Chapter 32: The First Step Toward Becoming a Hero

Seong Ji-woo, who had been reading through the lengthy text, closed the system window as if he no longer needed to look at it. Then, as if waiting for that very moment, a new notification appeared.

[The system window alarm will be canceled upon completion of the quest. Previously used functions will remain available semi-permanently, and the alarm will reset when a new quest is assigned.]

As soon as he pressed the confirm button, even the last alarm disappeared. Seong Ji-woo looked at Yu Hee-ro, feeling both relieved and refreshed.

“I have no regrets about such a remarkable thought.”

His words were sincere. It felt as though he had finally completed a long-stale task. The faces of his comrades—those who had died pitifully beside him in his past life—seemed to surface faintly in his mind. No one knew he had helped save the world, but it didn’t matter. He had never cared for such hollow recognition in the first place.

This is enough.

He believed his job was done. No one would die a meaningless death anymore. The world would continue as if nothing had happened.
And perhaps the biggest change would be in Yu Hee-ro’s life.

When Seong Ji-woo looked at him, Yu Hee-ro smiled brightly. He couldn’t know Yu Hee-ro’s entire past life, but considering his innate nature, Ji-woo could still imagine how hard it must have been. Honestly, he had even been thinking recently:

Just how fucked up must the world have been… for this kind kid to tear the Earth apart…

Well, those were unnecessary worries now.

“Good job.”

Yu Hee-ro’s cheeks flushed red. Naturally, he hadn’t won first place in the mentoring performance report. His poor performance in the final round had impacted his score heavily. Despite all his hard work and effort, Kim Yoo-chul ended up fifth overall—a rather unimpressive result. Seong Ji-woo and Yu Hee-ro came in second. But to the two of them, none of that mattered.

“The MVP of this final performance report is our mentee, Yu Hee-ro. He saved a fellow student with exceptional self-sacrifice and critical thinking skills. He is a role model for all students, so I commend him by naming him our MVP.”

“Wow!”

Seong Ji-woo, who had stayed indifferent even when he was announced as second place, burst into cheers the moment he heard Yu Hee-ro’s name. He jumped to his feet, applauding with genuine joy. Yu Hee-ro, however, didn’t dare stand. Thinking he was shocked or embarrassed, Ji-woo grabbed his arm and forced him up.

“You have to take good pictures!”

He even yelled at Lee Hye-rin and Shin Yoon-jae, who were taking pictures and videos from the back. It was the only time he raised his voice during the entire ceremony. Everyone’s attention shifted to Seong Ji-woo, but he didn’t notice.
All that mattered was that Yu Hee-ro had taken his first, greatest step toward becoming a hero.

A step that would shape everything after.

Yu Hee-ro went up the stage and received his award plaque and trophy. He bowed briefly, stepped down, folded the trophy, and set it on his lap.
He didn’t even read a single word written on it. Contrary to Ji-woo’s hopes, the trophy was nothing more than a scrap of paper to him—a piece of trash difficult to recycle.

*****************

A few months passed after the mentoring performance report. During that time, Yu Hee-ro’s grades had risen dramatically, placing him among the top ten students in the school, and the mentoring program had ended.

The work that needed to be done was already done. Everything else felt trivial to Seong Ji-woo.
The year passed uneventfully, and he turned twenty for the second time. He felt nothing particular—just a strange mix of ending and beginning. His connection with Yu Hee-ro would end, and a new life would start.

Every time Ji-woo watched him, he felt like he was looking at a game character he had painstakingly raised. The insignificant, cute aura of his Level 1 days was gone, replaced by the presence of a max-level warrior capable of defeating boss monsters. Still, Ji-woo vividly remembered their first meeting, and no matter how much he changed, Yu Hee-ro was still Yu Hee-ro to him.

He knew they wouldn’t cross paths the same way again, yet he felt uneasy at the thought of leaving him behind. In a few years, even a high school senior who briefly mentored him would forget his name—and certainly his face.

Snow from the night before had turned the world pure white. Exiting the graduation ceremony, Seong Ji-woo buried his face in his gray scarf, though his white breath still puffed into the air.

