Chapter 96: A Manufactured Hero

Seong Ji-woo nodded with a conflicted expression.

“……Yes.”

The HERO Project.
It was a piece of gossip that had appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as easily—like clouds drifting by. He had seen it mentioned once in passing, but dismissed it as nonsense.

Just like everyone else had.

A project born from an arrogant yet profoundly human ambition—to create Espers through genetic manipulation—had supposedly collapsed under numerous problems and ended as nothing more than a failed fantasy.

That was what he had believed.

So why was Park Soo-jin bringing it up now?

“Why… are you asking?”

As if sensing something, Seong Ji-woo asked in a trembling voice. Park Soo-jin’s face twisted as he roughly scratched his head. His breathing was ragged.

“I was the chief researcher there. I only stayed until the very end—then I got kicked out.”

“……And?”

His lowered voice grew even heavier. Park Soo-jin realized that Seong Ji-woo had already figured it out. Even so, his mouth wouldn’t open easily.

“Yoo Hee-ro was……”

“…….”

“……Yoo Hee-ro was a test subject of that project.”

Both of them inhaled at the same time. Their chests rose sharply, then slowly fell. Seong Ji-woo stared at Yoo Hee-ro with eyes darkened by shock.

“The experiment failed. I went in already half-expecting it to. The people upstairs just wanted results—any results. But another researcher and I thought the experiments being done on Yoo Hee-ro were… unethical. We tried to stop them. Then something bad happened to that researcher……”

Each sentence piled up, yet none of them felt real. Seong Ji-woo focused hard, afraid of missing even a word, but he still couldn’t fully process it all.

“He did everything he could, but our plan fell apart in the end. The side effects probably came from the drugs used in those experiments. They pumped him full of meds without caring about the kid’s condition—there’s no way his body would be fine. I don’t know everything. But one thing is certain: the more Yoo Hee-ro uses his ability…… the more it consumes him.”

“…….”

Thinking Seong Ji-woo hadn’t understood, Park Soo-jin emphasized it again.

“It means his ability is eating him alive.”

“……I understand.”

“…Right.”

Silence fell between them. Park Soo-jin let out a self-mocking laugh. It felt absurd to be explaining himself now, almost like an excuse. He was disgusted with himself.

So what if he knew the experiments were unethical? In the end, he hadn’t stopped anything. He’d chased money and prestige at first—yet here he was, pretending to be righteous, pretending to be moral. It was nauseating.

Still…… Yoo Ji-eun’s life—her sincerity—was something he had to tell, no matter what. The truth that had been buried in darkness had to be dragged back into the light, again and again.

Park Soo-jin looked at Seong Ji-woo as though he had far more to say. Slowly, Seong Ji-woo closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his lids, memories passed like a panorama.

From the beginning, something had felt off. An Esper strong enough to clear the X-Gate alone—yet unable to properly use his own ability.

But if he hadn’t been born an Esper, then it made sense.

He remembered Yoo Hee-ro struggling to form even a basic ability construct—something natural to true Espers.

And then he remembered something he had once said, thoughtlessly.

“Hee-ro.”

[“Yes, senior.”]

“What do you want to be after graduation?”

[“…What about you, senior? What do you want me to become?”]

“…A hero, of course?”

He had said it so easily—because he didn’t want Yoo Hee-ro to become a villain.

[“A hero…?”]

Now that he thought about it, Yoo Hee-ro’s voice had sounded a little subdued back then.

“Yeah. Your name’s Hee-ro, too—it’s like destiny, right?”

[“Destiny… destiny, huh. I guess it is.”]

It wasn’t destiny.
It was a mission—a reason for existence forced upon him.

A manufactured hero.

From the start, he had never been given a choice.

And yet Seong Ji-woo himself had gone on about heroes and hunters.

Realizing how stupid he’d been, Seong Ji-woo buried his face in his hands and let out a broken sound.

He had thought it was enough to protect the world—enough to keep Yoo Hee-ro from becoming a villain—and shoved him forward.

It was horrifying.

Yoo Hee-ro had walked straight into hell because of his words. And even so, Seong Ji-woo had tried to distance himself, to live as if he didn’t know.

Living on a life he owed to Yoo Hee-ro.
Trying to scrape together some pathetic existence.

“Haah…… hngh…”

A deep sigh dissolved into sobbing. Seong Ji-woo cried quietly, his voice thin as breath.

From Yoo Hee-ro saying he had tests and couldn’t attend mentoring sessions, to Gu Min-ah mentioning he often went in and out of the research wing—

There had been so many signs. If he’d paid even a little attention, he might have noticed.

