Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1505 Hero Hachiman Hikigaya
That unfortunate guy who had just used his helmet as a last act of defiance in his life, and was now being devoured by monsters beyond recognition?
A profound sense of irony, like a cold, venomous snake, coiled around his remaining consciousness, almost threatening to make him burst into a shrill, maniacal laugh.

If this is what it means to be a hero... then what a cheap and absurd stage this world must be!

This so-called "gift" was more like a final, mocking glance cast by the god of fate before he was completely crushed.

Just as this extreme absurdity and excruciating pain was about to tear his consciousness apart, at the bottom of the pop-up window, new text appeared coldly, accompanied by an extremely faint yet ear-piercing "tick" sound, like the ticking of a precise stopwatch:

[Confirmation received: Yes/No?]

[Critical vital signs. Final decision deadline: 07:00...]

The countdown numbers, like cold, hard tombstones, flickered in his blurred vision:
【06:59……】

Each jump in the numbers was accompanied by a rapid loss of something important from his body.

06:58…

The last vestiges of warmth deep within my body vanished completely, leaving only a bone-chilling coldness in my limbs and bones, as if I were immersed in the depths of an icy sea.

06:57... A heavy sense of exhaustion crushed his last bit of will, like a massive boulder. His eyelids felt like they were filled with lead, too heavy to lift, and his vision was rapidly eroded from the edges to the center by thick darkness.

06:56... Even the excruciating pain that had been tormenting him, the tearing and gnawing pain in his back, began to feel distant and numb, as if it were happening to someone else.

06:55... The tinnitus disappeared, and the world fell into an absolute, unsettling silence.

06:54... He couldn't even feel his own body. His consciousness seemed to have been detached, floating alone in the void. Only the faintly glowing pop-up window in front of him was the only coordinate in this nothingness.

06:53... That cold selection box, "Yes/No," floats above the countdown timer, like two doors leading to an unknown abyss or utter nothingness.

There were no explanations, no promises, only this cold, binary choice and the ever-decreasing numbers, like life itself slipping away in an hourglass.

06:52…

The clock is ticking.

Or rather, his remaining life is being precisely measured and harvested by this countdown.

accept?

This absurd "hero's" gift? It sounds like another elaborate trap, an ending even more ridiculous than death itself.

reject?

To sink into that boundless, eternal darkness, where there is no more pain or any sensation? Utter peace?
Consciousness is like a candle flickering in the wind, its light fading uncertainly at the edge of final nothingness.

The thought of rejection carries a familiar, comforting temptation of relief—give up, Hachiman Hikigaya, isn't this where you've always been headed?
Alone, decaying, and disappearing quietly, like an insignificant speck of dust.

This fits perfectly with the script you wrote for yourself.

But just as they were on the verge of giving up, a faint yet incredibly clear image, like a shooting star streaking across the darkness, suddenly pierced through the fog of despair—Hikiya Komachi.

That smile, however, appeared exceptionally clearly at this moment, carrying a strange warmth.

The thought of rejection wavered slightly, yet was enough to change the course of events, because of this brief flashback.

If... if rejection means this clumsy warmth will completely disappear from that girl's, her own silly little sister's, world... "I... I knew it..."

A broken, silent thought rose like a sigh in the sea of ​​his consciousness, which was about to sink into silence.

Sure enough what? Sure enough, he's still an incurable, contradictory idiot?

Or... is it that I really can't ignore that glimmer of light?
The cold pop-up window remained suspended, the "Yes/No" option radiating an unquestionable sense of judgment under the dim light of the 06:45 countdown.

The excruciating pain had completely transformed into an endless, heavy numbness; sensation in the body was rapidly fading away, as if sinking to the bottom of a viscous asphalt lake.

Only the faint, heart-beating sensation remained, striking the deepest recesses of consciousness with extreme slowness and heaviness. Each beat was like the last gasp of a dying beast, the intervals growing longer and longer, foreshadowing the approaching end.

Hikigaya Komachi, like the last stone thrown into still water, stirred up ripples that spread weakly yet stubbornly, temporarily dispelling the fog of consciousness sinking into oblivion.

However, this brief period of clarity brought not strength, but a deeper weariness and a self-deprecating realization.

He saw clearly the pathetic inertia within himself—even in the fragments of his fading consciousness, even absurdly given the name "hero" by the system, he was still trying to grasp at something, even if it was just a clumsy connection with others, represented by Komachi Hikigaya.

This connection was ridiculously fragile, yet it was one of the few glimmers of light in his barren world that had not been completely tainted.

The word "protect" now tastes like a heavy, rusty substance (the blood welling up in his own throat).

Protecting his younger sister?

maybe.

But deeper down, perhaps he was just protecting that corner in his heart that refused to freeze completely, protecting that faint, humble longing for "not being alone" that he himself was unwilling to admit.

What a selfish and powerless motive.

This so-called "heroic" behavior, once stripped of its gorgeous yet cold exterior forcibly imposed by the system, reveals nothing more than an awkward, wounded soul following its pathetic instinctive impulses in a desperate situation.

The countdown has reached 06:30.

At the edge of vision, the thick darkness spread silently like a rising tide, devouring the eerie light emitted by the pop-up window.

Each tick of those cold numbers felt like a hammer blow to a nerve on the verge of snapping.

His sense of physical existence had almost completely disappeared. He felt like an observer, hovering above his broken body, coldly watching the expanding pool of dark red blood below, and the unrecognizable humanoid figure being devoured by a non-human monster within it.

"Just say no..."

A voice whispered deep within my consciousness, carrying the allure of liberation, "Rotting... is the only destination... Quiet... how wonderful..."

The whisper was so familiar, so fitting to the fortress he had built for himself over the years.

Giving up means no longer having to face this absurd "gift" or bear any of the heavier shackles that the "brave" might bring.

Eternal rest—it sounds so alluring.

However, just as the whisper of surrender was about to gain the upper hand, guiding his remaining consciousness to touch that cold "no"—below, in the pool of blood, the left hand of that mangled body, the left hand that had once grabbed the helmet in despair, those broken, blood-stained, and muddy fingers, suddenly twitched very slightly.

(End of this chapter)