Just then, someone walked briskly across the frozen, slippery schoolyard.

“Senior…! Congratulations on your graduation.”

It was Yu Hee-ro.

Second-year students weren’t required to attend graduation, but he had come to see Ji-woo. In his past life, not a single person had ever given Ji-woo a bouquet, but this time was different. Yu Hee-ro’s hands holding the bouquet were red and frozen stiff.

Yellow, coin-sized flowers were in full bloom, wrapped in off-white paper. As Ji-woo accepted the bouquet with both hands, a sweet scent reached his nose. The flowers were called soguk—small chrysanthemums—with white baby’s breath surrounding them. Their simple, unassuming appearance reminded him of Yu Hee-ro.

“Thank you. It’s my first time giving flowers, so it feels a bit awkward, but… they’re not bad.”

“I worked hard to choose them for you, senior. I’m glad they suit you.”

Hearing that made Ji-woo even more embarrassed. He scratched his cheek for no real reason.

“I didn’t know I look this good in yellow…”

“Still, thanks to this, it finally feels like I’m graduating.”

In his past life, it had felt more like he was just being shipped off to enlist. He was sent straight to X-Gate service just a few days after graduating, so he never felt anything like graduation. But this time, because he had chosen a completely new path, he finally felt the reality of it.

Now that he was actually graduating, he wasn’t sure what to do. Still, he had decided to open a weapons shop, so he figured he needed to start preparing properly. Maybe even buy a lottery ticket once a week for silly fantasies. At the end of the month, he’d lament the deficit in his household account book, and sometimes, staring at his empty balance, he’d treat himself to ramen.

Not bad.

Lost in thoughts of his future, Yu Hee-ro spoke softly.

“Senior, I have a favor to ask…”

“Hm? What is it? Tell me.”

Perhaps because it was their last moment together, Ji-woo felt more relaxed. He answered readily.

“Can I… call you hyung now?”

“What?”

The request genuinely surprised him. Yu Hee-ro had always called him “senior,” and Ji-woo had let it slide because it seemed easier for him.
Maybe the boy had been waiting for Ji-woo to say, Call me hyung.

If so, he felt a little guilty.

“Uh—yeah. Of course you can. Why didn’t you call me hyung till now?”

Embarrassed, he teased him lightly. Yu Hee-ro blushed and laughed.

“I thought… this way, you’d remember me longer.”

At graduation, Yu Hee-ro had assumed he wouldn’t see Ji-woo for at least a year or two. He didn’t intend to let that gap stay long.

“We’ll meet again inside a Gate within a few months of graduation.”

While Ji-woo stayed in X-Gate, Yu Hee-ro planned to catch up after graduating. It wouldn’t take long.

Yu Hee-ro didn’t ask about Ji-woo’s future plans, and Ji-woo didn’t tell him. He assumed Yu Hee-ro would naturally become a hunter; Hee-ro assumed the same of him.
Thus began their quietly diverging dreams.

“I think you could become one of Korea’s top three hunters. Don’t slack off just because your hyung won’t be there. Work hard, okay?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll miss you a lot.”

Ji-woo, thinking that once Hee-ro became famous he’d probably see him on TV all the time, replied lightly:

“I think I’ll see you soon.”

Yu Hee-ro took it to mean they’d soon meet again in the pro-hunter world.
He answered firmly:

“Yes. I won’t keep you waiting long.”

“But still—don’t push yourself too hard.”

Seong Ji-woo smiled warmly.

“And you won’t forget what hyung taught you, right?”

“…To serve the human community with a good heart and dedicate myself to it?”

“That’s right! You’re so smart.”

Ji-woo clapped. Whether it was teaching or brainwashing, he was proud that Hee-ro remembered.

“The most important thing is peace. Peace. You’re protecting peace, okay?”

“…Yes.”

“It’s a good name, isn’t it?”

“And what you said last time… Do you like my name, senior?”

Ji-woo nodded without hesitation. At first, the name had startled him, but he had come to feel it suited him perfectly.

