In the corridors of Fujimi Academy, the afternoon sunlight cut in diagonally, casting long shadows across the floor.
Saeko carried a few books, walking alone on the path back to the Kendo Club.
Wherever she passed, girls would unconsciously stop their conversations, casting gazes filled with envy and a hint of distance; the boys, thinking they were being subtle, would steal glances, their eyes following her back, only to hurriedly look away when she drew near.
Her dark purple hair swayed slightly behind her shoulders, her steps steady, her back straight.
Even wearing a common school uniform, that dignified aura unique to the captain of the Kendo Club still made people afraid to approach her casually.
She was a third-year student, the captain of the Fujimi Academy Kendo Club, and a national-level competitor.
But these auras had become meaningless in the last few days.
Saeko pushed open the door to the Kendo Club, but the spacious dojo was still empty.
She did not turn on the lights, walking to the corner with the light filtering in through the windows, crouching down to retrieve a slender wooden box from the depths of a storage locker.
The box was heavy; upon opening it, a sharpened katana lay inside.
She reached out, her fingertips gently brushing over the cold spine of the blade.
A few days ago, something of unknown origin suddenly appeared in her field of vision.
It called itself the “Multi-dimensional Chat Group,” and the group owner, Jina, told her in an anxious yet sincere tone:
“Your World will soon suffer a zombie outbreak.”
She used every resource she could to verify it.
News websites, government announcements, abnormal reports on the internet…
She even risked being labeled a lunatic by sending warnings to several official agencies.
There was no reply, no signs whatsoever…
She could only make a phone call to her father, who was far away abroad, reminding him to stay safe.
“Is individual strength…” Saeko looked at her blurry reflection on the blade, her voice so low it sounded like she was talking to herself, “…really this insignificant?”
She carefully placed the sword back into the box without closing the lid.
Then, leaning against the wall, she looked back at the virtual screen that only she could see, her fingers sliding gently over the group chat logs, re-reading the conversations from the past few days.
The group owner, Jina.
The white-haired girl claimed to possess the memories of another person.
That person had read a story, a story that contained Saeko, and the impending collapse of her World.
When Jina spoke, she was anxious and sincere; she did not seem like a liar.
But she also admitted that the memories were fragmented, having only a general idea without the details; she was equally clueless as to why she was chosen or what the origin of the Chat Group was.
Another group member, Mami Tomoe, came from a completely different World.
According to the group owner, she was a “Magical Girl.” A term that sounded warm and beautiful.
However…
Saeko’s fingers stopped.
Her intuition told her that whenever Jina spoke about matters related to Mami Tomoe, her wording was always extra careful, as if she were deliberately avoiding something.
Regarding the aftermath of Mami Tomoe’s World, Jina said, “There is no more information.”
She was hiding something.
Saeko could feel it.
This way of deliberately avoiding the topic, this hesitation and silence—she did not blame Jina.
Everyone had their own considerations.
If the truth was too cruel, choosing not to speak might also be a form of kindness.
She lowered her eyes, her gaze falling on her right hand gripping the sword hilt.
That hand was bony, slender, and strong a pair of hands accustomed to holding a sword for years.
Then, an image flashed through her mind.
Her past self on that rainy night four years ago.
The man lay on the ground, revealing his lewd and ugly state.
And her wooden sword, carrying a kind of uncontrollable pleasure, fell blow after blow.
Her lips, in that instant, were curled upward…
Saeko shut her eyes tightly.
“I… am too dark,” she said softly, her voice echoing nowhere in the empty dojo.
Perhaps it was precisely because such a thing lived within her heart that she was able to detect that hint of reservation in Jina’s words better than others.
She took a deep breath, suppressing her chaotic thoughts, and opened her eyes again.
At that moment, a new notification popped up on the Chat Group interface.
A newcomer had joined, named…
Kryptonian Orphan.
She looked at that strange name, momentarily confused, but soon, the group owner’s message answered the question.
The system notification sounded: “［Kryptonian Orphan］ has changed their name to ［Superman］.”
Superman, she had heard of this name…
he was a good person.
…
Meanwhile, the conversation in the Chat Group was continuing.
［Superman］: “So, we have been connected together by a Chat Group of unknown origin.”
The wording was cautious, but the tone was gentle.
Saeko observed quietly in front of the screen.
［Jina］: “Yes, yes! That’s right! For some reason, I obtained some… I suppose you could call them the knowledge or memories of a transmigrator. So, as soon as I saw that somewhat impolite nickname, I immediately recognized you! We really mean no harm!”
