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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: I Want to Fuck a Hero
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A warm spring day.
News kicking off with forest fires, then some company detecting harmful substances in their food,
high chance of rain starting at lunch so don't forget your umbrella.
The announcer, who'd been rattling off trivial breaking news from the TV, suddenly fell silent.
A broadcast glitch?
The man sprawled on the sofa scratched his belly and yawned while watching.
As if it were no big deal, the sound cut out completely now.
"..."
The announcer glanced away from the camera for a moment, then started whispering with someone off-screen.
Ah. Looking closely, there was a beige hoodie peeking at the edge.
With a slight beer gut, probably a producer? She was chatting with the crew.
Must be important. Now they were even handing her papers.
The announcer flipped through a few sheets right there on set. Soon enough, her head tilted sideways in confusion.
She had a pretty face, so even that simple gesture looked cute.
After nearly a minute of back-and-forth, she straightened the fresh-off-the-printer A4 sheets and moved on to the next story.
"...Uh, hang on."
Now she was even stumbling over her words.
Hmm. I'd seen clips like this online sometimes.
Announcers flubbing their lines.
Last one got so embarrassed she teared up. Wonder if I could find that one with a search.
The man stretched out, grabbing his phone from the coffee table.
And that's when,
he faced an internet flooded wall-to-wall with one single story.
"Br-breaking news. A fire-breathing...? Baby has appeared in Canada..."
What the hell is this bullshit?
He blinked in disbelief.
1.
Honestly.
I figured living like this, I'd eventually get to fuck a few heroes, easy as pie.
"Urgh..."
That was the image villains had, after all.
Vicious criminals.
Terrorists.
Some nutjob missing a few screws.
Orphan from a tragic backstory.
Societal parasites.
Even getting trashed like that, as a kid they looked kinda cool.
Flip side, what about heroes' image?
Mascots.
Idols.
Elites.
Judges smiting evil.
And sacrificing their bodies for others...
Total fucking morons.
I thought after hanging as a villain long enough, I'd wipe the floor with a few of those heroes, use 'em like tissues.
TV.
Smartphones.
YouTube.
All the eyewitness accounts.
Verified pics on the forums.
Those heroes smiling brightly, beacons of hope for the masses—I'd drag 'em away in secret,
away from their fans, with no one the wiser.
Quietly.
To a filthy, cramped room reeking of villain stink,
then onto an even tinier bed stained with used condoms.
Pin down the struggling hero,
and watch her gasp and pant as I pound away relentlessly.
Back around twenty, early to mid-twenties, I lived that blissful villain life dreaming those hopeful dreams.
Just hit adulthood, body all grown but still a big dumb teen, y'know.
...Thinking back now, yeah, that was prime horn-dog age. Dick ruled everything.
"...Urgh..."
Lost too much blood maybe.
Clutching my right side gashed open by that sickle, I let out a pathetic groan and slumped against the wall.
The searing pain like third-degree burns was finally fading.
Head going fuzzy at the same time, vision blurring out.
At seven, when I first got my powers, no way I thought I'd croak like some two-bit crook.
Gripping my wrecked side with my shredded arm, I fought to keep breathing somehow.
But nope.
First time I'd been hurt this bad, probably why.
I'd stuck to workouts religiously every day, but were those just useless balloon muscles after all...?
"Fucking... bitch..."
If she'd been a combat Transcendent, I might've thrashed around at least.
If she was gonna take me down this easy, should've just spat in that pretty face and closed my eyes.
Ended up not just failing to fuck any heroes, but dying without even a single curse.
"Kuh..."
Sadly, I couldn't spew fire from my mouth.
Couldn't make giant ice spears like some famous hero and impale everything from the rooftops,
couldn't summon spirits for revenge,
didn't have the power to slice through it all with one sword like our crew's heavy hitter.
Just one thing.
Healing wounds fast by touch...
"Fuck..."
Even that wasn't working now.
Forget the snapped ribs,
it'd punctured organs, hurt like a motherfucker—couldn't focus on my power at all.
Now I got what "dying from pain" really meant.
Should've healed the kids quicker when they came back banged up.
Too-late regrets flooded in.
"Hoo.... Hoo..."
Feels like being a doctor who can't heal himself, huh?
Didn't even feel like bitter laughing.
Fucking miserable.
"Life..."
...If I'd known, I would've ignored that rude bitch when she randomly texted to grab drinks a few days back.
Would've at least fucked a famous villain senseless till the sheets were soaked before biting it.
Sure, I'd brought home a few nameless ones...
But those were just practice runs.
One night of railing and they go "Master, Master," spouting shit that didn't even turn me on, submitting instantly—lost interest fast. Practice dummies, brainless sluts.
A hero would've resisted to the end.
