composure, she returned to a businesslike demeanor and continued, “What is the patient’s name?”
“Donghoon Kim.”
Click clack—
The monotonous clacking of a keyboard echoed through the dimly lit, silent hospital.
“What’s your relationship with the patient?”
“I’m his friend.”
Upon hearing this, the nurse raised her phone to call someone. “An acquaintance of the patient has arrived. What should we do?”
She paused, as if waiting for instructions, and after a length of silence, she replied softly, “Yes, yes, understood.”
Though their conversation had just begun, each second stretched painfully as my insides burned with anxiety.
My fingers began to tremble; it felt like a rush of heated emotions swelling within me, similar to what I felt during a fight.
To cool my escalating emotions, I pulled a familiar white stick from my pocket and bit down on it.
Crunch—
The hard metal crunched under my teeth as I left bite marks on it.
The cold metal met my lips, absorbing my body heat, bringing a temporary sense of calm.
The tension and heat that had seized my body flowed away with each bite, allowing me to return to my usual self.
‘Don’t worry. Someone like me is still alive, right? He’ll be fine too.’
“I’ve received confirmation. You may—” The nurse stopped, glaring at me again. “You cannot smoke in the hospital.”
“This isn’t a cigarette or anything like that.”
‘It’s just… something an old friend gave me because they hated seeing me smoke during fights.’
*
“He is currently unconscious, and—”
I sat down next to the bed, staring at my unresponsive friend. He looked just as he did when we last parted ways.
No, there was one difference—a bandage stained red forming on the back of his head.
“He sustained an injury to the occipital region,” the doctor explained.
My friend, who once had eyes full of justice, now lay behind a tightly bound bandage.
“The culprit has been apprehended, but… the police are interrogating them.”
The doctor’s words hovered in my mind, empty and meaningless. I couldn’t think at all. I couldn’t even grasp the reality of the situation.
“The damage to his brain is severe, and… there’s a possibility of him slipping into a coma…”
Unconsciousness…
Brain damage…
A crime…
A hero of justice…
“Is money the problem?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Does he need money for surgery or something? If that’s the case, he’s a retired hero, so I’m sure he has insurance for situations like this…”
There had to be support systems for retired heroes during emergencies. I was positive there was.
“Unfortunately… it isn’t a matter of finances.”
Clatter—
The metal stick fell from my mouth.
“The issue lies in the location of his injury. You may need to prepare for the worst—he might not survive the night… After checking his background and confirming he was a hero, we did try to utilize healing abilities too, but… the brain damage is too severe…”
“Ah… Ha… Hahaha… Haha…” I let out a weary laugh.
The doctor lowered his voice. “Normally, we allow visitation only until 10 PM, but since you’re a hero…”
I understood he was giving me a little extra time. After that, he quietly exited, leaving me alone with my friend.
I picked up the metal stick from the floor, gripped it tightly, and leaned against the edge of Donghoon’s bed.
“Donghoon, do you remember the first time we met?”
Beep.
The machine keeping track of his vital signs continued to emit rhythmic sounds.
“They called us ‘Awakeners’ and gathered us in one place to ‘manage’ us.”
Fuuu—
His slow, steady breaths were the only responses I received.
I began reminiscing about the origins of heroes—our beginnings.
“We were forced to wear ankle monitors and endure all sorts of humiliation, remember? Yet, we fought. We fought for justice; we fought for humanity.”
Creak—
The bed frame made a small sound as I adjusted myself.
“I can’t tell if everyone was like us or if only those with a heart for justice were chosen, but in the end, we protected it all, right?”
I opened the window.
“Did you know? Heroes nowadays aren’t disparaged like we were. They don’t get ambushed anymore. They proudly show off their real names and faces on TV!”
Back in our day…
“People aren’t afraid of the evacuation sirens any longer! They move quietly and calmly, like they know heroes will protect them while they evacuate to the shelters…”
Back… in… our… day…
The glorious lights of the city spilled down on the bed.
“Donghoon! Isn’t this what you longed to see?! You told me you’d create a world where people could laugh again!”
We made that world.
“Why in the world would you consider dying without enjoying it?!”
His last question hung in the air, a ghostly echo from outside the restaurant.
Were we just? Had we genuinely done everything we could?
‘We did, you fool.’
