Num istum numisma capio?-LXXX

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DATE:15th of August, the 70th year after the Coronation

LOCATION: Concord Metropolis

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When I opened my eyes, I knew I was dreaming. The room was too silent, too still. The faint hum of the city outside Alice's apartment was gone, leaving an unnatural emptiness in its place.

I sat up in bed, still in my pajamas, and immediately noticed Alice wasn't there.

Instead, Emily was lying next to me, her back turned, her breathing soft and rhythmic. That settled it—this wasn't real. Emily only existed in my mind. But why was she sleeping?

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, glancing toward the computer desk.

There he was.

Dumas.

The doctor sat hunched over a typewriter, his fingers moving with deliberate precision. The clacking of the keys echoed unnervingly in the quiet room. Seriously, who uses a typewriter these days? Such a bozo.

For a moment, I just stared at him. I hadn't seen his face since the day I killed him, but it was unmistakably him. The bruises on his neck were still there, dark and ugly, a grotesque reminder of how I'd ended his life.

He turned slowly, as if he'd been expecting me, and flashed a wide, unsettling smile.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully. "You're awake."

I didn't respond to the greeting. Instead, I crossed my arms, my voice cold. "Why are you here? Why are you in *my* dream?"

He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers as if considering the question. "You brought me here, of course. Subconsciously or not, I'm here because you wanted to see me."

I frowned. "Why would I want to see you?"

Dumas tilted his head, his smile widening. "You already know the answer."

I stared at him for a moment before stepping closer. "Fine," I said. "Then tell me what you were going to say back then. About where heroes come from."

He opened his mouth, his expression arrogant as always—but no sound came out.

He froze, his eyes widening in surprise, his lips moving silently as if he were trying to force the words out.

"No words?" I ask as he clutches his neck.

"I... Don't know. Why do I not know that?" His tone was almost desperate. Of course he couldn't answer. The real Dumas never finished his sentence. How could he do that?

I couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped me. "I was right," I said, shaking my head. "My wife was wrong. You're not a dead soul. You're just a memory. A bad memory. A waste of time, dredged up from the past to haunt me."

Dumas' face twisted into something panicked, his earlier confidence evaporating. "Wait," he said, his voice trembling now. "Wait, please—"

I didn't wait.

Before he could finish, I lunged forward, wrapping my hands around his neck. His pleas broke into desperate gasps as I forced him back, his chair tipping over and clattering to the floor.

"I don't need you," I hissed, tightening my grip. "You're nothing but a stain—something meant to be forgotten."

His struggles grew weaker, his hands clawing feebly at my wrists. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

I let go, watching his body slump lifelessly to the floor. Just like before.

I woke up at n the real world when I blinked. Such a joke. I am being judged? By who? When they aren't even real...

Screw these memories.

The call came at about noon, delivered by some secretary from the agency.

What call? It was about my "promotion". Apparently, I was expected at Hero HQ to receive my new title.

Sarah should've called me herself, but after yesterday, it was obvious why she didn't.

I didn't want to leave Alice behind, so we both got dressed and drove to the HQ. She seemed eager, almost chipper—something about being back among her old teammates seemed to brighten her mood. I didn't share her enthusiasm.

When we arrived, we were escorted into a large meeting room filled with league members. Most of them were strangers to me, though I recognized a few familiar faces: my former teammates and the Kung Fu guy.

Sarah—SuperiorWoman—stood at the podium. She looked uneasy, her shoulders tense, her posture rigid. Was she even trying to hide it? Her eyes flicked toward me briefly, but they quickly darted away.

She gave a speech about protecting Ultraman's legacy, about fulfilling promises, about the need for strength and unity. I tuned out most of it. Her words felt hollow, rehearsed.

Finally, she held up a small key. "The key to the league vault," she said, her voice wavering slightly. It was supposedly filled with Ultraman's treasures, though I doubted I'd find anything useful there.

