Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 139: [138] Early action as a Superhero (10)

Chapter 139: [138] Early action as a Superhero (10)

From Fujisawa’s gaze, Ren understood exactly what he was trying to say.

(Leave me... and save the others.)

In that moment, the ideals of heroism Ren had always believed in were put to the ultimate test. And as gravity briefly lifted them into weightlessness, Fujisawa used the last of his strength to push Ren away—an action that meant everything.

Behind that shadowed face, Ren had to make a decision that shattered his heart.

"...I’m sorry," he whispered.

Then he left Fujisawa, who smiled faintly as Ren exited the aircraft and shot toward the front—where, with every ounce of strength, he pushed to slow the descent.

Logically, Ren should’ve been crushed under the weight of the plane, compounded by gravity. No one could hold back something like that—unless you were Superman.

Yeah, unless you were an alien...

Ren wasn’t an alien.

That’s what he always believed. He was human. Born on Earth, raised by his mother and father. But now—standing before destruction falling from the heavens—every piece of human logic fractured.

Because his body was no longer moving like a human’s.

His heart beat in rhythms unrecognized by biology. His blood pulsed with a faint glow visible in infrared. And the structure beneath his skin... had changed.

He screamed. Not out of fear. But because his body was responding—not with panic, but with something older: the survival instinct of a race that had endured thousands of years of extraterrestrial selection.

Ren activated his core ability—

Transmutation.

It wasn’t just his body that changed—it was the very nature of his physical reality. He planted his feet into the plane’s metal frame, and his bones hardened, stretching like molten steel. His muscles swelled in organo-synthetic patterns, biologically fusing with his armor.

Armor cracked?

It reformed—like living metal.

Power drained?

He absorbed kinetic energy from the rushing air and channeled it into his body, redistributing heat as fuel for his transmutative cells.

When his hands touched the aircraft’s boiling-hot hull from atmospheric friction, his palms melted and fused, gripping the plane’s body as if it were an extension of himself.

"AAAAAAAAARRGHHHHH!!"

His shoulder shattered. Bone tore through muscle. But seconds later—that bone rebuilt itself, stronger. Denser. Engineered to support two hundred tons of steel and impending death.

Red blood... then blue... then silver.

Ren braced himself against the aircraft’s nose, forming structural extensions from his back—stabilizing fins that latched onto the plane’s sides. He forged his own counterweight.

Every millisecond became a battle between will and gravity.

But... the plane’s velocity began to drop.

His helmet display cracked. A thin red line sliced across the surface like dried blood, but the digital readout was still clear.

Altimeter: 4000 meters.3500.3000.

Heat flowed from his armor. White steam hissed from his joints. His body had become unrecognizable—part man, part machine, part something else entirely.

The screech of metal-on-metal—Ren’s body grinding against the plane’s descent—finally began to soften.

Then, he breathed in. Deep. Slow. His breath was heavy, trembling... but still alive. Still here.

But it wasn’t enough.

He knew—even if he managed to slow the aircraft’s fall... it still wouldn’t guarantee safety. The wreckage alone could cause mass destruction. Even landing at the city’s edge, the shockwave, fuel explosion, or flying debris could claim hundreds of lives.

He couldn’t accept that.

And in that moment—within the razor-thin gap between agony and decision...Ren whispered, "Transmutation."

Then he screamed.

A cry from his soul—more than human, older than instinct. It came from something deeper.

"TRANSMUTATION!!"

From within his armor, blue light erupted. Not a mere flash—but a surge of life that split the world. Glowing lines coursed from his back, branching in complex patterns like ancient energy veins. The light threaded into every panel, every bolt and rivet of the aircraft... then began to envelop the massive steel body.

Full transmutation.

The aircraft’s metal began to tremble. From the rear, the fuselage started to dissolve—not destroyed, but transformed. Like dust, but finer, lighter. Microscopic particles dissolving into light.

The glowing lines swept through the aircraft interior, reaching the cargo bay.

There, amid wreckage and seats, Fujisawa’s lifeless body rested in calm. His eyes held no light, but his lips still carried the soft trace of a smile—as if aware of the ending he had chosen. And when the blue light touched him, his body did not distort. He didn’t resist. There was no fear.

He embraced the transmutation... as if returning to the universe.

Silent. Beautiful.

---

A few seconds later, in the skies exactly 500 meters above the small town of Mandirinani, the townspeople began to notice the rumbling sound that had briefly shaken the earth.

Children looked up. Mothers clutched their children’s hands tightly. The men on the streets stopped in their tracks, squinting toward the darkening sky as dusk began to settle.

And then—"BWAOOOM!"

An object slammed into the river that split the town in two.

Water exploded in every direction, sending waves crashing along the banks. But strangely, there was no wreckage. No fire. No debris. Only... clumps of silver dust quickly dissolving into the water.

