Hero’s Child C15

Chapter 15

“Judging from the code number, you must’ve registered within the last five years. That makes you younger than me. Serial number fifty-six, huh… that narrows it down.”

La Épée’s eyelids fluttered slowly, his face bathed in the amber glow of the streetlight. To anyone else, he might’ve looked soft, kind even—charming, in a quiet sort of way. But there wasn’t a soul in the world who didn’t know that La Épée was a beautiful, deadly poison disguised as a man.

“Oh. Ha Uichan, was it?”

Uichan flinched, though he kept his face still. Just from glancing at the barcode, the man had pulled up his entire identity. Unless La Épée had perfect recall, that should’ve been impossible.

What the world didn’t know was that La Épée had memorized every hero registered with the Association. A single look at a code was all it took for him to recall the owner’s ability, history, and affiliations.

“By serial number, that makes me your senior,” he said casually.

“…”

“So, I can drop the formalities, right? That’s fine, isn’t it, Uichan?”

He was already speaking informally, pretending to ask for permission as a courtesy. If Uichan pushed him away or tried to run, he’d immediately be suspected of being a villain. He almost wanted to knee him in the gut—but instead, he forced himself to stay calm.

“…What exactly is this about, sir?”

“Nothing special,” La Épée said easily. “I’m just hunting villains. And then I saw you, Ha Uichan. Thought I’d check—hero or villain? You said civilian, right?”

“…”

Uichan’s throat locked up for a moment. He could’ve sworn La Épée had glanced toward the alley behind them. A civilian beating a villain to death? Impossible. And now, his hero code had been exposed. A fatal mistake.

He was scrambling for an excuse when he heard the sound of gloves being removed.

“Sorry, got blood on you.”

La Épée casually brushed the specks of blood off Uichan’s shoulder—then went so far as to wipe the spot clean with his sleeve. Uichan watched in uneasy silence as the man spoke again.

“Why didn’t you evacuate? The sirens went off before the lockdown. Hearing problem?”

“No. I was just… occupied with something.”

La Épée’s mouth curved faintly upward. He cast another cold glance at the alley Uichan had come from.

“Occupied with what? Oh, I see—you and that scumbag were getting cozy back there?”

He had an uncanny talent for shutting people up. The way he spoke, the way his words slithered under your skin—it was impossible to tell if he was blind or simply toying with him. Maybe he’d seen everything.

If that was the case… had he seen Uichan removing his bracelet too? He thought it through—no, probably not. If La Épée had, he’d never have let Uichan go this easily.

And yet, there was still that fog across his eyes, dulling his focus. He might’ve only sensed Uichan’s presence through instinct. The man’s awareness was legendary.

“I really didn’t hear the alarm,” Uichan said finally. “And I wasn’t exactly… friendly with that guy. He came into the alley on his own. I had no choice.”

“So you hit him?”

“…He came at me first.”

“With these hands?”

“I used a rock.”

Uichan closed his fingers nervously, trying to deflect the question. If he could help it, he didn’t want La Épée to know what had really happened in that alley. The hero gave a soft, amused chuckle—as if entertained by Uichan’s hesitation.

His breath brushed Uichan’s face, cool and clean, carrying a quiet masculine warmth.

People called him a refined bastard, and they weren’t wrong. Before becoming a hero, La Épée had been a gangster. He’d once ruled the underworld, only to burn it down himself before joining the Hero Association. The details were murky, but the rumors were endless.

Critics loved to bring up his past—mocking him as a thug playing hero.

But unlike the gangsters Uichan had known, La Épée didn’t swagger or flaunt tattoos. The public saw him as composed, calculating, always in control. He rarely lost his temper. He rarely acted recklessly.

“If it hurts too much… just say so.”

The memory hit like lightning—his low, husky voice echoing in Uichan’s skull. He nearly covered his face with his hand. He could still hear that rough, ragged breath.

When he dared to look up again, La Épée was studying him with faintly furrowed brows.

“I can’t see too well right now,” he muttered. “But I know your name now. I’ll come find you later, okay? You’re with… Nonhier, right?”