She handed me the key and stepped back from the podium, signaling the end of her speech. The room erupted into applause, most of the members clapping enthusiastically as I walked forward to accept the key.

As I turned to leave the stage, Sarah made a move to slip out of the room.

"Wait a minute," the Kung Fu guy said, stepping forward. His voice carried across the room, cutting through the applause.

"SuperiorWoman, don't you think it's strange to leave without a clear reason? And why is he—" he pointed at me "—being given the leadership role? He's new. I've been here for years."

Sarah froze, her back to him. For a moment, the room fell silent, all eyes on her. Then, slowly, she turned around.

"He's related to Ultraman," she said curtly, her tone sharp enough to shut down further questions. Without waiting for a response, she walked out. I could tell she was nervous. Why was she acting like the scared one?

The Kung Fu guy turned his attention to me, but I cut him off before he could speak.

"There's nothing else to say," I said flatly.

"SuperiorWoman couldn't continue the fight for justice. Someone had to step in."They murmured something in the distance,but I didn't bother to listen.

That seemed to satisfy them, for now. I was supposed to meet the heir in a private establishment so a limousine came to pick me up. That very limousine was waiting for me outside The HQ. Alice stayed behind, busy catching up with some of our old teammates. Part of me knew I was avoiding them, but I didn't dwell on it.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, the city blurring past the tinted windows. The Balmundi heir had leased the entire restaurant lounge. It was extravagant, private, and meant to impress. He was seated at a large table when I arrived, casually dismissing his servants as I entered.

"Take off the mask," he said with a grin. "I think it's obvious that I know who you are."

I hesitated but pulled it off.

"Markus, was it?" he said, laughing.

"Yeah," I replied stiffly.

"Figured you were lying back then," he continued, shrugging. "But I didn't call you here for that."

I sat down, waiting for him to get to the point.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, his tone sincere. "You gave me this position."

I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't do much."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Your partner killed the Donn. That changed everything. Do you know how many times that bastard would've been bailed out if he'd lived?"

I didn't respond.

He leaned forward, his tone lowering. "I've seen what you're doing—fighting the gangs, trying to clean up the mess this city's become. I agree with you. They're a problem."

He held out his hand. "Let me help you fight them."

I nodded and shook it. He tried to play it dangerous, but he had a soft hand. The hand of a man with no experience.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "So, we have a deal?" he asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.

I nodded again. "Yeah."

He smiled faintly. "Good. Here's how I see it: I'll handle the lower ranks, the ones clogging up the streets. That frees you up to focus on the heavy hitters—the ones pulling the strings."

It was a practical arrangement. I didn't trust him completely, but for now, his goals aligned with mine.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," he offered, gesturing to the empty table between us.

"No thanks," I said, standing up. "I've had enough for today."

Lucien shrugged, unbothered, and called over a servant to summon a taxi for me. When I got back to the apartment, the smell of pasta greeted me before I even opened the door.

Inside, I found Alice sitting at the dining table with someone else. It took me a second to place the face. Not just anyone—Amelia, the Ice Girl from my old team.

"Oh, you're home," Alice said, looking up from her plate.

I stepped and poured myself a glass of water. Glancing at the table and I couldn't help but ask, "Did Alice cook this?" It would be a miracle if so.

Amelia interjected before Alice could answer. "Nope, that's me," she said with a sly grin.

"But I did hear that you are the one cooking."

She got close to Alice and whispered lound enough for me to hear, even if unintentionally.

"Aren't you lucky to have such a talented housewife?" Wow. I am sooo embarassed. For Amelia to think this is normal to say, I mean.

The comment earned a sputtering protest from Alice, whose cheeks turned red as she waved her hands in embarrassment. Amelia just nudged her playfully, clearly enjoying herself.

I sighed, sitting down and placing my mask on the edge of the table. Amelia got up, grabbed a plate, and handed me a serving of pasta.

"So," she began as she sat back down, her tone teasing. "How does it feel to be the new leader?"

