This World Needs a Hero

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Side Story 1 - Buck and Doppelganger

This is me, Buck.

I’m a third-rate thief now, but one day, I'll be a great bandit.

This is the journal of that future man.

He’s a bit of an odd one.

We met about a month ago, I think?

It was a day like any other when I dropped by Cain’s gambling den.

Everyone in the Harlem underworld knows that Cain's goons cheat at cards.

So, I figured I’d try my hand at some tricks too after a long time... And the result?

Damn.

I got caught and beaten to a pulp.

"I told you, if you get caught again, I’ll chop off not just your hands but your head!"

The situation was a real mess.

The alley where I was getting beaten up was deserted, and these guys were too busy pounding me to even care that I was coughing up blood.

I seriously thought I might die from this beating.

That’s when he appeared.

Honestly, I was surprised.

Why?

Because he was obviously an outsider.

But I wasn't in a position to be picky.

“Hey, buddy! Long time no see!”

“…?”

He gave me an annoyed look, but I shamelessly kept going.

“Help me out! I’ll reward you if you do! Huh? Where are you going! Please!”

He sighed deeply and stepped into the fight.

At that point, I thought he could handle himself...

Turns out, he was a klutz.

We both got beaten up together.

“Oof! Ugh! Ack!”

The only good thing was, the guy could really take a beating.

He looked delicate, but surprisingly, he was tough.

He took so many punches that even Cain got exhausted and walked away, huffing and puffing.

“Wow, you’re pretty sturdy.”

"…Did you even know who I was when you asked for help?"

"Who cares who you are? There’s no one in Harlem without a story. Whether you’re a monster or a murderer, as long as you’re good to me, that’s all that matters.”

“…….”

“Well, thanks to you, I didn’t end up half-dead. Let’s go grab a drink. My treat!”

The money I was treating with was the same money I’d slipped from Cain’s goons while they were beating me up.

Anyway, that’s how we became friends.

At first, he seemed wary, but after a few drinks, he opened up quickly.

He was actually a pretty friendly guy.

But in Harlem, friendly guys usually end up dead pretty soon.

So, I decided to help out this poor newbie a bit.

Taught him some tricks, showed him how things work in this place…

And a month went by.

I started feeling that this guy was different.

It was like… a smell.

Not to brag, but I’ve been a criminal and a lowlife all my life.

I have a keen nose for people who are stuck at the bottom, unable to escape.

People who live like worms, driven by inertia and routine.

But this guy, how should I put it…

He felt like someone who would eventually break free from this mess.

Like he’d soar high, to a place I could never reach.

So yeah, I started getting these ridiculous hopes.

That maybe, if I stuck around him, I might somehow become a decent person...

“Hey, Buck!”

I snapped the journal shut in surprise.

My ‘friend’ was leaning against the wall, motioning for me.

“Let’s go to work.”

.

.

.

As always, the job went smoothly.

Small-time requests that trickle down from the higher-ups.

They paid surprisingly well considering the low risk, so Buck had a wide grin on his face.

He jingled the coin pouch, then took out just slightly less than half and handed it to his ‘friend.’

“Heh, sticking close to old man Vasquez’s rear end really pays off. Let’s sweet-talk him and get another job soon.”

But for some reason, his friend didn’t look happy.

Buck flinched, thinking he might’ve noticed the uneven split.

“…I’m not taking any more jobs from Vasquez.”

“What? Why not!”

Buck started hopping mad, but his friend was firm.

“They’re all dirty jobs.”

“Hey, how do you expect to survive in Harlem without doing dirty work?”

“There are better jobs. They just pay less.”

“Exactly! They pay less! No women, no booze, no gambling!”

Buck clutched his chest in frustration as if his heart would burst.

But sadly, his troubles weren’t over yet.

Clink-!

Buck looked at his friend in disbelief.

“What… are you doing?”

“Charity.”

His friend had just dropped a large portion of his coins into a beggar's tin in the alley.

The ragged woman and her daughter’s eyes lit up.

“Th-thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

“Sure.”

Buck howled.

“Are you swimming in money? Just give it to me instead!”

At that, the beggar woman clutched the tin to her chest, fearing he might snatch it away.

Buck glared at them, frustrated.

It was a familiar face.

They were the ones who lingered around whenever his friend tossed them coins, as if it had become a habit.

Buck growled.

“You really don’t know Harlem yet, do you? What do you think that woman will do once she’s saved up enough money?”

“Who knows.”

“She’ll clean up her daughter, doll her up, and sell her to a brothel. Just wait and see if I’m wrong.”

“The kid can hear you. Watch your mouth.”

“Let her hear! Maybe she’ll realize her fate and make a run for it!”

“…Buck.”

His friend’s icy stare made Buck shut his mouth.

The beggar woman and her daughter had already run off.

“Damn it. I’m gonna go play some cards.”

“I’m good.”

“Of course, you are.”

“…Don’t even think about cheating. Cain said he’d kill you if you get caught again.”

“Yeah, yeah! What are you, my mom?”

Buck grumbled irritably as he made his way to the gambling den.

A moment later, a low mutter escaped through his gritted teeth.

“…Just wait and see.”

.

.

.

And a few days later.

They were on their way back from another job.

His friend looked as calm as ever, but Buck’ face was scrunched up in frustration.

Because they had taken on a “decent job” just as his friend wanted.

His earnings were halved.

“Ugh….”

“If you hate it that much, take on other jobs by yourself.”

“…Come on, do you even hear yourself? How am I supposed to handle those dangerous jobs on my own?”

“Then stop whining.”

"Why is this bastard so heartless only to me!"

It was at that moment when he grabbed the back of his neck.

