episode_0002

2

“February, huh…”

The moment I stepped out of the familiar conference room—it was usually used for meetings, though I guess they had nowhere else to conduct interviews—I pulled out my phone from my pocket and checked the date. A heavy sigh escaped me, laden with frustration.

Roughly ten years and three months.

What should I even call this?

Time warp?

Past regression?

Well, whatever the term, something strange, bizarre, utterly absurd had happened.

My ability has nothing to do with time.

I’m just a healer-type Transcendent—rare, sure, but that’s all there is to it. A guy who can place his hands on someone, fiddle around a bit, and—poof!—heal them at the cost of some fatigue. That’s it.

So why did this happen?

I’ve agonized over it countless times, but no answer came.

I slapped my own cheek, bit into my flesh, then healed myself just to confirm that this wasn’t some dream. And yet…

Besides, I’ve never even heard of a time-related Transcendent among heroes.

And just now—no, ten years and three months from now—the hero who would’ve come to this hideout was, to my knowledge, a mutation-type Transcendent.

Most weapon-wielding heroes are either evolution or mutation types.

Well, even if she wasn’t, I’d have recognized her on sight. She’s famous.

Code name: Reaper.

Mutation-type. Base: Snake.

Despite being a hero, her face, hairstyle, and even her physique looked far more sinister than most villains. That’s how I knew for sure.

Anyway.

As a mutation-type Transcendent, she has no way of sending me back to the past.

Even if she did, she’d have no reason to.

For rehabilitation? To teach me to live a good life from now on?

Yeah, right. She could’ve just trained harder to beat and take me down in ten years!

Something’s off…

Something, something…

“…Ah. It’s raining.”

Maybe because February was unusually mild.

Transparent raindrops trickled down the stairs in a steady rhythm.

This is the problem with underground hideouts. Sure, they tickle that middle-school edgy nostalgia, but if the drainage isn’t done right, this crap happens.

I’ve slipped and nearly fallen more times than I can count. Good thing I’m quitting now.

Grabbing a pitch-black umbrella from the stand, I unfurled it and stepped outside without hesitation.

Just as I clicked my tongue and sidestepped a rainbow-hued oil puddle by the car—

A ringtone sounded.

“…?”

“Hyung-nim Namho” flashed on the screen.

Back then, I thought naming contacts like that was cool.

Even though I’d only seen the guy’s face once.

Ah, no, not that gorilla from earlier.

There was another guy, even rougher-looking.

…Now that I think about it, that whole organization was like a circus of freaks.

Except me.

“Ugh…”

I considered ignoring it but fished out my earbuds instead.

I was still just a powerless student—no need to live exhaustingly yet.

Awakening? New ability concepts spreading? That’s at least five years away.

Adjusting my grip on the umbrella, I tapped the bright green answer button.

“…Hey, Woojin.”

A gruff voice, like someone who smoked three packs a day, crackled through the earbuds.

If he hadn’t looked so damn intimidating, I might’ve taken him to karaoke once or twice.

“Yes.”

“So, about what we discussed earlier—let’s just pretend none of that happened, yeah?”

“Summarized nicely.”

I liked how direct he was.

Half-heartedly replying, I instinctively patted my front pocket.

But all I grabbed was damp air. Nothing in the side pockets, nothing in the back.

Where’d they go? Staring dumbly at my empty hand, I snapped out of it and scratched the back of my neck.

Cigarettes. I didn’t smoke back then.

“…Ah. Do I need to cut off a finger or something? That’s what they do in movies.”

“You planning to offer one up willingly? You’re a healer.”

“Losing a fingertip might make for a unique fashion statement.”

Worried I might get kidnapped mid-call, I quickly stepped onto the main road.

Then, I pulled the umbrella low over my face.

“Enough of that. Woojin.”

“Yes. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“There’s something called camaraderie among us Koreans, right? How could you just visit a few times and then run off like that?”

“……”

“Hyung treated you so well, huh? This hurts, man. Really.”

Looking back, I shouldn’t have even gone on those visits.

Maybe it was because I was just a freshly legal adult with a big body.

A villain alliance committing all sorts of crimes in the shadows of the city? Honestly, it got my heart racing.

Naturally, I thought I’d get to tie up some female heroes and have my way with them.

Who knew I’d spend ten years diligently committing every crime except rape—murder, threats, terrorism, you name it…

“Healer-types are rare, and you know it. Most end up as sidekicks to famous heroes.”

“Yeah. That’s why the terms were so good.”

I kept my tone polite, afraid he might come after me with a steel pipe.

The contract had offered a salary that would’ve put most corporate starting wages to shame.

Of course, since it wasn’t exactly a legal contract, the “annual salary” included performance bonuses…

But over the past decade, I’d always gotten at least that much, if not more.

“Was the ‘company’ water not to your taste during the visit? Jonghyuk would’ve shown you something fun.”

“Just… just because. No big reason. I just want to live a clean life now.”

Jonghyuk.

The gorilla’s name.

No idea what’s fun about him—all I remember is him making me instant noodles once.

They were good, though. But that’s it.

“Last time, you said it looked cool, like a secret organization.”

“It looked so much like a secret organization that I figured it wouldn’t count as work experience.”

“Since when do you care about job hunting? Weren’t you on TV as a kid?”

“Who knows? My ability appeared suddenly—it could disappear just as fast.”

