Jisun no longer knew what to do.
The world moved too quickly around him — a blur of people, obligations, and battles — until he finally realized just how deep the rut was he’d dug for himself.
Training. Missions. Ho.
Repeat.
And repeat.
And repeat.
He stood still in the middle of a wide avenue, frozen in place. Around him, people flowed like a river, their faces smudged with shadow, their features indistinguishable.
The sun dipped and rose in monts, days passed in flickers. The crowd blurred into streaks of noise and movent — and not a single person looked back at him.
The only places where he felt even remotely human anymore:
—in the shower,
—on his bed,
—at the kitchen table.
And even there, the cara of his mind sped up. Each cycle faster. Each repetition darker.
His face grew hollower with every loop, until the man in those scenes barely resembled the one before.
"Eternity. I lived for others. Sacrificed everything so they could have a future."
Those ideals weren’t originally his. He had inherited them from Rin — that damned hopeful fool who always begged him to soften up.
"You’re the next generation, Jisun. Watch your words. People are trying to live up to you."
Water dripped down his back in the shower.
In the kitchen, his food sat untouched, steaming — the spoon in his hand trembling from the weight of his own silence.
In bed, he sank deeper into the mattress, as if it were swallowing him whole.
"Be kinder to people..."
But the people never cared about the ones he’d lost. The ones who had thrown away their lives to protect strangers.
They vanished in the winds of history — rembered only by Jisun.
They would never leave his mind. Never.
Images flickered rapidly before his eyes:
—applause,
—cheering civilians,
—bright headlines,
—and then...criticisms, accusations, sars.
The sa people who worshipped them called them incompetent the next day.
"Live like a hero... for the people."
And in all the articles, Jisun was reduced to a single word:
Hero.
Then — silence.
The roar in his ears, the chorus of opinions and doubts — it all faded.
He smirked. His ssy hair fell over his eyes, hiding them from view.
"Pathetic parasites."
That’s when he decided.
He would never again live a life dictated by others. He would choose his own.
He would beco who he truly was.
His body loosened for the first ti in months.
During one of his final private trainings, he completed the puzzle.
Blood leaked from his palm, swirling in midair — forming a floating sphere.
He closed his eyes and thought of a small bird.
And then — from that blood — the hawk erged. Its form flawless, its wings sharp as razors. It perched on his raised hand, silent, watching.
Alive. Created from thought.
A few nights later, the final assault began.
A last section of the Orange Zone had erupted with demonic activity. Officially, no signs of Umbra were detected. But unease grew with the rise of small demon anarchist gangs — looters, scavengers, killers hiding among civilians.
The people hid. Curfew enforced.
A- and S-Ranked Hunters mobilized. Operation goal: neutralize threats and secure the district.
As the first squads advanced, surveillance drones picked up movent across rooftops — cloaked figures leaping between buildings.
The hunters attacked. The streets were sealed. Every structure housing demons was surrounded — traitors in human disguise.
And then, Jisun descended.
No restraint. No rcy.
He tore through the enemy lines like a force of nature.
The demon gangs were cornered — dragged from the shadows and pinned under his gaze.
Jisun summoned his weapon.
Twin spears of blood.
"Kenketsu: Twin Moonpiercers."
A smile played across his lips. Not one of joy — but of sothing darker.
A hollow, bottomless grin.
Behind him — a storm of dread.
The demons shifted, revealing their true forms: twisted, red, grotesque.
So were barely adults. Teenagers.
It didn’t matter.
Jisun cut them down all the sa.
His movents were inhuman — vanishing and reappearing behind enemies before they could react.
One after another. Slice. Rip. Silence.
Radio chatter flooded in:
"Lone Wolf, we’ve got ten more on 24th Street. Repeat, ten more—"
He didn’t wait for confirmation. He was already gone.
To the next target. And the next.
His face was alight — a terrifying glow his comrades had never seen before.
S-Ranked Hunters paused mid-battle.
This wasn’t the Jisun they knew.
He looked... ecstatic.
Bloodthirsty. Transcendent.
The man they once followed — the calm, reserved warrior — was now a weapon without a leash.
The hero was gone.
And then...
The demon dropped to his knees.
The last remaining threat.
"W-What even are you?" he stuttered, his voice trembling.
Jisun approached slowly. His body partially encased in the pulsing, crimson mass of Kuroen armor.
His expression was unreadable. Cold. Icy eyes. A smile, faint and cruel.
There was no need to summon Kuroen. The enemy was far too weak. But Jisun had only one goal now:
To see how strong he truly was.
"What am I?"
His voice cut through the night like a blade. Arrogant. Absolute.
"I am the one who will cleanse your sins... by killing you."
The demon shifted back to his human form in desperation. A final, futile gesture. But his eyes betrayed him — wide, unblinking, drowning in fear.
He couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t run.
Jisun towered over him.
"I am God."
With a single motion, he cleaved the demon apart.
No hesitation. No rcy.
And just like that, the Orange Zone was purged.
Of course, that didn’t an all demons were gone — only that those pathetic enough to show themselves had been eliminated.
Still, the event demanded celebration.
The Association was pressured into holding a public address.
Sashi had already drafted Jisun’s speech — a carefully tailored statent full of unity, hope, and asured reassurance.
His words, after all, carried the weight of national morale.
When his ti ca, the stage fell silent.
Thousands watched from below.
Caras clicked. Lights flashed. The broadcast reached every screen across the city.
Jisun stepped onto the platform in the traditional hunter’s green uniform.He touched the microphone to check it.
"We have long strived for this mont, and finally, we have achieved—"
He stopped.
The words didn’t taste right.
And in that pause — that breath between control and chaos — the crowd erupted into applause.
And that’s when it happened.
That’s when he spoke.
The real Jisun.
"Enough applause. You make sick to my stomach. I’ve never cared for your praise. Now listen carefully."
He began removing the dals from his uniform. One by one, tossing them onto the floor.
The atmosphere turned. His tone sharpened — regal, venomous, disdainful.
"I despise your faces. All of you, always cheering. Always clapping. You want a hero?"
He smirked.
"Then fine. I’ll be your hero. But only on my terms."
The audience froze.
No one moved. No one dared interrupt.
His next words were slow. Pronounced.
"To you, I am your king. You will obey . Live for . If I tell you to die for ——you will. And I will protect you. Every last one of you. Why?"
He leaned forward into the mic.
"Because I am king."
Confusion spread like wildfire.
So faces twisted in discomfort.
Others in fear.
But no one moved.
Jisun stood tall.
"From now on, you will submit to . My word is law. Because only I have the power to protect these damn lands."
The audience had seen this man before.
They just forgot what he looked like.
The raw arrogance. The absolute will. The steel beneath the mask.
He had returned.
And strangely — terrifyingly — they welcod it.
Even Sashi, furious backstage, thought everything was lost. That the Association’s image would crumble.
But then...
The applause began.
Thunderous.
The people cheered.
Because no matter what Park Jisun said...
To them, he would always be the sa.
Their protector.Their weapon.Their god.
"I am not a human being."
He declared, voice rising over the flood of worship.
"I am the magnificent one."
Reviews
All reviews (0)