The peace we relished was something we forged. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but everyone could smile. Regret began to take root in my heart—a regret I couldn’t offer him a proper answer while he doubted everything.
“Don’t die. I will tell you this as many times as you need to hear it.”
I gazed silently at his face, hoping another miracle would occur. We are heroes—beacons of light. Always.
*
Donghoon Kim. Male. 46 years old. Homicide. Received an injury to the occipital region. Brain Death: 01:24.
Dressed in black, I stared blankly at his photo. He appeared to embody all the happiness in the world.
That photo was taken over fifteen years ago, before he had completely detached from society and stopped taking pictures, displaying his youthful smile that transcended time and lingered in my memory.
In a daze, I continued staring at the photo while seated on the ground.
“Who’s she? His daughter?”
“Crimson Hammer, a magical girl. They seemed to share a close bond,” someone replied.
Such conversations danced around me repeatedly. Because Donghoon had no family, I assumed the role of the chief mourner, albeit in title only—I hadn’t done anything significant.
The ceremony unfolded within an expansive funeral hall, countless people from various walks of life came to pay their respects. I simply observed.
The Association’s employees assisted each mourner, managing everything—photos, the coffin, the funeral hall, the burial site, and more.
Initially, they asked me questions, but upon catching my blank expression, they left me to my own devices.
All that was expected of me was to stay seated before the casket. There was no need for me to shake hands with politicians for photos or converse with the Association’s higher-ups.
“…The weight of humanity does not rest on your shoulders alone.”
After hearing a familiar voice, I looked around and saw his face—on a TV.
Footage of his speech ran quietly on screens placed throughout the funeral hall.
The repeated speech played on loop, capturing my undivided attention.
Following the speech, details of the case emerged—the interrogation of the criminal, their personal information, and their location.
I left the funeral hall.
*
Thud—
The walls of the detention center crumbled, showering gray dust across the air.
There he stood, the bastard who had taken Donghoon from us.
“Was it you?” My emotions erupted, pouring out despite my efforts to contain them. “Why? Why did you kill him?”
It glared at me, seemingly unafraid that I had just invaded a government building.
It returned my stare defiantly. “Because he was an Awakener.” The statement was blunt and delivered in a raspy, jagged tone.
“That’s all it was?” I seized its collar and lifted it high off the ground. I had thought hero discrimination had vanished; after all, we worked tirelessly to eradicate it.
The worthless piece of trash choked for breath yet persisted in speaking unabashedly. “It was! Awakeners are at the forefront of evil, and this is a holy war to eradicate them!”
Its overzealous tone echoed with a twisted cheer, as if it reveled in the very notion.
‘What…?’
“The government! Those bastards are also Awakeners! This is all because of the disruptive electromagnetic waves…”
‘What the hell… is this?’
“Officers, may I ask you a question?” I addressed the police surrounding me, recalling I had just broken into a government building.
With hard faces, the officers remained silent.
It mattered not. “Is this thing… insane?”
They nodded in response.
A mental illness… A civilian…
An individual whom heroes cannot bring justice upon…
A person I couldn’t touch…
The entire incident stemmed from someone with a mental illness, determined purely by my sense of justice as a hero and the Association’s judgement.
Thud—
I dropped it harshly to the ground.
“See?! My powers are no longer effective…” The lunatic continued to yell, undeterred.
I, along with others like me, could do nothing.
We were heroes…
And this was the very system we established.
*
Donghoon became a sensation.
They discussed the final moments of a hero and his life.
His story perpetually aired on television, and debates about the societal crimes that led to his death raged on.
Of course, his face dominated the front pages, and there were constant expressions of support for him online.
It seemed the Association had been working behind the scenes to craft such a narrative, transforming a hero’s tragedy into a means of bolstering others’ social relevance.
Almost as though they were conspiring to monopolize credit, an avalanche of sensationalized falsehoods about him flooded the media.
Average civilians might overlook it, but clear discrepancies stood out to heroes who had been close to him. Yet, none of the old heroes, myself included, dared to speak.
This was the path toward a better future for heroes.
The funeral service occurred amidst that despair.
There was no vengeful bloodbath to quench—the violence was absent.
Time simply drifted by.
I was left powerless as the flickering embers in my heart extinguished once again after a brief but brilliant flare.