I didn't answer immediately, twirling a forkful of pasta as I considered my response. "I'm managing," I said finally.

She smirked. "You're as modest as ever. But—" she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper— "you know, I was part of the faction that thought you were too young for the position."

Alice chimed in quickly, her tone defensive. "He's the same age Ultraman was."

Amelia's eyes widened in exaggerated shock, and she nearly jumped out of her seat. "Seriously?!" She stared at me, her cheeks slightly pink. "You look good for your age!"

I rolled my eyes. "Can we move on?"

"Sure, sure." Amelia waved her hand dismissively and sat back down. "Anyway, do you even know what you signed up for with this leader thing? Like, really?"

I set my fork down, meeting her gaze. "I know."

She laughed lightly. "You're so serious. Relax a little. You look stressed."

"It's been a long day," I admitted. "I don't like the heroes at our HQ. They're fake."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Bit harsh, don't you think? You're their boss now. Maybe give them a chance?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. This is temporary. Two months at most."

Alice spoke up then, her voice hesitant. "Did Sarah mention anything about her leave? She hasn't answered my calls."

I didn't sugarcoat it. "She's depressed. Taking a break to work on herself."

Alice frowned slightly but didn't press further.

We finished dinner soon after, and Amelia and Alice stayed at the table, chatting while I retreated to the bedroom. As I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but wonder: Since when were they such good friends?

At some point, I heard the front door clank shut. Amelia must have left.

Then, soft, deliberate steps approached the bedroom door. Alice's steps—light, like a cat's.

The door creaked open, just enough for her slender frame to slip through.

I didn't move, keeping my eyes closed as I listened to her approach. She crawled onto the bed, her movements careful, almost hesitant, until she was leaning over me.

Her breath tickled my ear as she whispered, "Are you still in pain?"

I murmured a faint "No," as she began undressing me. I was numb.

We spent a long night together.

I still can't help but feel,

What the hell am I doing with my life?

Why do I fiddle with these women?

For their help?

I could.... No, could I really manage fighting Secundo Manus with only Mike? Probably not.

If that is so, who is using who?

In the first place, since when did I start to see our relationship like a contract?

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DATE:16th of August, the 70th year after the Coronation

LOCATION: Concord Metropolis

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The next morning, I made myself some tea, put on my mask, and took the bus to Hero HQ.

Becoming the new leader... If it were up to me, all these heroes should die.

Having said that, I can't kill them if I still need their help, can I?

The ride was uneventful, though Emily said plenty of people were staring at me as I walked toward the office. I didn't care. Inspiration, public admiration—those were Sarah's strengths, not mine. I couldn't do that intentionally even if I tried.

Her façade, though... That perfect image of strength. It worked, didn't it? Even if some people thought her leave of absence was sudden, they chalked it up to mourning for Ultraman. Shows of power built this agency, after all. The clerk led me to Sarah's old office, a tidy space with stacks of paperwork lined up like soldiers waiting for orders. You could say what you wanted about Sarah, but messy wasn't one of them.

"Can someone digitize these?" I asked, gesturing at the papers.

The clerk shook her head. "Sorry, sir. I don't have the clearance level to access these documents."

"How many promotions do I have to authorize for you to get that clearance?"

She smiled awkwardly. "Promotions are approved by the council, not arbitrarily given out." That seemed like some sort of excuse. What point is there even for a leader of that was the case?

With that, she left, leaving me alone with the piles of work.

I sighed and pulled out my phone, opening the scanner app. Emily would handle this. She always did.

It took nearly an hour to scan everything—records, memos, forms that Sarah had apparently been putting off in her last week. All foreign to me. Mercenary work never required paperwork. When I finished, I decided to check out the vault. I didn't have anything else better to do while waiting for her.

The entrance was tucked away in a secluded part of the base. To get there, I had to crouch through a narrow tunnel that felt more like a forgotten maintenance shaft than the path to something legendary.

