— Still Ricardo’s POV —
The beating continued, but... what was that in the boss’s hand? A spoon!? What the—? He’s beating the shit out of that guy with a spoon!?
Crack!
"Arrrrrggggh! Enough! It hurts!" the guy scread in agony every ti the spoon struck his body—his legs, arms, chest—damn! Every hit from the boss made a bone-breaking sound. I really wonder what this guy did to deserve this kind of torture.
Anyway, as a good subordinate, I figured I should find out what pissed the boss off so much. That way, we’d know not to touch his bottom line in the future.
I told so of my brothers what I was thinking and sent them to search the manor for clues.
As we watched the boss beat the leader of the mafia and his lieutenant into sobbing sses—like little sissies—it was clear almost every bone in their bodies had been cracked or fractured under that rciless spoon. Their willpower was crushed into dust.
After reducing the guy to tears, the boss led us to the manor’s main building.
We dragged the gang mbers with us. Inside was a massive, opulent living room ant for receiving guests. Don Reale was already there, waiting for us.
He was surrounded by every bodyguard he could find. Even on the second floor, more of them were stationed, fully ard, aiming their guns at us from above.
It seed the boss had only taken out the guards stationed outside the manor and hadn’t yet ventured inside.
"You think you can co in here, make a ss out of our place, and live to tell the tale!? Kill them!" Don Reale spat the command.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Ratatatatatatata!
Gunfire erupted. We quickly ducked behind cover, even using the idiots we dragged in as human shields. But then... darkness suddenly consud us.
Wait... did I just die? But... I don’t feel any pain. Or maybe I was shot in the head and didn’t even notice? I heard sowhere that if your head gets blown to pieces, your brain can’t even process the pain. Maybe that’s what happened.
Well... at least I died painlessly.
While I was lost in thought, light returned, and I saw that all the bullets were now lying harmlessly on the ground. It was as if sothing had blocked them all.
"You... you’re a Villain!" soone cried out.
’Villain’... a term used for EF (Evolution Factor) users who haven’t registered their abilities in the UEC database or formalized their status. Or those with strong EF who act against UEC interests. Especially those with high-level EF, they’re labeled as Villains or even Super Villains. It’s a designation completely separate from common criminals, mafia, or gangs.
As for people without strong EF who act against UEC interests. They’re simply labeled as criminals or terrorists, depending on the situation. But if there’s proof soone has strong EF and still chooses to act against the UEC?
Then they get branded as a Super Villain on top of being a criminal or terrorist. A cherry on top, so to speak, one that drastically increases the severity of their punishnt under UEC law.
But... in this context, the word "Villain" represents a power far beyond what normal people can deal with. If it hadn’t reached the point where guns couldn’t solve the problem, that word wouldn’t have co out of Don Reale’s mouth.
"Why are you here? Are you going to take over the gang?" the Don asked. But I could tell—this sly old fox was already thinking of a way forward, a way to survive.
The Boss didn’t answer. He rushed straight toward the Don, and his shadow morphed into sharp spears that launched at the bodyguards, pinning and killing them instantly. The shadow spears pinned their bodies to the walls.
Amid the bodyguards’ agonized screams, the Boss calmly pulled out his trusty spoon and smacked the Don.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
"Arrrrghhh! Arrggghhh—F*ck! It hurts! Arrrrgggghh!"
Each strike was followed by the distinct sound of bones fracturing. The Boss didn’t say a word—he just kept hitting him.
"Arrrrggghh! I get it, I get it! Whatever you say! I’ll follow! Please, stop! ArgrgrgghhH!" the Don wailed in agony, but the Boss still didn’t stop.
"Arrrgrgghh! Please!... Stop! Please, send to a hospital, I’ll obey whatever you say..." The Don had completely broken down, reduced to a sobbing ss, pleading with the Boss.
And this ti, the Boss finally stopped. He turned toward and nodded before walking out of the main building. As he left, the shadow spears that pinned the guards withdrew.