*
A platform had been established beside the grave as rain poured down. On the platform, someone I’d never met before passionately eulogized Donghoon.
“He was an exquisite hero. He fought tirelessly for humanity. Even in retirement, he dedicated his life to our service.”
‘Am I allowed to be so passionate during a eulogy?’
“What became of such a hero’s fate? He met a chilling end in a dark alley.”
That was indeed a ludicrous way to die. I still couldn’t accept that he fell victim to someone with a mental illness.
“It is now time for us to shift our focus to the retired heroes! I do not merely speak of the hero being laid to rest today. All around us, numerous heroes suffer from the trials of life…”
The eulogy quickly morphed into a plainly political speech. They argued that because a hero had died in such a way, it was crucial to improve their circumstances.
Annoyed, I tuned out the speaker.
After the eulogy, the burial continued. More accurately, Donghoon’s final resting place—a casket molded from expensive wood, draped in pure white cloth—was lowered into a neatly dug rectangular hole.
Dirt cascaded onto the cloth, slowly burying the casket from view.
Eventually, a mound of dirt formed over the casket, crowned by a pristine white border and a tombstone.
As the gathering exchanged stories, they gradually dispersed, one by one.
Surely, the rain felt uncomfortable. The television crews departed shortly thereafter. Among the dwindling crowd, someone approached me.
“Will you still be remaining, Crimson Hammer?”
“It’s my friend’s final journey.”
I had caused his death.
“Is that so?” The man gradually removed his fedora and respectfully bowed his head toward the grave. “I dislike such occasions. It feels as if they’re looking at heroes as jesters…”
As people continued to leave us, only the man and I remained, silently observing the grave. Ultimately, he adjusted his fedora before departing.
Alone in the cemetery, I leaned back against my friend’s cold gravestone.
“It’s over, Donghoon.” I gazed upwards at the sky, which poured heavily upon me, casting a shadow over the day. “You really are… dead.”
It was only then that I fully grasped the reality of Donghoon’s passing—Donghoon, the friend I had killed.
“The Association is really pushing it too far. I cannot believe they would so brazenly exploit your death for political gain.”
Grumbling to myself, I recalled the word the man had just uttered.
Jester…
A flood of thoughts surged through my mind—the living capitalizing on the names of the deceased…
The Association’s politicization…
Heroes uninterested in justice…
Clowns dancing on television…
Regulations only concerned with safety…
…and the society that permitted this chaos to persist.
It felt as if a switch flicked in my mind, leading me to enlightenment.
The heroes have all vanished, leaving only clowns behind!
Even the silent, old heroes were forced into this role.
Likewise, I bore the blame for this silence, allowing society to reach this dark point. I simply assumed that as long as heroes could smile, everything would be fine. I was at fault for walking instead of running.
Through my own hands, through my inaction, heroes had disappeared from this world. My desire for them to escape the suffering we had endured had wrought their demise.
Heroes had been tainted by a corrupted world, and the last true hero had just been laid to rest.
Only clowns remained.
Therefore… someone had to instill a proper sense of justice in them. Justice could not evaporate in such a manner.
I lifted my soaked body and left my friend’s grave.
A new flame ignited within me. I would use this fury as kindling to set the world ablaze. My flames would correct my past and guide me along the path I had strayed from.
They would illuminate the way for me as a sinner.
I would deliver hardships to those who weren’t true heroes. To prevent false heroes from tarnishing their names, I would bring them suffering.
As I spotted a crowbar abandoned on the ground, likely forsaken by the workers who had dug the grave, I grasped it tightly as I departed the cemetery.
I could not wield my hammer—that weapon belonged to the magical girl who cherished justice. There was no need for something like that in the mire I would drag them into.
It was time for me to instruct them.
Back… in… my… day…
The sensation of blood trickling down your skin, the terror of the Otherworld, the gore spilled as a result…
The feeling of being blamed and scorned by the very people you saved, the humiliation of rotten tomatoes hurled towards your head…
The gut-wrenching experience of comrades dying…
A golden hammer…
The sensation of the endless rain…
A dim alleyway reeking of vomit…
The savage cruelty of the police battering you with their batons…
The death of a friend, and a crimson crowbar…
What the hell? They weren’t that dissimilar after all.
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