The key wasn't mechanical. I slid it into the frame and twisted a hidden segment of the wall. With a soft click, the mechanism came to life, and the door creaked open.

Inside, the ceiling rose to normal height, but the space felt smaller than I'd expected. Dark. Emily guided me to a button on the wall, and with a press, the lights flickered on.

At first, I didn't know what to make of it.

The walls were covered in posters of Ultraman—a collage of his smiling face, battle poses, and victories frozen in time. Merch was scattered everywhere: action figures, mugs, T-shirts, pins. It seemed like there was at least one copy of every item ever made with his name on it.

Gold bars were stacked neatly in one corner, gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights.

And, of course, more folders. What the hell was with all this paper? Sighing, I scanned them too, sending them to Emily's queue.

The rest of the room was sparse. A couple of spare suits hung on a rack in the corner. Nothing else stood out at first glance.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at it all. The posters. The gold. The suits.

It didn't feel like a vault. It felt like the altar of a fan. A shrine in honor of Ultraman, meticulously curated to preserve his legacy.

But then something caught my eye.

Tucked behind one of the spare suits was a small, locked box. Its surface was scratched and worn, like it had been handled roughly over the years.

I crouched down, inspecting it closely. The lock was simple enough—a standard padlock. But the fact that it was hidden here, out of sight, made my chest tighten with a strange sense of unease.

I took a photo of it and sent it to Emily.

"Can you run an analysis on this?" I muttered.

"Already on it," she replied.

As I stood up, I glanced around the room one last time. If this was Ultraman's legacy, it wasn't the shining beacon of hope everyone believed it to be.

No, this was something else entirely.

I crouched beside the box, inspecting the padlock. It was old, scratched, and rusted, like it hadn't been opened in decades. A decade at the very least. With the exoskeleton amplifying my strength, the metal gave way with a satisfying crack.

Inside the box, there were two photos sitting on top of an assortment of items. Ultraman was in both of them.

The first photo showed him as a child—around ten years old, maybe younger. He was standing in a field of hay, holding his arm up toward the sky as if daring a storm to strike him. Above him, a lightning bolt snaked down, frozen mid-strike. The look on his face was one of pure awe. Strange. His powers weren't related to lightning.

The second photo was harder to look at. Ultraman, no older than twelve, was strapped to a table. His arms and legs were bound, and tubes snaked out of his body like veins torn out of place. His face was blank, unreadable—neither fear nor pain, just an emptiness that lingered long after I set the photo down.

Was he experimented on?

A sigh of boredome almost left me,but I shook it off.

Beneath the photos was a battered puzzle toy—the cheap kind you'd find in an old store. It was scrambled, the colored pieces scattered out of order, as if Ultraman had started to solve it but never finished.

And then there was the letter.

I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. The front was covered in unfamiliar symbols—clearly encrypted—but the back was where things got stranger. Written in blood, jagged and uneven, were the words "The Monster" in old Ventian.

"Charming," I muttered, scanning the letter with my phone for Emily to decrypt later.

I glanced back at the toy, turning it over in my hands. Ultraman must've cared about it if he went through the trouble of hiding it in a place like this. Personally, I wasn't even allowed to touch toys as a kid.

For a moment, I considered solving it. Nah. Too much effort.

I dropped it to the ground and stepped on it, cracking the cheap plastic frame with ease.

Inside, a small plastic core splintered apart, revealing a key no larger than my thumb. I crouched down, picking it up between two fingers.

"So much mystery," I muttered dryly, slipping it into my pocket. Whoever designed this clearly had a flair for overcomplication. Satisfied for now, I left the vault.

By the time I returned to the office, Emily had finished processing most of the paperwork. I plugged her into the computer to upload the files. Within a few minutes, everything was done. Can anyone imagine? I've just been more productive in these two hours than Sarah was in months.

Yawning, I leaned back in the chair, staring at the neatly stacked pile of finished work. It was only noon, but I decided to take the rest of the day off.

I mean, I'd worked so much already.-*-*-*-*-*