“Yeah. Even the pronunciation is cute. It sounds like a dog’s name—which fits you well.”

“…A dog’s name?”

“Yeah…”

Yu Hee-ro thought back to the names given to him by people who treated him worse than a dog. Compared to that, dog name sounded noble. His name had never been given with sincerity—it had only burdened him with their expectations.

“Does it have a meaning? What kanji do you use?”

“There… isn’t any.”

There was no way his name had kanji.

“Hyung… can you give me a meaning?”

“Me? Isn’t that too much? Shouldn’t a name’s meaning be a big thing?”

“…It didn’t have one to begin with. Just give me whatever you want.”

To receive a meaning from the only person he admired—
he felt he would be overjoyed.

Hearing that, Ji-woo thought for a moment, scratching the back of his head.

“I don’t know much about Hanja… How about ‘Hee (熙)’ for ‘shining,’ and ‘Ro (路)’ for ‘road’?”

A shining road.

Ironically, that was what Yu Hee-ro felt about Seong Ji-woo.
He didn’t think it suited him, but he wanted that meaning. He wanted the name Ji-woo created to become part of him.

“I like it. I’ll take it.”

“Really? Isn’t it too simple?”

“No. I like it too much. I’ll take it.”

Yu Hee-ro imagined the three characters of his new name engraved on his hunter license and ID card. It felt like Ji-woo was embedded inside his name.

“Well, if you like it… Oh, here’s my graduation present. I probably won’t be able to give it to you when you graduate.”

Ji-woo opened his bag and took out a small box. Yu Hee-ro accepted it with surprise. The deep green wrapping paper and gold-and-red ribbon looked like a Christmas gift.

When the ribbon fell, Ji-woo bent down to pick it up—but Hee-ro quickly wrapped the gift around his neck.
It was a burgundy scarf. Ji-woo had bought it along with his own gray one.

“I knew it would suit you. Your skin is so pale.”

Yu Hee-ro’s eyes crinkled as he smiled happily. Ji-woo then took out something he had kept in his pocket.

“This… what is it?”

“Something I should have given you earlier, but I kept forgetting. I made it.”

Unlike when he received the scarf, Yu Hee-ro’s eyes sank deeply. He didn’t smile. He simply stared at the handmade necklace in silence.
He wanted to hug it. Kiss it.
He barely held back the sudden, desperate urge. For the first time, he resented his affectionate nature.

“Hyung… can you put it on me?”

His voice was low and restrained.

“Huh? Oh—sure.”

Yu Hee-ro bent down, meeting Ji-woo’s eyes. Ji-woo put the necklace around his neck as if embracing him. His scent, mixed with the cold winter air, swept over Hee-ro.

Then, as if possessed, Yu Hee-ro asked:

“…Can I hug you?”

Completely unaware of the meaning behind the question, Ji-woo agreed without hesitation.

“I’ll be generous today. I’m giving you a special hug.”

Ji-woo opened his arms first, and Yu Hee-ro dove into them. Hugging someone over 190 cm tall was difficult for someone who was 10 cm shorter. Eventually, Ji-woo laughed and stepped back, snow crunching beneath his feet.

How could he possibly survive a year without this person?
Yu Hee-ro pressed his face into Ji-woo’s chest. Ji-woo laughed brightly.

“That tickles.”

Yu Hee-ro stayed silent for a long time. Ji-woo stroked his hair gently.

“You’ll grow up well even without me. You’ve already grown a lot.”

With a farewell that didn’t even sound like a farewell, Seong Ji-woo left the school casually.
Yu Hee-ro stood there for hours, frozen, watching the direction he had gone.
Snow—thought to have stopped—began falling again, dusting his hair and scarf.
It was a crude method, but it was the only way to cool his fevered head.

It was painfully hard to suppress the urge to destroy the school.

“We’ll meet soon…”

Ji-woo had left long ago, his warmth gone, but Yu Hee-ro muttered again—he wasn’t sure whether it was to Ji-woo or to himself.

“A year or so should be fine… right?”