This World Needs a Hero

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HELHEIM SCANS

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Side Story 8 - The Stars and the Astronomer (2)

“Nyhill, where are you going?”

“She’s running away!”

“Catch her!”

‘I'm scared.’

The friends she hadn’t seen in a long time had turned into even worse drunkards than during their school days.

Was the stress of raising kids driving them insane?

They were like people dying of thirst, desperate for alcohol, and it was terrifying.

… But what scared her the most was the fact that the after-party was far from over.

“Ugh… Where are you going?”

Arpheus, who had left earlier, was sprawled out in the hallway and struggled to speak to her.

“Oh, I’m just going to get some fresh air.”

“… You’re heading to the Hero’s Monument, aren’t you?”

Nyhill nodded.

Arpheus staggered as he stood up.

“Wait a moment.”

He reached his hand out toward the window.

Woooong—

A small mana ripple swept through the air, and a pale orange flower suddenly bloomed from the ground.

Trumpet vine.

A flower with the meaning of waiting and longing.

Arpheus smiled brightly and handed it to Nyhill.

“Be careful… uuurgh…”

He collapsed again.

The after-party was taking place at a royal palace atop the highest tower, where the memorials for the two heroes were located.

Not wanting to disgrace the shiny floors, Arpheus quickly crawled toward the bathroom.

Nyhill watched him with pity.

‘What was the Emperor thinking, issuing such an order...?’

In the past, she wouldn’t have dared to think such disrespectful thoughts, but as she walked away, they crossed her mind.

There was one reason why humanity’s heroes had lost their dignity and were now drunkenly staggering around.

“Anyone who uses magic to sober up will be punished by imperial decree!”

The Emperor’s enthusiastic proclamation.

It was quite an unreasonable demand, but… knowing how hard she worked for the state, they couldn’t easily refuse.

The Emperor only took a break once a year, on these occasions when the Special Forces members gathered.

… Of course, some of them genuinely enjoyed it.

“Hahaha! The Ice Dragon doesn’t lose to alcohol!”

Cuculli danced around, with empty bottles stuck to both of her horns.

She occasionally cast ice magic, freezing the attendees’ drinks.

It was a sight to behold.

“More beer! Alchemize more beer, Yussi!”

Noubelmag joined in too. He carried his nemesis, Yussi, on his back, shouting songs at the top of his lungs. It was quite the spectacle….

And then…

‘They kept giving me drinks.’

With her cheeks flushed red, they hugged her tightly, shouting.

“To Nyhill’s new beginning!”

A new beginning.

Yes, Nyhill was about to leave the capital.

For the past 10 years, she had worked as a prosthetics maker under Noubelmag and Yussi, diligently honing her skills.

Now, she was planning to travel across the continent, directly finding injured people in the slums and making prosthetics for them.

Her friends had cheered her on with all their hearts.

“That’s really cool.”

“If the professor were here, he would’ve been so proud.”

“Well, that’s that, but for now, let’s drink!”

And so, countless drinks piled up in front of her.

Even Nyhill, who had undergone all sorts of poison resistance training in the past, couldn’t help but get drunk.

‘… I’m dizzy.’

Still staggering, she gripped the bouquet tightly and headed outside.

Fwoosh—

The cool spring night breeze brushed against her forehead.

The chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves, and the clear sky filled with stars.

As she walked, the laughter from the palace quickly faded, and a peaceful silence settled in.

“……”

Nyhill stood quietly before the Hero’s Monument.

“I’m here again.”

She gently placed the bouquet of trumpet vines at the monument's base and then sat down, leaning against it.

The stone seemed cold and hard at first glance, but it was made from a rare ore, always radiating warmth.

‘It’s just like him.’

Her jet-black eyes gazed up at the sky.

Her vision swam, distorted by the lingering effects of the alcohol.

In the wavering sky, countless stars poured down.

It looked like someone had scattered jewels on a piece of black silk.

“It’s beautiful.”

She muttered, curling herself up.

In truth, whenever she looked up at a night sky full of stars like this, one memory always came to mind.

… It was from her childhood.

She was sitting under a bridge, nibbling on a piece of bread she had found in a trash bin.

Above her head, beyond the stone ceiling, she could hear the endless laughter of people.

Having lived her whole life in the slums, Nyhill couldn’t understand the context of their conversations, but she always listened to their voices.

Stories of delicious bakeries, school friends, and ideal marriage partners.

As she focused on these sounds, eventually, everything would grow distant, and the quiet night would arrive.

‘There was a sky as beautiful as tonight's.’

The nights in Harlem were dark, so the stars that adorned the sky were bright and plentiful.

But even their light couldn’t penetrate the darkness beneath the bridge.

And so, young Nyhill thought to herself:

‘If the people above the bridge are shining like stars, then I must be the darkness beside them.’

A being that floated through time without light or meaning.

Nyhill believed that she might spend her whole life trapped in that darkness.

And that belief solidified when she became Ghost No. 3, a mindless killer and violent criminal.

…But why was it?

Why did someone start calling her a “star”?

“……”

Someone looked at her, hidden in the darkness, found her light, and connected her with others who were already shining, giving new meaning to her life.

There was someone like that.

Nyhill closed her eyes.