This brute shit ain't fun at all.
Quit it nicely now.
Once it's over, I'll kill you.
Yeah. That's what makes breaking 'em worthwhile.
"...Puhh..."
What good are regrets now.
I let out a deep sigh and slid down the wall, sprawling on the floor.
The slick blood soaking me felt like chocolate syrup loaded with water.
The hot gush had cooled; now it was drying cold and crusty on my skin.
I closed my eyes.
Even keeping them open felt exhausting now.
Old folks say as long as you can lift the spoon, you can still fuck.
Bullshit.
Maybe death creeping close was sharpening my mind.
Regrets bubbled up one by one.
Blackmail vids that turned out useless.
Mounds of extra-large condoms, expiration dates checked, ready anytime.
And my memo doc on every hero's weaknesses, gaps I could exploit.
...Huh. All sex-related.
"..."
Should've lived nicer.
No cool last words like a hero—just generic small-time villain thoughts as I lay in the blood puddle, ragged breaths wheezing out.
Breaths growing shallower.
Like someone pressing slow and steady on my solar plexus.
As consciousness faded,
I caught a whiff of bitter coffee and blinked my eyes open again.
"No need to read that so closely. Healing-type Transcendents are rare—we'll give you top-tier treatment in the biz."
"...Pardon?"
"Nah, we don't need some shitty paper to hash this out anyway."
Clap. A loud smack, like look here.
Then a burly, muscled right hand thrust toward me.
Under the rolled-up shirtsleeve, thick hair like no human's.
Right, the gorilla.
Mutation-type power.
"Let's get along, Seo Woo-jin."
"..."
The scene felt unfamiliar yet quickly familiarizing.
Flashy interior screaming backer money.
Yet the sofa was secondhand, sweat stains gleaming.
...That mix coffee machine the rude bitch loved,
which I'd never used since I only drank instant.
And this hairy arm before me.
This smirking face.
I knew them all too well.
"...What're you doing? Woo-jin. Days later and still hungover? Why so spaced out?"
Ten years ago.
The night I first got smashed as a fresh adult, this guy dragged me to a dark alley for a "scouting offer."
Said he'd been watching me for days like a stalker—creepy as fuck.
But my dream job was villain too, so I got street-cast no hassle.
Not the point now.
Why was that memory replaying before my eyes?
"..."
Calmly piecing it together, I reached a conclusion.
Looked like... the past.
Sounded insane, but what could I do? The scene screamed it.
Oh yeah, life flashing before eyes.
Might be that.
But the "flash" was way too slow—people said it zipped by.
What the hell?
Going nuts for a sec?
Maybe a dream?
Staring at the proffered hairy hand,
—Slap!
"Wha..."
My head snapped back with a crack from my neck.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Till the mystery cleared,
then the other cheek.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Blood and spit splattering the table.
Hard.
"...Hmm."
Weird.
Even after all that, the scene didn't change.
I swallowed the pooling blood in my mouth and dazedly stared at his now-fisted hairy hand in confusion.
It hurt.
Hurt like dying—real as fuck.
And he hit my cheek, but my nose stung too.
Nosebleed maybe.
I wiped my nostrils with my index finger, then touched my face to cool the heat with my healing power.
...It cooled.
Just like the real deal I remembered.
Couldn't wrap my head around it, zoned out a bit—then fresh blood trickled obnoxiously down, wetting my lips.
No need to taste if it was real blood; my cheek had burst from the slaps, I'd already gulped plenty.
Plus, nose blood's gross anyway.
Whatever.
Had I really time-traveled back with my memories?
Or gone insane, thinking I had?
After blinking awhile, I grabbed tissues from the box on the table and roughly dabbed my nosebleed.
If the latter, too depressing.
Better force the former.
Villain life's end ten years from now—hero raid on the hideout.
Dying there, somehow looping back ten years.
The life-deciding contract before me.
All stone-cold reality, no lies.
"Hoo..."
Red tissues piled on the trash bin with its rice crust candy wrappers.
"Wh-what the hell?"
"..."
"Woo-jin?"
"..."
...Oh right. This guy's one of the grunts.
Most likely to run into heroes on the job,
easiest position to fuck a defeated one,
and per two months ago drunk chat alone,
still a virgin.
"H-hey, you're scaring me, say something..."
"Sorry."
So.
Eyeing the contract—decent terms, minus the four insurances.
"What?"
"Just, suddenly wanna live right starting now."
"Huh?"
"So I slapped myself awake."
Seizing the chance.
"Eh?"
"Cancel this contract. Pretend it never happened."
"Ca-cancel, what?"
"See ya."
Villain.
Quit on the spot.
Ten years to death? Dodgable somehow.
But this job...
Can't even properly fuck heroes. Utter dogshit gig.
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