Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1567 I Just Want to Protect My Family

The heavy denial was not like a pebble hitting water, but a boulder crashing into Hachiman Hikigaya's already murky heart.

The echo of Hiratsuka Shizuka's words, "It wasn't voluntary," didn't stir up waves of confusion, but rather a overwhelming sense of powerlessness that nearly drowned him, mixed with an absurd resonance.

The cold night wind, carrying dust and a faint smell of blood, brushed against the dried bloodstains on his cheeks and the cracked corners of his mouth, bringing a stinging sensation.

If even she… even someone like Hiratsuka-sensei couldn't control this sudden fate…*
The thought, like a cold, venomous snake, coiled around his heart.

Who is Shizuka Hiratsuka? She is the "Iron Fist Leftover Woman" of Soubu High School, a mature and powerful adult (albeit in that comically magical girl way), who seems capable of crushing any predicament with a single punch.

Her very existence carries a sense of security provided by social rules.

However, at this moment, the bewilderment and resistance in her eyes, as if forcibly given power, were like a mirror, clearly reflecting a despair that was even deeper than that of Kiguchi himself, a despair that had long since sunk into despair.

What can he, a high school student who already detached himself from interpersonal relationships and was used to observing the world from the walls he built for himself, do in this torrent that subverts common sense?

Explanation? Where to begin? System? Mission? Contract? Those cold, emotionless mechanical prompts, those unquestionable, shackle-like, mandatory commands embedded deep within his soul, those dark murmurs that clung to him like maggots in the silent night, whispering temptation and destruction… all these words combined could only be the ravings of a mentally broken person, or the best proof of being completely corrupted by demons.

Who would believe it? Who would dare to believe it? What other outcome would there be besides hastening one's own destruction or being regarded as a "source of pollution" that must be eliminated?
My throat was so dry it felt like it had been sanded, and every swallow was a tearing pain.

He opened his mouth slightly, his chapped lips twitched, trying to inhale some cool air, but in the end he could only squeeze out a heavy sigh from the depths of his lungs, a sigh that was almost tangible.

The sigh, carrying a heavy stench of blood, dissipated into the cold night.

What followed was a silence deeper than the night, more piercing than every wound on his body, heavy and suffocating, as if even the air had solidified into lead, pressing down on him so that he could hardly breathe.

Across from her, Hiratsuka Shizuka's violently heaving chest finally calmed down somewhat after a few deep breaths.

However, the storm in those eyes showed no sign of abating; instead, after a brief moment of astonishment, an even more complex and turbulent undercurrent surged forth.

The punch she threw in a fit of shame and anger, imbued with the superhuman strength of a magical girl, not only failed to dispel the thick fog shrouding Hachiman, but instead made the mystery even deeper and more distorted, as if it had touched a bottomless vortex exuding an ominous aura.

Hikigaya's hoarse question—"Teacher, are you doing this voluntarily?"—was like a venomous thorn, piercing precisely into her most vulnerable and painful spot.

She did it voluntarily.

That ridiculous outfit covered in lace, every transformation was a public execution of her adult dignity.

And what about him? This boy, huddled in blood and darkness, clutches a demonic sword that radiates endless evil and seems capable of devouring light.
Behind that word "voluntary," what unknown, perhaps even more cruel, shackles lie hidden? Is it a transaction? A sacrifice? Or some kind of inescapable curse?

Her gaze, sharp as a scalpel, attempted to peel away the layers of hard, defensive shell that the boy wore, a shell concealed by his aloofness, sharp tongue, and self-destructive tendencies.

She no longer saw just a problem student, someone who needed to be "corrected".

What she saw was a boy covered in blood, his eyes tired and empty to the point of being almost nonexistent, a soul whose spine had been crushed by an invisible burden. An indescribable mix of emotions surged violently within her: the professional instinct of a teacher to protect her students, a deep concern for the unresolved bizarre situation before her, a bitter resonance of "fellow sufferers," and the lingering, maddening sense of absurdity behind it all.

She needs an answer.

An answer that can penetrate this absurd facade and touch the cold, core truth.

Otherwise, she would not be able to understand what was happening before her, let alone judge what to do next—whether to forcibly "correct" him as a teacher and pull him away from that evil sword, even if it meant depriving him of the only power he had to rely on at this moment.
Or... should one seek a kind of resonance that may not even exist and is extremely dangerous, by adopting the identity of a "kind" who is also imprisoned and manipulated by unknown forces?
Hiratsuka Shizuka slowly took a small step forward, with a heaviness she herself was unaware of.

She no longer looked down, but bent down slightly, her gaze almost parallel to that of Hachiman, who was slumped on the ground.

Her voice was no longer as high-pitched with anger as before, but carried a deeper, more unavoidable sense of oppression, as if it could compress and solidify the surrounding air:

"'Voluntary'? Okay..."

She spoke slowly and deliberately, each syllable like a hammer blow on a cold anvil, "Hachiman Hikigaya, tell me,"

Her gaze was fixed on him, trying to find a ripple beneath the still surface of the lake. "Where does this 'path of the brave,' which was 'voluntarily' embarked upon, lead?"

Hikigaya Hachiman fell silent.

Time seemed to stretch out, with only the night wind howling through the ruins. He lowered his head, his gaze falling on his hands, which were stained with dark red blood and trembling slightly.

Not long ago, these hands could only hold a pen, turn the pages of a book, or clumsily make themselves a cup of instant coffee.

Now, however, they are stained with the filth of inhuman monsters, and they clutch weapons capable of bringing destruction.

A few seconds, or longer.

He finally raised his eyes, his gaze meeting Hiratsuka Shizuka's sharp scrutiny without flinching.

There was no heroic passion in his eyes, no martyrdom, only a primal, desperate resolve born of being driven to the brink, a calm that comes from recognizing the cost.

"Protect your family."

His voice was hoarse, yet exceptionally clear, like a stone thrown into stagnant water, producing a dull echo.

Hiratsuka Shizuka was stunned.

The answer was simpler than anyone could have imagined, yet so heavy that it left her speechless for a moment.

It's not about saving the world, pursuing power, or becoming a hero... it's simply about "protecting family."

(End of this chapter)