Even If I Try - To Be Hero X (Reader Insert)

But Im Really Glad

Wreck sighed, dragging me back to the moment. He crossed the floor with easy strides, closing the distance until he was standing in front of me. “Look,” he said, voice warm, almost scolding but not quite, “I’m not saying you gotta tell us everything about yourself right now. But you don’t have to act like an outsider. We already count you as one of us. Whether you believe it or not.”

I swallowed hard, throat tight. My free hand twitched at my side, nails biting into my palm.

Nice moved to my other side, his presence quieter but somehow heavier. He angled his body toward me, his eyes softer than I could stand. “You don’t have to carry things alone,” he murmured. “We’re here. Even if it’s complicated, even if it’s… more than you think you can share. You can lean on us.”

The words dug deep, threading through the cracks I’d been patching over for weeks. My heart thudded, too loud, too fast.

What would they think if they knew? That I wasn’t from here, that I’d only ended up tangled in their lives because some strange Quest had shoved me into their orbit. That I knew things about their future—things I shouldn’t, things I couldn’t change. I wasn’t their teammate, their equal, their friend. I was an intruder. An echo from somewhere else.

And yet…

I let out a shaky laugh, barely enough to hide the way my chest felt like it was caving in. “You two make it sound so easy,” I said, my voice thinner than I wanted.

Wreck gave me that crooked grin, the one that was half-mockery and half-assurance. “That’s because it is. You just gotta let yourself believe it.”

Nice’s smile was quieter, but steady, unwavering, his gaze never flinching. “We want you here. Not just standing beside us, but with us. That’s all.”

I stared at the studio floor until the blurred scuff marks doubled in my vision. My throat felt tight, words rising like a tide I couldn’t hold back anymore. All this time, I’d been telling myself I was fine, that I could keep surviving here as long as I kept moving, kept doing quests, kept learning. But the truth was—this world wasn’t mine. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

My chest ached as the thought rolled over me, heavy and sharp. I missed home. I missed the sound of my own language, my own room, the people I’d left behind. Every day here was a fight to adapt, to survive, to pretend like I belonged. And most nights, when the studio lights went off and I was alone again, it felt like the walls were closing in.

I blinked up at Wreck and Nice, their faces open and waiting. My voice came out small, cracking at the edges.
“C–can I… can I ask for something?”

Wreck tilted his head. “Yeah. Anything.”

I swallowed hard, fingers curling into my palms. “A hug,” I whispered, before I could stop myself. “I… I think I just really need a hug right now.”

For a heartbeat, the studio was silent. Then Wreck moved first, grinning soft and warm, pulling me in without hesitation. Nice followed right after, his arms wrapping around both of us, closing the circle.

The weight I’d been carrying slipped for a moment, just enough for me to breathe. Their warmth pressed in from both sides, grounding, real. My eyes stung as I squeezed back, a shaky laugh spilling out with the tears I’d been holding.

I didn’t say it out loud, but the thought pulsed quietly in my chest.

Thank you. For being here. For finding me. For making this strange world a little less lonely.

For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like an outsider. For the first time, it felt like maybe, I wasn’t entirely alone anymore.

Quest Box: Operational Reality

1. Synchronize the Rhythm – COMPLETED

Category: Social / Support

Difficulty: Easy

Conditions: Attend and accompany Wreck & Nice’s dance practice sessions (Minimum: 3 times per week)

Time Limit: Indefinite (Minimum: 3 weeks)

Reward: Monetary compensation (¥X5000), random skill growth (Physical Coordination), minor boost to latent ability (Resonance – [View More])

Penalty: Monetary reduction (¥X–3000)

--- '∆' ---

I’d been circling the thought for days now—maybe even since the moment I landed in this world. The idea of stepping forward, of doing something, had been there, but I never held onto it. Too uncertain. Too afraid.

I can’t ignore it anymore. If I know how things are supposed to end for them, if I know the future that’s waiting to break everything apart, then isn’t it my responsibility to at least try?

That’s why, tonight, I keep telling myself I have to get stronger. I have to be prepared.

The desk in my new apartment is full of mess, fabric scraps, half-empty spools of thread, leather straps I bargained for in the marketplace after one of my quests. A worn sewing kit sits open, needle and scissors catching the glow of the cheap lamp I bought with the last of my coins. It’s clumsy work, but it’s mine. Piece by piece, I’ve been stitching together something that could become me.

The jacket hung heavier than I expected once I slipped it on, but it fit. Every seam, every uneven stitch made by me. The boots clinked faintly when I walked, the kind of sound that said I’m here even if no one was looking. The gloves hugged my fingers tighter than they should, the crooked patches holding stronger than new leather ever could. All of it scavenged, shaped, forced into something that belonged to me alone.

And then the mask.

I turned it over in my hands, tracing the shallow lines I had carved across its surface. Imperfect, unbalanced. Yet somehow it looked… right. Like it wasn’t supposed to be flawless. Like it carried the same fracture I did. When I pulled it over my face, the world bent quiet for a moment, it made me feel hidden, untouchable.

I caught myself staring at my reflection in the window, hood drawn, my mask faceless and sharp. A silhouette that didn’t quite belong, yet it was mine.

“If I’m going to change anything,” I murmur under my breath, “then I can’t just stand by. I need to move. Even if it’s only small steps.”

So, I decide. Starting with small things—petty thefts, street muggings, little crimes that slip under the radar, I can at least try. It’s something. And maybe it’ll teach me what kind of strength I actually have.

I breathe out, the sound catching slightly, turning my voice into something rougher, raspier. Strange. Unfamiliar. Maybe that’s the point.

“Let’s see if I can really do this,” I whisper into the empty room.

Then I climb onto the windowsill, the cool night air sweeping in. Neon signs from the district below flash against my walls, painting the room in restless color. My new apartment isn’t much, it still smells like dust and paint.

And without a second thought, I step out the window.

The city stretched below, a maze of glowing signs and fractured shadows. From the rooftop across the street, a figure sat crouched, half-hidden in the dark. A soda can hissed as it opened, the sound soft against the hum of the night.

They raised it lazily to their lips, taking a slow sip, their eyes never leaving the masked figure slipping down from the apartment window.

For a moment, the neon lights caught their face—just enough to show the curve of an amused smirk. Then the light flickered away, leaving only the faint glint of metal from the can, and the sharp gaze that followed Y/n’s every move.