Jina’s typing speed was noticeably faster, revealing a sense of nervousness, eager to explain clearly yet afraid of saying the wrong thing.
She seemed to be trying hard to prove her credibility to this “Superman.”
［Superman］: “I see. I understand the concept of the Multiverse. Please rest assured, I will do my best to explore this Chat Group and ensure that everyone is not harmed by it.”
［Mami Tomoe］: “So this is what it feels like to interact with characters from fantasy works. I suddenly understand that uncontrollable excitement Jina felt when she first met us.”
［Jina］: “Senior Mami, do you know Superman too?”
［Mami Tomoe］: “Yes, I haven’t directly watched works about Superman, but I’ve learned a bit about him through other channels before. He is a superhero, a truly good person.”
［Jina］: “Should I say, as expected of Superman? His figure and influence exist in multiple Universes; it feels like just knowing of his existence brings a sense of security.”
Saeko watched these conversations without interjecting.
Her gaze lingered on Mami Tomoe’s words, “a truly good person.”
A good person.
She looked down at the sword in her hand.
Then she raised her head and gently closed the lid of the box.
…
Metropolis, Ultraman Building.
Karl stood in a private chamber that only he had the right to enter, one of the few places on the entire Earth where he felt safe.
He stared at the Chat Group screen in front of him, his expression calm, but his brain was running at high speed.
From the conversation just now, he had already gathered enough information.
First, the group owner, Jina.
This person is not an original character; her identity is a “local who obtained the memories of a transmigrator.”
Her excitement and nervousness are very real; she doesn’t seem to be acting.
Moreover, her judgment of him—Superman—is based on those memories in her mind.
Second, Mami Tomoe and Saeko.
Their speech styles, the way they address Jina, and their level of acceptance of this group all align with the personalities of their original characters.
There are no traces of transmigrator possession.
It can basically be determined that in this group, only the group owner has partial knowledge of the plot, while everyone else is an original character.
Karl leaned back in his chair, his fingertips tapping gently on the armrest.
He made a decision.
In this group, he would play Superman.
Not himself, not the tyrant with the U-shaped emblem on his chest, but that red-and-blue figure he saw on TV as a child, representing hope and justice.
The reason was simple.
He knew all too well what kind of person he was.
Having been Ultraman in this World for so long, the blood on his hands, the severed limbs—if put into any normal work, it would be enough for him to be the final BOSS, beaten up by the Justice League for ten episodes.
Compared to these three group members—one an ordinary high school student trying hard to save people, one a Magical Girl always ready to sacrifice herself for others, and one a group owner hoarding supplies because she couldn’t help—he could probably be directly classified as a “villain that needs to be defeated.”
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was—
He needed this group.
Karl’s gaze became deep.
According to the comic memories he brought from his past life, the Universe where this World was located was the New 52 era of DC.
And in the New 52 era, Ultraman would encounter an unavoidable endgame event.
Anti-Monitor.
That creation-level entity that mastered antimatter power.
It would release antimatter waves, devouring the entire Earth-3 Universe; the entire Universe would be erased, so clean that not even a speck of dust would remain.
From the first day he organized this information, he had been trying to find a way to escape, and he had already made multiple preparations.
If he couldn’t escape, he would have to die along with this Planet.
But now, there was one more option.
This Chat Group.
A Chat Group that could span the Multiverse; if it could transmit information, in the future, it might be possible to transmit people.
If that were the case, this group would not just be a chat tool, but his final lifeboat.
But the prerequisite was—the group members must be willing to accept him.
Karl tried to simulate another opening line in his mind:
“Hello everyone, I am Ultraman from the inverted Universe. The emblem on my chest is not an S, but a U. I have killed quite a few people before, but I have turned over a new leaf now. By the way, the Universe on my side is about to explode; can I go to your side to hide?”
He was silent for a second.
A normal person’s reaction probably wouldn’t be “Okay, welcome,” but rather, “Who is this person? Kick them out quickly, how scary.”
Therefore, disguise was necessary.
Not out of malice, but out of the most basic survival instinct.
In a strange group, the most effective way to gain trust is not to confess one’s own darkness, but to first show the side that the other party needs.
And what did they need?
What they needed, coincidentally, was Superman.
Karl closed his eyes, his lips pulling into an extremely shallow, almost self-mocking arc.
“Having been a god among men for a lifetime,” he whispered, “occasionally, I also want to be a Son of Tomorrow for once.”
He opened his eyes, looking back at the screen, his fingertips tapping on the virtual keyboard, every word written gently and firmly.
This was perhaps the first time in his life that he had played a good person so earnestly.
And this time, it was not with fists.
It was with lies.