Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1508 Gratitude to "Him"

"I am back."

Hachiman Hikigaya's voice had a slightly hoarse quality, as if there was grit stuck in his throat.

He practically slammed open that familiar door, his body leaning heavily against the doorframe.

The icy rain had already soaked through his thin work clothes, clinging tightly to his skin and bringing waves of bone-chilling cold. But strangely, this cold was suppressed by something hotter inside him—a kind of ecstatic joy and lingering fear, a feeling of surviving a disaster and being almost exhausted.

Pushing the wrecked electric bike, I slowly made my way back from that nightmarish place in the suburbs to the brightly lit city center. The journey felt like it took centuries.

The front of the car was severely deformed, the dashboard was shattered, the battery compartment was dented, and the rearview mirror was reduced to a single, bare bracket.

Every screech of the tires against the wet pavement was a reminder of the abyss he had just escaped.

He couldn't feel the pain in his shoulder, nor did he notice the curious or disgusted looks from passersby. Only one thought was swirling in his mind: I'm still alive.

I'm alive!

The cost is obvious.

The food that should have been steaming hot in the delivery box was now cold and spilled, with soup mixed with rainwater forming a nauseating puddle at the bottom of the box.

My phone vibrated wildly in my pocket, like a bomb about to explode. The screen was filled with the same name—"Store Manager."

When he finally appeared at the store entrance looking disheveled, he was greeted by the store manager's face, contorted with anger, and the mixed expressions of sympathy, curiosity, and a hint of schadenfreude from several colleagues.

"Hachiman! Look at the time, you son of a bitch! The complaint hotline has been ringing off the hook! Three whole hours! Did you crawl back? Where's your bike? How did it get so badly damaged? You son of a bitch..."

The manager's roar echoed in the cramped kitchen, his spittle almost hitting his face.

Hikigaya simply kept his head down, raindrops dripping from his hair onto the floor, forming a small puddle.

He tried to explain, but his throat was too dry to produce a coherent sound.

What could he say? That he encountered a monster in the countryside? That he made a pact with a mysterious being and became some kind of "hero"?
"...Fine! No need to explain! Get out! Get out of here right now! This month's salary isn't even enough to cover the damage to your car! You fucking figure it out yourself! Does Tokyo need another food delivery guy like you right now? Get out!"

The cold words of dismissal were like a bucket of ice water poured over him, but surprisingly, Hachiman's heart was not greatly disturbed.

anger?
A little, but mostly numbness.

The store manager was right. In overcrowded Tokyo, part-time high school students like him were nothing more than cheap cogs in a machine that could be replaced at any time.

Withholding wages?

This is even considered the mildest form of exploitation.

He silently took off his delivery uniform with the ridiculous cartoon print, folded it neatly, and placed it on the greasy countertop—his only remaining, laughable self-respect.

As I walked out of the store, I could still faintly hear the store manager scolding the others, saying, "This is what happens when you're unreliable."

The physical exhaustion and the immense mental shock left him feeling nothing about losing this part-time job; he even felt a ridiculous sense of relief.

At that moment, all he wanted was to go home.

Return to that nest, though small and noisy, it has the only certain warmth.

Pushing open the door, a familiar warmth, a mixture of smells of food and detergent, greets you.

This ordinary, homely atmosphere instantly shattered all the defenses he had forcibly erected.

The overwhelming sense of relief at surviving the ordeal swept over him like a tsunami; his heart pounded wildly in his chest, almost bursting free. His eyes welled up uncontrollably, and warm tears blurred his vision.

He suddenly lowered his head, using all his strength to suppress the surging emotions deep in his throat, turning them into an even heavier gasp.

"Brother? What's wrong with you?"

Hikigaya Komachi's clear voice rang out with concern.

She was sitting at a low table flipping through a magazine when she saw her brother's soaking wet, disheveled appearance and pale face. She immediately put down her book and ran over.

Those usually vibrant eyes were now filled with worry, and her little hand tentatively grasped his cold arm.

"Brother! You got caught in the rain? Where's the car? Did something happen? You look terrible!"

Komachi's voice was urgent as she looked him up and down.

Hikigaya took a deep breath and forced out a smile that was probably uglier than a grimace. He instinctively reached out to ruffle her hair, but found his arm stiff and unresponsive.

"nothing,"

His voice was a little unsteady, hoarse with the shock of surviving a disaster, "It's really nothing... I just feel... it's so good to be back alive."

He paused, then, as if confirming something, added, "Being able to breathe, walk, and come back here...it's really wonderful."

The words "It's good to be alive" carry immense weight at this moment.

Just a few hours earlier, he had truly felt the fear of his life being crushed.

And that "being" that gave him power... Hikigaya Hachiman's mind was once again filled with that indescribable radiance and cold, mechanical voice.

"The Hero's Contract is Established..."

The resentment of being forced to become a "hero" vanished like smoke the moment he stepped into the house and felt his sister's concerned gaze.

Instead, there was an almost humble sense of gratitude.

Whatever the "contract" was, whatever trouble and danger the "hero" meant, it was "He" who gave him a glimmer of hope at that moment, preventing him from becoming an unnamed corpse in that darkness.

Let's use "He" as a substitute.

The fact that he could be so easily endowed with such unimaginable power makes it seem not an exaggeration to call him a "god".

However, this "deity's" behavior was hardly gentle and compassionate; it was more like a cold transaction.

"Brother, hurry up and take a shower and change your clothes! You're going to catch a cold! Dinner will be ready soon!"

Komachi pushed him toward the bathroom, her small body bursting with undeniable strength.

As the warm water flowed down, Hachiman Hikigaya leaned against the cold tile wall and finally relaxed completely.

The tense muscles groaned in pain. The hot water took away the coldness on the surface of the skin, but could not dispel the chill that lingered deep in the bones.

He closed his eyes, but the outline of the twisted monster flashed uncontrollably before them, along with its viscous, tangible malice and the faintly glowing sword or shield formed from pure will. He had no time to examine it closely; he was simply following the cold command in his mind, pouring all his will to survive into it.

"Use willpower as a blade, and faith as a shield..."

The feeling was like having a part of your soul forcibly torn off and injected into a cold mold.

(End of this chapter)