Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1518 You Need a Driving Force
With a flick of his wrist, the ordinary-looking longsword that had just drunk blood disappeared into thin air and was stored in the storage space provided by the system.

He didn't even glance at the middle-aged office worker who was slumped on the ground, covered in filth, with eyes as empty as a dead fish.

Whether the other party is alive or dead, or whether they will be taken in or rescued by the newly established "Abnormal Event Handling Department" that arrives later, is none of his concern.

He simply completed a "job" that was imposed on him, nothing more.

He dragged his leaden legs, turned around, and took a step, his figure quickly disappearing into the shadows where the city ruins met the still relatively intact residential area in the distance.

Each step was so heavy it seemed to leave a mark on the ground; his back was filled with alienation and weariness, a stark contrast to the world.

A pair of eyes watched all of this with great interest.

Luther.

"System flow..."

A playful smile flowed through Luther's unseen mind. "It's definitely more interesting than those old-fashioned divine revelations and the chosen one's ways."

Tired of traditional hero-raising scenarios, he decided to try something different.

Creating a "system," issuing tasks, giving rewards (or punishments), and watching the host struggle, grow, and become distorted within a predetermined framework... the process itself is a meticulously choreographed drama.

For him, the pleasure of writing scripts, manipulating the stage, and appreciating the actors' reactions far outweighed the direct bestowal of power or the severance of divine punishment.

For him, building a system that could bind souls, issue mandatory tasks, and provide data-driven feedback was nothing more than a simple trick. He could perfectly replicate the "points," "lottery," "shop," and "task rewards" that the system stream could provide, and even make them more "human," more "intelligent," and more adept at precisely exploiting the host's weaknesses.

After all, Luther's "power" had long surpassed the ordinary concept of a god; manipulating and imposing rules was as natural to him as breathing.

“Hachiman Hikigaya… he is the perfect ‘host’.”

Luther's gaze pierced through space, locking firmly on the dejected figure disappearing around the street corner.

That deep-seated weariness, that almost cruelly clear-headed understanding of the nature of the world, that awkward yet real persistence hidden beneath the dead fish eyes... especially that almost obsessive desire to protect the "daily life".

All of this made Hachiman an excellent "experiment" and "object of observation".

He was like a sharp-edged, extremely dense rock, and Luther wanted to know how much force and how to grind (or crush) him, to make him burst forth with the brilliance that fits the definition of a "hero," or... to slide into a more interesting abyss.

"Unwillingly? Forced to go along?"

Luther understood the resistance and numbness churning within Hachiman's heart. "It's alright, that's precisely where the fun lies. Boiling a frog in lukewarm water is certainly a safe approach, but sometimes, a violent crisis can make people see the cold, sharp edges of reality more clearly."

A clear and ruthless plan took shape in Luther's mind. He wanted more than just Hachiman to complete the mission; he wanted Hachiman to genuinely "need" this power and to actively embrace (or rather, be imprisoned within) this "system."

"The meaning of power lies in protection."

But when what is being protected is about to shatter before one's eyes, the forcibly bestowed power transforms from shackles into the only lifeline.

Luther's gaze, like an invisible probe, passed over the high-rise residential area and landed precisely on an ordinary, unremarkable place that, for Hachiman Hikigaya, represented the entire world—his home.

"Hikigaya Komachi... what a good name, a perfect 'catalyst'."

Luther's thoughts contained no pity, only a calmness akin to adjusting experimental parameters. "And what about those ordinary yet hardworking parents? When the most cherished 'daily life' is torn apart by the most monstrous 'abnormality,' can you still numb yourself with that 'lone wolf' and 'self-sacrifice' theory, Hachiman?" In another corner of the city, in an ordinary residential area just a few streets away from the ruins, a fragile peace was being maintained.

The power supply was intermittent, the streetlights were dim, and many windows let in the light of candles or emergency lights.

A sense of oppressive tension permeated the air. People hurried about, doors and windows were tightly shut, and the occasional sound of a siren or a distant noise was enough to cause a restless commotion.

This is the world today; the tranquility we took for granted yesterday has become a luxury.

The Hikigaya house was lit with warm lights (by a small household generator).

In the living room, the television signal had long been cut off, and the screen was filled with static.

Hikigaya's parents, their faces etched with undisguised worry, discussed in hushed tones the ever-increasing prices, the increasingly unsafe streets, and... their eldest son, whose recent whereabouts had become increasingly mysterious, who often bore unexplained injuries and an indescribable weariness.

The mother's eyes were slightly red, while the father frowned and took deep drags on his long-extinguished pipe.

"Xiao Qi... he's been coming home later and later lately, and he's..."

The mother's voice was choked with sobs.

"don’t worry,"

The father's voice was low, an attempt to soothe, but his clenched fists betrayed his unease. "That kid... he's always the same old stubborn guy, but he's always been decisive and won't do anything reckless. Maybe... he found a temporary job that requires physical labor? At a time like this..."

Even he himself couldn't convince himself of this explanation. They had a vague feeling that their son was involved in something extremely dangerous, far beyond their comprehension.

"I am back."

A slightly hoarse, emotionless voice echoed in the entryway.

Hachiman Hikigaya pushed open the door and entered, carrying with him the lingering smell of gunpowder and blood (he had tried to clean himself up outside, but the scent seemed to have seeped into his skin).

His face was paler than usual, with heavy shadows under his eyes, and his gaze was tired and empty, as if his soul had been ripped out, leaving only a shell carrying out the "go home" command.

"Xiaoqi!"

His mother rushed to him, looking at him with concern, "Are you alright? Have you eaten? The pot is still warm..."

"I've eaten. I'm very tired, I'm going back to my room first."

Hachiman's voice was flat and emotionless, avoiding his mother's concerned gaze and his father's scrutinizing eyes.

He didn't want to explain, and he couldn't explain.

Any words related to "system," "mission," or "monster" will only drag family members into deeper fear and helplessness.

He just wanted to get back to that small space as soon as possible and use absolute silence to numb his nerves, which were on the verge of collapse from overworking.

(End of this chapter)