Buck, who had been making exaggerated gestures, suddenly noticed something and widened his eyes.

"Whoa whoa whoa?"

"......"

"Look over there, you jerk!"

Buck pointed towards the middle of the alley.

It was the spot where the usual beggar mother and daughter were begging.

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…Just as Buck had expected, the daughter who was always with her was nowhere to be seen beside her mother.

The shabby blanket the daughter used to wear was now draped over the mother's shoulders.

Buck burst out laughing and patted his friend's shoulder.

"See? What did I tell you? No matter how smart you are, I know Harlem better."

"......"

Without giving his friend a chance to respond, Buck approached the beggar mother and started intimidating her.

"Hey, you wretched woman. Where's your cute little daughter? Did you sell her off and now you're all alone?"

But he didn't have time to hear the answer he was expecting.

Tap-tap—

The sound of small footsteps echoed from the entrance of the alley.

"......"

Buck stared in disbelief at the little girl with a backpack.

Tap-tap—

The cheerful child passed by Buck and stood in front of his friend, bowing politely.

The friend's usually stoic face softened with a faint smile.

A hand gently patted the little girl's head.

The beggar mother also bowed toward the friend.

…Watching the scene from a few steps away, Buck was overcome with a strange feeling.

He hurried over to his friend's side and whispered.

"Honestly, I wasn't wrong, was I? Right?"

"Really?"

"If it had been any other beggars in Harlem, something like that would have definitely happened."

"Well… probably."

Buck hesitated for a moment and squinted at his friend.

"You… you already knew that woman wasn't like that, didn't you? How did you know?"

"I observed."

"…Observed?"

"I'm good at it."

"What a ridiculous thing to say."

His friend didn't bother to explain further.

As usual, he returned to his quiet demeanor and continued on his way.

‘Seriously, sometimes this guy is hard to deal with.’

His friend's footsteps came to a halt, a little while later.

Buck sighed and spoke up.

"You're looking at that again?"

It was a poster stuck to a filthy wall.

The wall was soiled daily with vomit and urine from drunkards, but the poster remained clean.

A short phrase was written at the top of the poster.

For the freedom of humanity.

It was a poster recruiting soldiers to fight against the demons.

His friend sometimes stared blankly at that poster.

"What… are you seriously thinking of becoming a soldier?"

It was meant as a joke.

But the response came in a serious tone.

"Someday, I want to."

Buck couldn't understand and asked again.

"Why? For whose sake?"

Humanity?

The Empire?

What had they ever done for people like them who were barely surviving?

When they were facing all kinds of misfortunes and hardships, how did they help?

"......"

But his friend didn't offer much explanation and simply took a glance around with his deep-set eyes.

At the stinking alley, the chattering beggar mother and daughter at the entrance, the other beggars lying around like garbage with dead eyes… even the faint curses and shouts coming from unseen places.

"…At least, I can go through misfortunes I’m responsible for."

Buck had no idea what his friend was trying to say.

‘Sometimes, he talks like someone who reads a lot of books.’

But somehow.

At times, he felt that his friend’s demeanor was radiant and noble.

More so than the high-class nobles who frequented Harlem's brothels.

More so than any of the people he'd met in his muddy life.

.

.

.

Humans inherently seek out rare values.

Buck' tightly closed lips moved slightly.

"Hey, that thing."

"What?"

"I, uh… well, you know, like you…."

It was strange.

Though embarrassed and unable to put it into words, his friend understood him perfectly and responded.

"You already know how."

"…I do?"

"Yeah."

Thud—

A hand briefly patted his shoulder before leaving.

His friend smiled, which was rare, and greeted him.

"See you tomorrow, Buck."

"…Yeah."

On his way home.

Buck stopped in front of a beggar he always passed by near his house.

The man, who claimed to be a veteran of the Demon War, always held out a money jar with his one good hand.

Clink—

The beggar lowered his head with difficulty.

Buck watched him for a moment, then….

"Wha, what?"

He reached into the jar and snatched up some money.

"…W-what."

The beggar looked at him in shock.

But to avoid getting hit, he quickly averted his eyes.

For some reason, seeing that made Buck inexplicably angry.

"With this paltry sum, it's not going to be enough anyway."

"E-excuse me?"

Lately, he'd only been getting lousy jobs, so his wallet was in bad shape.

"I'll triple it and bring it back."

Ping-!

Buck flicked the coin with his fingers and grinned.

.

.

.

Buck came back to me as a cold corpse, about six months later.

They said he died while trying to stop a little girl from being kidnapped by a human trafficking gang.

It was an ending that didn't quite suit someone who was infamous for getting beaten up at gambling dens.

"Is this the place?"

"Shh, be quiet."

What I thought would be an empty funeral was actually filled with mourners.

One by one, flower bouquets, as if plucked straight from the streets, were placed on top of Buck.

I learned about the things he'd been doing while I thought he was just slacking off at gambling dens.

‘…Observing, my foot.’

By then, a child was standing behind me.

The little girl with the backpack.

The girl Buck had saved bowed her head slightly, holding a flower.

The face that used to be covered in dirt had changed so much that I could hardly remember what she used to look like.

"......"

The girl smiled slightly and laid the flower on top of Buck.

Moved by the sincerity in her eyes, I found myself nodding unconsciously.

"You already know how."

"…I do?"

"Yeah."

He.

Of all people, would have known the best way.

.

.

.

Yes, that happened.

The warm memory suddenly resurfaced in my mind.

‘……?’

But what’s going on right now?

I squinted at the bright lights floating around me.

‘I was definitely….’

Vague images flashed before my eyes.

‘What was I doing?’

Another light approached me as I struggled to remember.

‘Wait a minute. This memory….’

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