“Wait—why? Why would you come to our office?”

“I just happen to need a subcontractor,” he said simply. “Been working day and night lately. And you caught my eye, Ha Uichan.”

Caught his eye? Out of nowhere? Uichan frowned, confused and wary, but the hero continued nonchalantly.

“Even now,” La Épée murmured, “I can’t work because of you. And if I can’t work, things get delayed. I’m searching for something—but it keeps slipping away. It’s frustrating, you know.”

“How is that my fault? And you don’t look frustrated.”

“Oh, I am. Hurts right here,” he said, tapping his chest, “so I’ve been taking it out on villains. Normally I’d refuse those jobs, but…”

Uichan’s eyes drifted downward. The crushed body of the villain still lay in a pool of blood, the red reflecting the dull yellow light. His stomach churned violently. He turned his head away, fighting nausea.

La Épée followed his gaze briefly before extending his hand.

His hand was large, the skin pale as snow.

“You’re heading out, right? Come on—take my hand. I’ll walk you out.”

“…We just met today, La Épée. You know that, right?”

“The world’s full of people sleeping together after locking eyes once,” he said smoothly. “So what’s the big deal about a handshake?”

Whatever he meant by that made Uichan’s chest drop. He quickly pushed the hand aside and stepped back.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll manage. I can walk myself out.”

Across the bridge, officers waved signal batons, shouting for civilians to evacuate. Uichan started walking briskly toward them.

But then—footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. La Épée’s stride fell into step beside his.

Uichan kept his eyes forward, pretending not to notice. Memories flickered in fragmented flashes—three men, the night in the pit.

Noah, rough and restless like a man discovering lust for the first time. Blacktan, overwhelming, every thrust like a punch to the gut. And La Épée—his touch had been steady, practiced. He had known exactly what made Uichan tremble, where to touch, how to break him apart.

No—why was he thinking about this now? His face burned hot. He quickened his pace.

The bridge looked long from afar, but he reached the end quickly. There, near the barricade, officers in vests guided people to safety.

At last, La Épée stopped. He pulled his gloves back on, his voice lazy and low.

“You’ll make it home okay? If not, tell me. I can at least escort you. Comes with the job.”

“What part of ‘I’m fine’ didn’t you hear? I said it already.”

When Uichan pointed toward the police line as if to suggest they part ways there, La Épée chuckled softly above him.

“You’re shy, huh? Acting all formal when we’ve already met. Fine, fine—guess I’ll end the escort here. Don’t pout about it, yeah? We’ll see each other soon enough, through Nonhier.”

Someone in the distance called out La Épée’s name. He turned his head slightly, listening. Seemed like the cleanup wasn’t over yet. When Uichan glanced that way, La Épée met his eyes and smiled.

“Go on ahead.”

“Ah… right.”

Eager to end the encounter, Uichan turned and walked toward the officers. Behind him, La Épée waved languidly, the gesture almost casual.

Uichan looked back once.

For some reason, he thought of the tiny lives sleeping quietly inside him—the little ones who had gone strangely still while La Épée was near. He remembered that fleeting sense of ease, of warmth that had made no sense at all.

Could he be… their father?

No, he told himself firmly. Don’t jump to conclusions.

Of the three men, La Épée was the one he least wanted that title to belong to.

Turning away, Uichan crossed the barricade and made his way home. Whatever calm he’d felt earlier was a lie—because that night, after dinner, as soon as he lay down, the pain began.

He spent the entire night curled up on the living room floor, clutching his stomach, whispering softly to soothe the restless life within him.

At least one thing brought comfort: no one knew. No one had seen this side of him. That was something to be grateful for.

“…You two done throwing a tantrum now?” he murmured weakly.

The pain was ebbing, slowly. Whatever they’d been upset about, they’d clearly had their say. If they could talk, he would’ve asked them what had made them so angry—so he could make sure it never happened again.

He lifted his gaze to the window. The night had passed quietly away, and pale light was spilling across the floor—the kind that smelled faintly of morning and peace.