The Novel's Extra- Returned Hero

Ritsuka's POV

"Military Academy of the Seoul Hero Association. Graduation of the Class of 2024. Rank 1 Cadet: Kim Suho."

The speaker's voice echoed through the auditorium with crisp clarity, cutting through the hushed crowd like a blade through still air.

I resisted the urge to sigh.

I had been sitting for nearly six hours straight. My back ached. My legs were stiff. My eyelids kept growing heavier with each passing minute. I lost track of how many meaningless speeches and honorary announcements they'd made.

And yet, we weren't done.

I looked around.

Rows upon rows of unfamiliar faces filled the vast space. Cadets, instructors, families, reporters. All of them fixated on the stage. None noticed me. I was just another face in the crowd.

"Is he Kim Suho? Wow."

"He's so handsome."

"I want him to be the father of my children."

A group of young women whispered near me, eyes sparkling with excitement as they stared up at the graduating student...Kim Suho, standing tall and noble on the podium.

And of course—

"Tch. That guy was so lucky to get a talent like that. If I had something like that, I'd be top rank too."

"Doesn't matter how hard you work. People like him always get everything."

A group of bitter murmurs followed from the younger male cadets.

I smiled faintly to myself.

Humans are complicated beings.

They worship what they envy, praise what they hate, and then turn their jealousy into resentment when others succeed.

It reminded me of the early days of Chaldea. People admired me, then blamed me. Called me a savior. Then called me a destroyer. In the end, I carried it all. That was my job.

Still… this body, this life, was supposed to be different.

If only I could get some damn sleep.

The nightmares had never stopped. Seventeen years since my rebirth into this world, and I had never known true rest. Night after night, visions of death, fire, and the screams of people I couldn't save.

I tried to blink them away.

"Ceremonies are really boring," I murmured under my breath.

To distract myself, I let my thoughts wander back to how I got here.

---

They had verified my identity 17 years ago.

DNA confirmed me as the child of Takashi Fujimaru and Hinato Fujimaru...a married Japanese couple who had died tragically. After my body was found abandoned at an orphanage, the Korean government stepped in. They verified everything... legally, anyway.

But inheritance?

That was another story.

My relatives took nearly everything before the system ever acknowledged me. None ever reached out. Not a letter. Not a call. Nothing.

Could I fight them in court? Sure.

But a Japanese orphan fighting against native Korean citizens in a Korean court? Even the government subtly advised me to give up.

I did.

"Money can't buy happiness," I muttered aloud again, drawing a few confused glances.

At least I kept my parents' old apartment. A small piece of their memory. A quiet place.

Why did I take the Cube exam?

Because I had to.

The orphanage that raised me was small, underfunded, and struggling. But they never let me go hungry. Never stopped caring.

I owed them.

So, I let the government label me as a "hero candidate." That way, the orphanage would receive state support for raising a potential contributor to national defense.

It wasn't about glory.

I once dreamed of opening a bakery. Selling sweet anpan, warm coffee buns. Maybe even a little café with music and sunlight. A normal life.

But fate... never really listened to me.

It never had.

Still, if I had to fight for someone—then it would be for those who couldn't.

Because I'm the last Master of Humanity.

And no matter how many worlds I pass through, no matter how many times I'm reborn, that desire never fades.

Kadoc would've laughed at me for saying something so stubborn.

...Or maybe, he'd nod in quiet agreement.

"I wonder where it'll all lead this time..."

I asked myself that often in this life.

---

The ceremony finally ended.

As the crowd applauded, I quietly slipped away and made my way to the Cube bus. A special transport vehicle meant for candidates who passed the national academy exams.

I boarded without fanfare, sat near the back.

The hum of the engine became a soft lull in my ears. I leaned my head against the window as the city passed me by.

I stopped at the local station near my neighborhood.

Gray streets. Simple buildings. Familiar cracks on the sidewalk.

It wasn't much—but it was home.

As I walked away from the station, I headed toward what I called my apartment—though I always felt strange calling it that.

It was a my parents home. In my life A place to rest between survival and purpose is difficult to find. But now this home was mine, in name.

The neighborhood was calm this evening. The streets were swept clean by the breeze. Pink petals drifted gently from trees lining the sidewalk. Streetlights flickered to life, casting a warm glow on the smooth pavement. The scent of grilled food wafted faintly from a small shop nearby.

I'd never been to Korea in my past life. Chaldea didn't exactly offer vacation days, and even after the Lostbelts... well, what was there left to see?

So this? Growing up in Seoul?

It was new. Different. Beautiful in its own way.

I'd never known if this was what Korea had always looked like, or if the changes in the world from Gates, magic, and Awakenings had reshaped everything. Either way, I liked it.

"Growing up here has cons too… like getting hate for a Japanese face."