The voice she missed so much echoed in her ears like an auditory hallucination.

“My beloved students, my stars.”

Because of that person, she could live not as Ghost No. 3, but as the human being, Nyhill.

Because of him, she could stand alongside those who shone brightly and shine with them.

Nyhill clasped her hands to her chest.

‘I miss you.’

She couldn’t help but say it aloud.

“I miss you.”

… Just like always, tears burst forth uncontrollably.

Curled up in a ball, Nyhill wept.

Ten years had passed.

She had hoped that people’s words about time healing all wounds were true.

But the forgetfulness that time granted was far weaker than she had expected… and she still missed her teacher.

“… Nyhill?”

“Oh.”

At the sound of her name, Nyhill hastily wiped her eyes.

A short but sturdy silhouette appeared from the darkness.

"Ahem, ahem."

Noubelmag pretended not to notice, feigning indifference until Nyhill had erased all traces of her tears, then approached her.

A hand patted her shoulder.

"…I wondered where you'd gone, and of course, you were here."

Sniffing, Nyhill wiped her nose.

"I'm sorry. I'll head back soon."

"No need."

Noubelmag shook his head before continuing.

"I'll explain, so stay as long as you'd like."

…In truth, Nyhill also wanted to linger a little longer, so she nodded.

"Thank you."

"By the way, are you not cold? Shall I bring a blanket or cloak…?"

Noubelmag paused.

His gaze was fixed on the memorial stone.

"You should be fine."

The memorial stone, made from a heat-emitting ore, was practically a massive heater.

With that, Noubelmag turned and strode away.

Nyhill watched his back for a moment before leaning her head against the memorial again.

Thanks to Noubelmag, at least, she no longer felt like crying.

The problem was…

‘Ah…’

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Drowsiness.

She had cried enough to drain her energy, the alcohol still lingered, and her body felt as warm as if she were buried under a blanket.

To top it off, she'd stayed up late for several nights in a row, working hard to prepare for the after-party.

"Mmm…"

It was no wonder Nyhill's eyelids began to droop.

Thunk—

Her shoulders relaxed as the tension drained away.

As her body slumped and her consciousness faded entirely.

.

.

.

Rustle—

The sound of grass reached her ears, and Nyhill briefly regained her senses.

Slowly, she blinked her heavy eyes.

‘What was that sound…? More importantly, when did I fall asleep?’

Yet still, the wave of sleep was overwhelming.

The alcohol and drowsiness weighed heavily on her body.

Instinctively, Nyhill clutched the cloak draped over her.

It was warm and comforting.

‘So sleepy…’

She drifted back into a deep sleep with a vague sense of unease.

.

.

.

"!"

Nyhill's eyes shot open.

The unique mix of refreshment and anxiety one feels after oversleeping hit her all at once.

‘Ah.’

Chirp chirp—

The birds above sang as bright sunlight streamed down.

Judging by the time, Nyhill’s face paled.

‘How many hours did I sleep?’

She felt guilty for being absent for so long.

‘It was the last time I could see everyone before leaving the capital.’

Her friends must have been really disappointed.

The drinking party had long since ended, and there was no sign of activity from the palace annex.

Everyone must have passed out by now.

‘I should head back.’

Whether to clean up or prepare something to help with the hangover, there was probably something she could do.

Nyhill sprang up.

And then…

"……?"

Thud—

A cloak slipped off and fell to the ground.

Nyhill stared blankly at it for a moment.

“…What?”

A cloak with no distinctive features.

‘Who covered me with this?’

But who could it have been?

None of the attendees yesterday had worn such a cloak.

Nyhill slowly picked it up from the ground.

It was soft and warm.

…It was probably from that day.

The day when strange things began happening to them, one by one.

* * *

Auro was enveloped in a radiant light, focusing on the voice in his ears.

"Before we begin, let me ask you one thing."

"Yes."

"This journey will be unimaginably painful and grueling. To wander as a spirit without a body—it's a punishment befitting hell. It'll be endlessly lonely and futile."

In fact, Zero had intended from the start to revive Auro.

If Auro willingly sacrificed himself for the sake of everyone else, that would be enough to grant him the right to return to life.

After all, Auro was someone with an unparalleled desire for life.

For him to give that up for others was sufficient reason in Zero’s mind.

Therefore, Zero had planned to reassemble Auro and grant him a ‘human’ life once again.

But…

"Now is your last chance if you want to change your mind. I don't know how long the suffering will last. It could take years before you're fully restored."

There was a problem.

Restoring Auro was far more difficult than Zero had anticipated.

He had not only been subjected to the disassembly spell but had also been completely consumed by the Demon King's ‘Dissolution.’

Of course, rebuilding him was possible, but…

"You'll have to reach out to them, and they'll have to pull you back. Constantly… without giving up."

"Yes."

"Will you still want them after an eternity of suffering? Will the humans, so prone to forgetfulness, still long for you?"

Zero spoke with concern in his voice.

"You might arrive in a world where everyone has forgotten you."

"It's alright."

"…It's alright?"

"Yes."

But Auro's voice was unwavering.

"Because no matter what, I have to see it through."

"See what?"

There was no hesitation.

"A world where heroes are no longer needed."

Auro only smiled brightly.

"A world where the heroes will be shining."

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