The biggest hint had been right in front of him all along.

Yoo Hee-ro’s hunter alias was HERO.

“Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known what Yoo Hee-ro never told you.”

As if seeing straight through him, Park Soo-jin offered quiet comfort.

“I’m not exactly the type people lean on. I probably seem like someone who lives alone in the world.”

At Seong Ji-woo’s bitter self-mockery, Park Soo-jin tried to say something—then just sighed.

Seong Ji-woo wasn’t expecting comfort anyway. He sank into the sofa, lost in thought.

That day he had overheard Park Soo-jin and Yoo Hee-ro talking—Yoo Hee-ro had said that if Seong Ji-woo asked, he wouldn’t be able to refuse answering.

If only he had asked a little more.

But he hadn’t. And afterward, he’d continued pretending not to know. Yoo Hee-ro had done the same.

Like actors in a massive play.

Seong Ji-woo pressed his aching eyes hard. A fundamental question he had long avoided surfaced quietly.

What were we to each other?

A relationship stuffed with unspoken secrets—nothing left but an empty shell.

“So…… there’s really no way to save Yoo Hee-ro from that f*cking ability?”

He forced his tangled emotions down. This wasn’t the time for sentimentality. If Yoo Hee-ro died, all of it would be meaningless.

Then he would be left with nothing but regret.

Yoo Hee-ro has to live.

All stray thoughts vanished, leaving a single, sharp goal.

Seeing the fierce light in Seong Ji-woo’s eyes, Park Soo-jin knew.

This is it.
The moment to put an end to what he had prepared for nearly ten years.

“I can’t guarantee success,” he said quietly.
“But I do have a plan.”

Seong Ji-woo sat in front of the general store, restlessly darting his eyes around. Somehow, reporters had already swarmed the area.

There were even more people than when Yoo Hee-ro had declared he would join the guild with him—most of them reporters.

Speculative articles ran wild: Yoo Hee-ro was on the brink of death, on the verge of rampaging. Even national broadcasters requested interviews, but Seong Ji-woo ignored them all.

And through all this, he confirmed once again that Yoo Hee-ro had no family.

He’d expected it—but realizing that no one came looking for him even now, no one genuinely worried, stirred a strange sense of kinship.

Seong Ji-woo gazed at Yoo Hee-ro, lying just as he had been brought in, eyes closed and motionless. It felt like he might open his eyes any moment and greet him with a cheerful “Good morning.”

But Seong Ji-woo knew that wouldn’t happen.

It had already been days.

Buzz. Buzz.

His phone vibrated. After checking the message, Seong Ji-woo texted back the password to the back door lock.

Beep-beep-beeeep.

Soon, someone appeared through the back entrance. Seong Ji-woo stood slowly, and the man, after looking around, spotted him and bowed.

“Hello. I’m Son Seong-cheol, manager from the Hunter Association, assigned to Yoo Hee-ro.”

Seong Ji-woo greeted him stiffly. He’d heard rumors that Yoo Hee-ro had an assigned Association handler, but he’d assumed they were nonsense.

Turns out, they were real.

That morning, the Hunter Association had called—not Yoo Hee-ro’s phone, but the general store.

[-Are you Mr. Seong Ji-woo? We understand you’re currently with Yoo Hee-ro at the shop. Is that correct?]

They clearly already knew.

As soon as Seong Ji-woo confirmed it, they notified him:

[-Due to being classified as high-risk for rampage, we will be visiting the shop this morning.]

As if afraid he might refuse, they added:

[-Refusal may result in legal penalties, including fines up to three million won or imprisonment of up to one year. We ask for your cooperation.]

Naturally, Seong Ji-woo had no choice but to agree.

And now, hours later, the so-called manager stood before him.

The man stared at Seong Ji-woo for a long moment, as if studying him. Irritated, Seong Ji-woo leaned back and asked coldly,

“Would you like some tea?”

The tone was anything but polite.

“Oh—no, thank you.”

Son Seong-cheol looked awkward, belatedly realizing he’d been staring. Scratching the back of his head, he glanced around and asked,

“Um… may I check on Hunter Yoo Hee-ro’s condition?”

“You sounded ready to threaten me over the phone. Guess it’s harder face-to-face?”

Remembering the talk of fines and jail time, Seong Ji-woo spoke irritably.

“…I apologize if our staff was rude. You know how many uncooperative hunters there are.”

Seong Ji-woo didn’t accept the apology—just jerked his head.

“Follow me.”