The Boss had sent a clear ssage. So this was the reason he beat Don Reale senseless—he wanted to secure the best possible outco for us. As expected of our Boss!
I nodded to my brothers, and they began dragging in the rest of the gang mbers who had claid to be working under Don Reale.
I gently helped Don Reale sit upright. Fortunately, the Boss hadn’t killed every bodyguards. So of those pinned to the walls were only lightly injured, pierced in the shoulders, legs, or arms. With a quick injection of hyper-nding agents, they’d be able to walk again.
As for the Don, who had multiple fractured bones, the injection only dulled the pain.
At that mont, one of my brothers entered from outside. He walked up to and whispered:
"We found a huge stash of Neurothrill and several tons of materials for its production hidden in the Mafia’s warehouse."
So... it was Neurothrill, huh? No wonder the Boss was pissed. That stuff was seriously ssed up.
Neurothrill is known as the drug that lets users experience an absolutely lucid dream, complete with heightened feelings of excitent, thrill, and pure bliss.
From what we know, the user can create any world they desire, and spend what feels like a whole week there for every hour in real ti. In that world, no matter how depraved their fantasies, they get to feel the joy, thrill, and rush of it all.
The worst part? By nature, lucid dreams don’t carry over. You can’t resu where you left off. So users end up buying more and more Neurothrill just to stay high, constantly chasing that sa dream. It fries their brains. The ones who go too deep eventually lose all sense of reality, completely lost in their dream world, unable to pull themselves back.
There’s even a rumor that certain corporations buy up the brains of hardcore Neurothrill addicts, especially those permanently lost in their dream worlds, for a high price. Doctors say those people are beyond saving.
And to make things even more f*cked up, so city-states actively promote this drug. Especially the ones ruled under a dictatorship, since it drastically reduces cri rates. Keep the people high, and they won’t rebel.
So yeah, Neurothrill might sell like crazy... but it’s no wonder the Boss is so pissed over it. From the very beginning, he’s always given off the vibe of an old-school thug, soone who despises this kind of filth, but never breaks a promise. A man who ans what he says and always keeps his word.
As expected of the Boss. Now that we know his bottom line... we’ll make sure we never f*ck it up.
— End of Ricardo’s POV —
"Don Reele," Ricardo called out.
The Don looked toward Ricardo. He didn’t show any resentnt—only a hollow, defeated gaze, his will completely crushed.
"These guys," Ricardo pointed at the gang mbers they had tied up, "said they were working for you. They claid we’d all die because we collected protection fees from a shop they had their eyes on."
"What!?" The Don blurted out, completely incredulous.
What the hell!? You listened to that bastard’s bluff and believed him? You really thought we’d take revenge on you over so low-level punk who might just have connections with the front gate guard!?
Don’t you guys know what a bluff is!?
This bastard was just bluffing!
You PSYCHOS!!
It’s one thing to believe these idiots’ bluff—but the first thing you did after believing them was to bomb our manor!?
What the hell is wrong with you guys!?
Don Reele wanted to cry, but he had no tears left. Why is my luck this rotten? He didn’t even know what the hell was going on!
He racked his brain, thinking of 108 possible reasons his gang might’ve ended up on that terrifying villain’s shit list... and it turned out to be just a misunderstanding!?
Why!? Did God despise them, or did the Devil hate them so much that he sent this group of brain-rotted idiots right to their doorstep!?
And that villain too! That bastard is on the level of a SUPER Villain. A SUPER VILLAIN!
The guy could literally decimate an entire platoon of guards without breaking a sweat!
Why would soone of that caliber show up just to bomb their manor, kill three-quarters of his guards, and beat him into a sobbing ss...?
Don’t you know what bullying is!?
This is bullying!
I demand justice!
Don Reele scread all this in his mind—but he knew better than to let a single word slip out and risk inviting that god of plague back.
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