That part hadn't changed.

The glares. The subtle jabs. The whispers. Some were loud, some polite, others venomous behind fake smiles. I'd faced criticism plenty of times—but I never took it seriously.

Because after facing demonic beasts, alien gods, and timelines collapsing in on themselves...

...an old man cursing me on a bus didn't really hit that hard.

I was already a responsible adult...spiritually, if not officially. Criticism was just background noise.

As I admired the quiet life around me, the short walk passed without notice, and I soon stood in front of the apartment building.

It was plain, a bit old, with chipped paint and aging pipes. But it was mine.

My family's home.

Even if my inheritance had been picked apart like vultures on a corpse, I had this space. That was enough.

I entered the building and smiled when I saw the watchman sitting at his usual spot. An old man who always smelled faintly of ginger tea and incense. Kind, quiet, and one of the few people who treated me like a grandson.

"Hey, grandpa," I said softly. "I passed. I'll be leaving the apartment to you in two weeks."

His eyes widened. Then he smiled...a warm, wrinkled one. But I caught the flicker of sadness behind them.

"Congratulations, boy," he said with a nod, voice rough from years of smoke and winter.

I returned the nod, not trusting myself to say much else.

---

At my door, I slid the identification key into the lock. A soft beep answered me, and the mechanism clicked.

"I'm home," I called out, voice swallowed by the stillness inside.

Silence.

Always silence.

Dantes was still with me, lodged somewhere deep in my psyche. But he rarely spoke. He was like a shadow in my mind...watchful, but quiet. Maybe he respected my space. Maybe he was just tired, too.

I flicked on the light and took in the apartment.

Minimal furniture. Clean. The kitchen and living room shared a space, separated only by a short counter. The floor was smooth, the walls a plain cream. Nothing flashy.

Just… calm.

I liked having my home organized. It was a habit that stuck from Chaldea. When chaos was a daily routine, you clung to whatever peace you could find.

Slipping off my shoes, I walked to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. The steam wrapped around me, washing away the fatigue, the stiffness from sitting, the last remnants of ceremony and chatter.

I glanced at the mirror afterward.

No scars.

For once, I had a body that hadn't been sliced, burned, cursed, or melted by gods.

I laughed.

Softly. Briefly.

So this is what it's like… to look untouched.

After changing into comfortable clothes, I walked to the kitchen and tied on a dark navy apron.

The very act of cooking was like a chant, a ritual. It calmed the mind and warmed the soul.

From the fridge, I pulled out two cuts of aged marbled beef...Korean hanwoo, high grade. I'd been saving them for a good day.

Tonight felt like one.

The kitchen filled with the scent of sizzling fat as I laid the beef on a heated cast iron pan. The oil hissed in joy. I added crushed garlic, rosemary, and a dab of butter, letting them melt and dance together.

With practiced ease, I tilted the pan, spooning the bubbling butter over the steak in rhythmic strokes. The meat browned perfectly...seared edges, juicy center.

Next, I chopped onions and caramelized them slowly on the side. Added mushrooms sautéed in soy sauce and sesame oil, and finished with a touch of mirin.

I plated everything with precision: sliced meat layered gently beside rice cooked with bone broth, garnished with parsley and a dash of pepper. Beside it, a small bowl of homemade miso soup and pickled radish I fermented myself.

The aroma filled the room....warm, nostalgic, irresistible.

After finishing cooking, I carefully placed the apron on its usual hook beside the fridge.

The scent of roasted garlic and butter still lingered in the air. It was comforting, almost sacred—a warmth I didn't take for granted anymore. I wandered over to the modest bookshelf near my desk.

A row of neatly aligned volumes awaited me. Light novels, history books, magical theory essays, strategy logs, and nestled among them...

"Ah—found you."

I pulled out one of my favorite manga volumes.

A gift, in a way. Not in the literal sense, but something that had stuck with me after spending time with Jeanne Alter. For all her sharp words and fire, she loved creating manga. When I was still in Chaldea, we used to sit together quietly, and create manga with others.

"A cultured Jalter..." I murmured with a small smile.

I owed a lot of my appreciation for everyday beauty to her. Drama, tragedy, comedy, slice-of-life. She claimed it helped her "balance her madness."

I didn't question it. If anything, I understood more than most.

Reading had never been a problem in this life. Thanks to rent money from my parents' apartment, I had enough to buy books, feed myself, and live quietly—at least until Cube demanded otherwise.

A quick glance at the clock showed it was already 5:25 PM.

"Late lunch, I guess," I said, setting the manga aside.

I sat at the table.

No guests.

No servants.

No enemies.

Just me, a home-cooked meal, and a quiet night.

I clasped my hands together.

"いただきます."

And for a moment...

I felt human again.