Some townspeople ran toward the riverbank, but all they saw was murky ripples and a fading ring of water. No one could truly explain what they had just witnessed.

A child asked, "Was that a meteor?"

An old man shook his head. "No... That was something... or someone."

But beneath the water—deep in the darkness of the river—a single silhouette slowly sank...

---

Several hours after the skies over Sudan had calmed, deep beneath the earth in a hidden facility on the outskirts of Kyoto—Ren’s private base—a young boy sat silently in front of dozens of monitor screens.

The bluish glow from amateur video recordings shimmered across his face. One screen showed clips captured by townspeople: a flash in the sky, the moment something struck the river and vanished. Nothing was clear—just a burst of water and the distant sound of a crowd screaming.

Kiriya sat in the central chair, his hands clenched tightly in front of his mouth. His eyes barely blinked. Six hours had passed... and still, no word from Ren.

"Come on... come on... pick up..." he muttered under his breath, almost like a prayer. His breathing was uneven, and his fingers were starting to shake. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept. He just stared at the monitors, playing the same footage on loop, hoping—praying—for a sign, a signal...

Then suddenly—

[Zzzzzzt...]

A faint sound crackled through his headset. An interference on Ren’s satellite channel. Kiriya jolted upright, immediately tapping a flurry of keys. "That’s it... It’s his signal!"

"Ren?" he called quickly, voice brimming with hope.

[...]

"Ren, come on! Answer me! Just—"

[...Yeah...]

The voice was hoarse, faint, distorted—but unmistakably familiar.

Kiriya let out a heavy exhale, nearly falling out of his chair from relief. Tears threatened to spill, but he held them back. "Oh my god... Ren! You... DAMN IT, YOU DROVE ME INSANE! You’re alive, you’re really alive!"

He tried to laugh—but all that came out was nervous, broken laughter.

"So you made it, right!? You both made it!? Okay, okay, I want to hear Ossan’s voice too. Hand him the headset! Maybe his fell off or something—I’ve been trying to reach him for hours!"

But silence followed. No response from the other side.

"...Ren?"

Then Ren’s voice came again—shaky, strained. [Fujisawa... is gone...]

Kiriya froze. The word hit his chest like a hammer.

"W... what?"

[He’s gone. Inside the plane I... destroyed.]

Silence. Nothing but the low whir of cooling fans in the underground base. Then... a long, shuddering breath from Kiriya.

"...Ren. Stay strong," he said softly. "I... I figured. Fujisawa didn’t make it... fighting Ultro, right?"

[Kiriya...]

"Don’t stop. D—Damn it, SAY IT. Now!" Kiriya’s voice cracked.

Ren stayed silent for a long time... then spoke in a whisper.

[Fujisawa won. He beat Ultro... but he was badly wounded. Then someone changed the plane’s course... made it dive toward the city.]

"...And you had to...?" Kiriya asked, though he already knew the answer.

[I... I destroyed the aircraft. But... he was still inside.]

In that quiet room, Kiriya bowed his head, both palms covering his face as if trying to hold back something too heavy to contain—a tide of emotion that didn’t feel like anything he’d known before. His chest thundered, his throat closed up.

He didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that Fujisawa was truly gone, or the realization that his best friend now carried that weight—alone—above the skies of Sudan.

"...Ren, just come home... Can you do that?"

[Yeah... Might be a while until I get back... So don’t try contacting me for now.]

"Yeah..."

Click. The line went dead.

Kiriya leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling of the dim command room. Silence swallowed him whole. It felt... strange. Off. Like losing something he never had the chance to fully hold.

They hadn’t even known Fujisawa for that long. At first, he was just that weird guy they met at an airsoft competition. But... he was warm. Real. An adult who didn’t lecture—but understood.

And now, he was gone.

Kiriya just sat there, unmoving, frozen in his thoughts. Two hours passed like nothing. Quiet. Cold. And empty.

---

Ren walked along the riverbank with heavy steps. The calm water flowing beside him seemed to mock the chaos that had just unfolded. He said nothing, only took a deep breath that caught in his chest. His body was soaked, filthy, and cold. The remnants of his Techno armor—now nothing more than a cracked, scorched shell—dragged behind him like the shadow of a past he couldn’t shake.

When he reached the forest where they had once parked their small aircraft, Ren didn’t go straight to it. He stopped by a large tree, collapsed to the ground, and leaned the broken armor against the trunk. The cold metal let out a faint creak as it touched the weathered bark.

His eyes landed on the surface of his own helmet—fractured, barely intact—and in it, he saw it: the faint reflection of his own face. Tired eyes, dried blood on his cheek, and a vacant stare he’d never seen in himself before.

It wasn’t just physical wounds. It was loss. Regret. And fear—not for his life, but because he had seen something no child his age should ever witness.

And now... he was truly alone.