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Translated by BiasNil
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
A place where countless people huddled in fear.
So many people were gathered here, and yet it was startlingly quiet.
Shivering hostages, gun-toting terrorists, and the one standing majestically atop a tower of chairs.
For this moment, everyone was silent.
A man rose from the crowd—clapping.
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
It wasn't some sloppy imitation clap.
I'd actually practiced, poured my heart into how to make a single person's clap sound huge.
Loud enough to drag every eye to me.
And so, in that hush, everyone stared at the lone man applauding.
The leader of this attack—an A-class villain: Monkey Spanner.
He spoke.
"What's with that crazy guy?"
Exactly.
With terrorists wide-eyed and twitchy behind their guns, ready to shoot at the slightest thing—
Standing up now and drawing aggro? Only a lunatic would do that.
And with that weird look on my face, they definitely thought so.
A man in a mask that covered his entire face.
Bright yellow—or maybe a bit orange? Anyway, an off-balance yellow. The mask even had little smiling eyes, and stars under the eyes, like a clown.
At the grotesque sight, both the terrorists and the veteran villain Monkey Spanner—who'd been through all kinds of messes—froze.
First, he signaled with his eyes for the cameraman to cut the feed. There's nothing to gain from live-broadcasting a scene like this.
Who is Monkey Spanner?
His ability is actually nothing special. Weak power. You could guess it from those explosive muscles that can't be hidden under clothes.
Yet unlike other villains with similar abilities, Monkey Spanner was designated an A-class villain by the Association despite that weakness.
It's unusual—even considering how generously the Association ranks villains compared to heroes.
Why so high? Because of his outstanding organizational skills.
No one really knows how he gathered hundreds of underlings.
With his so-called "Jumping Monkey Club," he spent years underground in Korea, robbing banks and moving drugs.
Then one day, Boss Monkey Spanner dragged his men to Mexico to go big.
They tried to muscle in on the cartels—and got pummeled by the cartels instead.
Now the guy who used to command hundreds has, what, a little over a hundred left.
The funds from past attacks? Squandered.
He shuffled back home.
Sensing ruin if he kept going like this, he hatched a plan.
Pull a big cash grab with a large-scale terror attack in Korea—then hit Mexico one more time!
He stowed away through Busan Port and lay in wait.
He'd wanted to move right away when he returned, but his plan got kneecapped by some Egostic guy stealing the spotlight with attacks in Seoul first.
Terrorism is all about aggro; if someone else is hogging the stage, the government attention—and the payout—drops.
…So he waited. They say "Victory comes with patience," and the perfect chance finally came.
Shadow Walker, the ruler of darkness, is down.
For the first time, it's actually possible to run an attack at night.
And the veteran Monkey Spanner moved faster than anyone and launched his operation.
To sum up:
Even after getting crushed in Mexico, Monkey Spanner is still a quick-witted villain with a hundred-plus underlings.
And that hard-earned intuition told him the masked guy clapping right now was not normal.
"…What the hell are you doing?"
He bought time with words.
If nobody in this world had powers, he'd have just put a bullet in me.
But he didn't know what my power was, so he had to be cautious.
'Damn it, where did this brat come from?'
People with powers are rarer than first-prize lottery winners.
Lottery winners show up every week.
But a super popping up right here? Rare.
Still—who is Monkey Spanner?
He's kept his grip even with countless heroes around.
He believed this situation could be overcome by brute force.
…And yet.
*
"…What the hell are you doing?"
The guy on the chair tower yelled down at me.
If someone asks who you are, human nature says you tell them.
Standing there like I owned the place, I shrugged.
"My name is…"
I stopped.
Wait—shouldn't say Egostic here, right?
It's awkward to say it myself, but I'm kind of a celebrity in Korea.
The news has splashed my face five or six times already.
…And even without the news, I've been livestreaming my terrorism since day one.
Anyway, nothing good comes from dropping my name right now.
If I say it, they'll realize I can use telekinesis and teleport.
So, U-turn.
"My name is… none of your business. Let's just say I'm a passerby."
I smiled, lazy and sly.
His face scrunched up. Judging from my calm tone and relaxed posture, he was probably pegging me as an unexpected heavyweight.
Honestly, if some clown-masked weirdo popped up and started satirizing me, I'd be thrown off, too.
And that's the trick:
Make the other guy overestimate me.
The strong lure you into dropping your guard, then strike; the weak fight a little differently.
The weak inflate themselves and act more confident than they are.
Only then does the opponent get wary—and the longer he's wary, the more time I buy.
That's why I started the aggro with applause.
To be honest, I had no idea who this Monkey Spanner was. I mean, I only keep tabs on Stardust and the enemies I face in Seoul; I don't follow Busan's scene. North Sea Ice Girl usually handles this region.
I only figured him out because I peeked his ability earlier—he's not that tough.
…But his power's annoying. He could sprint in and fold my spine in half; I can dodge by teleporting, sure—but my attacks are the problem.
Body reinforcement: guns and bombs barely scratch types like him. Without a special striker team, he's a pain. Poison gas? Maybe—but guys like him are tough inside, and if I pop gas here, we're all done.
So—start with what I can do.
Step. Step.
I slipped through the crowd, heading forward.
Toward his chair tower.
No one stopped me.
Some masked grunts raised their guns, but Monkey Spanner, still perched on the tower, held up a hand to stay them.
No one could predict what would happen if they opened fire on me here.
I reached the base of the chair pile, looked up at him, and drawled:
"Oh my… I heard something funny was happening here, so I dragged my heavy body all the way over. Turns out it's just some jokester glued to a chair. All you can do is keep your butt parked there? You baldhead."
At the sudden taunt, he actually got mad.
"Hey, not so safe, huh? I'll make you regret that!"
He'd sized things up long enough; he leapt down from the tower and charged.
Beyond the anger, he'd realized it wasn't a good look to keep towering over so many witnesses while getting heckled.
But the instant he stomped where I'd been—
I wasn't there.
He didn't know about my teleport.
By the time realization hit, I was already cross-legged on top of the chair tower he'd vacated.
"Really… how sloppy."
I yawned up there, looking down at him, and flicked my fingers, bored.
At the same time, the guns in his underlings' hands slipped free and floated into the air.
They all swung around in unison.
In a blink, I'd yanked the guns away—and turned them back toward the ones who'd been holding them.
Shots cracked.
"AAAAAAAHHH!!!"
Blood sprayed.
Dozens of terrorists—in an instant. So fast no one even clocked it.
All at once—down.
"Phew…"
No one's still filming this, right?
If the Association sees this, they'll slap me up to S-class on the spot.
Anyway—I just burned through months of stored-up spark in a single volley.
Ugh. Why is my ability so poor?