I couldn’t exactly say, I wanted to take down a few admired heroes, secretly break them in overnight, and mold them to my tastes.

So I just spun whatever came to mind.

A slow exhale crackled through the earbuds—could’ve been a sigh or a drag of a cigarette.

“…Fine. Get lost, then.”

“Thank you.”

“Tch. Good luck with the job hunt.”

Click.

The call ended.

Pulling out the earbuds, the cheerful sound of rain I hadn’t noticed before tickled my eardrums.

“Ugh…”

…But something…

How should I put it?

They let me go way too easily…?

They know the hideout’s location, right?

And it’s not a decoy—it’s the real deal.

Shouldn’t they take some measures to keep me quiet?

If it were me, I’d have killed them first.

If killing wasn’t an option, I’d have instilled fear somehow.

That’s why I brought up cutting off a finger.

That guy gets attached once you’re part of his “family,” but he’s not the type to be this lenient with outsiders.

…Maybe I should run.

I don’t get it, but I’ll try to think positively.

Maybe they figured a clean break was better than retaliation.

And honestly, healer-type Transcendents are incredibly rare.

No amount of “incredibly” does it justice.

If not for my “I want to take down a hero” fantasy, I’d never have glanced at villains like them.

Maybe they’re letting me go for now, seeing me as stubborn and hopeless, planning to revisit the conversation in a few days.

Alright. What now?

First, I should search online to see if anyone’s experienced something like this—being sent back in time.

And just in case it’s all in my head, maybe a hospital visit…

Ugh.

Heroes…

I don’t want to give up.

There just aren’t any women who fit my tastes like they do.

What should I do?

Quit being a villain, but stay close to heroes.

While maintaining a pure, romantic vibe—

but with a hint of roughness,

a hint of something darker.

Lost in thought, I was halfway across the crosswalk when—

Tires screeched.

A shrill scream tore through the air beside me.

Calm rainwater splashed violently.

SCREECH— The sound of metal rending made my shoulders jerk.

From the direction of a sound I shouldn’t have heard—already a few steps past the white lines—I slowly turned my head left.

And swallowed hard.

CRUNCH—SCRAPE—

A white sedan, crumpled like paper, rolled violently across the road—

“…”

—right past me, skidding and sliding away.

The cause? A dump truck barreling through the downpour.

No idea how many tons it weighed, but it could’ve crushed a few cars without breaking a sweat.

I saw the license plate.

But did it matter?

I couldn’t see the driver’s face.

The umbrella blocked my view, but the truck’s windows were pitch-black anyway.

Ah.

Was this why they let me go so easily?

Or was it just a drowsy driver?

Weird. They couldn’t have gotten a clear look at me in this rain.

Was it even possible to target me like this?

No idea.

Could be coincidence. Could be fate.

This time, unlike before, a hollow laugh escaped me.

What a fucking stupid way to go.

Maybe because I’d already brushed against death once a few minutes ago.

And hadn’t I just experienced something impossible?

IF. What if I hadn’t become a villain?

Show me a short, shitty alternate life, then kill me as originally destined?

…Whatever the reason, giving hope just to crush it is twice as shitty.

A few broken ribs would’ve hurt less than this. Fuck.

How much would it hurt? Maybe instant death would’ve been kinder.

Pretending to accept it—

acting cool—

acting unbothered.

But at the edge of every thought, shameful regret seeped through.

The laugh faded.

A deep sigh took its place.

Then—

SKREEE—

Someone dashed past me as I stood resigned on the crosswalk.

WHOOSH— A gust of wind yanked the umbrella from my grip, sending me tumbling onto the asphalt.

Nine times out of ten, when bone meets pavement, pavement wins.

My tailbone screamed like it’d been grated.

Before I could even think of healing my ass—

BOOM— A deafening explosion shook the road.

Not a car wreck—something heavier.

The sheer volume startled me so much I forgot the pain, turning toward the truck’s direction.

“What the hell was that? Did you get it on camera?”

“Are you stupid? How could I record that on the spot? Everyone crossing almost died!”

“Those tire marks are insane…”

Bystanders babbled incoherently.

Raindrops soaked my hair, now umbrella-less.

Amidst the hiss of airbags and blaring sirens—

“…I’m screwed…”

A small, muttered voice cut through the rain.

Unusually calm for a girl.

“Dump trucks are expensive, right…?”

Expensive, sure, but not that expensive.

The white import car that just got wrecked probably cost more.

“Still, I did the right thing. Ugh… Will I get compensation…? Gotta figure out my weekend part-time job…”

She didn’t summon anything—just used her own body to stomp the truck’s bumper, stopping it dead in its tracks. So not a summoner.

No flashy magic raining from the sky, so not a mage.

No visible wings, tail, or horns—not a mutation-type.

That left one option: evolution-type—dramatic strength with no outward changes.

Her foot lifted from the bumper, sending ripples through the rainwater.

“Ah, damn, my ankle… Might need a hospital…”

A messy, jet-black ponytail swayed, soaked.

A tiny star-shaped earring suggested she liked accessories.

A mint-green T-shirt (disappointingly opaque even when wet) and a knotted school blazer around her waist—

A student from Miren Academy, about ten blocks away.

“…Ahem, uh, a-are you okay? Mister Truck Driver? You alive?”

“……”

“Y-you’ve gotta take responsibility…”

In other words—

A hero-in-training.

And one with a sprained ankle.

“……”

An idea struck me.

A good one.