Chapter 109: Purpose

This open space wasn’t fit for talks.

The only soundproof facility nearby was Zero—Chain’s meeting room, so we returned inside.

The Association president and the heavyweights present were so prominent that the warden personally guided us.

“Here.”

He opened the door, and I, along with the Association brass, took seats.

Though somewhat recovered, I was barely holding up.

Seeing my state, the president asked the warden.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

The president stared at him.

“Fire in your eyes. Something wrong?”

“I heard the cause. Jailing a minor without trial—an unprecedented outrage. Is that truly the Association’s will?”

“No.”

The president answered instantly.

His wrinkled eyes glinted.

“I didn’t know. Just rogue actions by other bureau heads, not the Association’s stance.”

I stopped spinning my chair at the head of the table.

His audacity was beyond brazen—almost awe-inspiring.

A veteran of the Hero Association for a century, a freak living an unfathomable time due to his peculiar Trait.

I called him the Old Monster.

No way someone holding that power was clueless.

But the moment it risked his position, he cut ties, cast people out without hesitation.

As if it was natural, righteous.

“I see.”

The warden didn’t buy it but nodded, bowing and leaving.

His rank could’ve given him a voice here, but he shunned power struggles.

After the president’s reply, he couldn’t stay sane.

As he left, I leaned back, feet on the table, eyeing the standing Association heads.

I scoffed.

“Filthy.”

Despite my relaxed pose, my eyes held genuine disgust.

They glared back, brazen, as if righteous, unaware of their wrong.

Only the Legal Department head, ashamed, averted his gaze.

“Real filthy.”

I rarely showed negative emotions openly, but these guys were an exception.

We all knew the score.

I should’ve gone straight to the point, but I stayed silent, rocking the chair.

After a moment, I lowered my feet.

“Before we show cards, I thought of scenarios. Why cross me, knowing the cost? What’s the gain?”

I could trade Zero—Chain’s breach method, but that’s too valuable for one question.

I leaned forward.

“You still need me. Beyond teaching, escapee hunting, Eclipse prep, laundering my hidden assets for fees.”

Our friendly ties offered big gains, growing long-term.

“Yet you backstabbed me. The math says the gain outweighs the cost.”

I crossed my arms on my knees, tapping fingers.

Tap-tap-tap—

“Option one: You’re nervous about my independence, seeing more risk than reward.”

Tap-tap-tap—

“Option two: You didn’t trust that idiot to stay put, so you ignored me and locked her up.”

Tap-tap-tap-tap—

“Option three: You found a better, more obedient attack dog.”

My tapping quickened.

“One of these? All? Even combined, they don’t justify crossing me.”

Only my muttering filled the room.

No response from the brass.

Answering easily was a loss.

None were that naive—they were politicians, not heroes.

“Ponder alone later. I want Zero—Chain’s breach answer.”

The president, annoyed, tapped his cane.

Their standing was a push to hurry.

But I stayed calm.

I was the absolute power here.

Ignoring him, I continued.

“What’s worth more than me, long-term, stable?”

A new possibility hit.

“Huh?”

I widened my eyes, letting out a dumb sound.

“Wait.”

Covering my mouth, I sat up straight.

My villainous mind, adept at vile schemes, took time to reach this.

I stared at the president, stunned.

“Option four: You want to steal and grant Traits at will. Even if she’s uncooperative, you’d study her Trait.”

I trailed off, hand over mouth.

“Taking villains’ Traits under peace and reform, giving them to heroes you control. The gains…”

I glared at the brass.

“Madmen. Power-hungry.”

I forgot—they were worse than villains.

Villains, save a few, knew they broke laws for gain.

Not these.

Monsters in human skin, justifying any act for vague peace, stability, justice.

“Strip all villain Traits, enhance heroes. Selection? Not justice or skill—just who you can control.”

My words hit the core.

Others might flinch, but their calm—no twitch, no breath—made it eerie.

“Terrifying. I never feared those slicing bellies or eating flesh for power. Just disgusted.”

Like seeing a many-legged bug—no more, no less.

I muttered, genuinely repulsed.

“Even I fear you. The first hero I met tried to kill me, but your malice is worse.”

Excluding the Legal head, they knew yet didn’t resist.

The president spoke, flat, emotionless.

“All for peace.”

“That’s what’s scary. You truly believe your power is peace.”

My mockery didn’t faze him.

“Here to condemn that?”

“…No. Sniping won’t refute your deranged ideas.”

I stood, snapping out of it.

I’d planned to trade demands for Zero—Chain’s breach method, but their true motive shifted priorities.

These lunatics needed to drop their delusions first.

“Wait a bit.”

* * *

While I argued with the brass, So-hee and Ji-an waited in another room.

Association heroes and suppression teams surrounded them, but they ignored the stares.

The stifling tension between them was worse.

So-hee wondered how to break it but found no answer.

They weren’t strangers—she knew Ji-an nearly killed her and me in the gate.

Ji-an felt the same.

Her biggest emotion toward So-hee was jealousy.

Luck alone let So-hee claim my side, while Ji-an, after over a decade, only watched from afar.

Envy so strong it drove her mad.

So-hee broke the silence.

“You… right?”

Not to assert seniority.

“The reason he’s so hurt.”

Ji-an, ready to respond coldly, froze.

My injuries and predicament stung her.

So-hee stared at her silence.

“He pushed himself for you, risking everything he’s built.”

Her crossed arms, icy gaze, tone, aura—chilling.

“Advice and a request. Stop obsessing. Better yet, disappear.”

Waiting over ten years to meet me—what nonsense.

Ji-an wanted to snap back, but So-hee’s next words silenced her.

“Someone nearly died for you, and he’s out there with people he’d avoid. I’m disgusted.”

She hadn’t meant to kill.

She wanted to say it, but it was an excuse.

We’d escaped that extreme gate ourselves.

“B-But… I…”

Her fists trembled on her knees.

So-hee’s concern for me was too valid.

In her place, Ji-an would’ve used force to keep someone from me.

Tears welled, lips curling inward.

Creak—

My sudden appearance turned their heads.

“Sir!”

Ji-an leapt, grabbing my clothes, pointing at So-hee.

“She’s scary!”

I gave So-hee a wry look.

“What’d you do?”

Their dynamic, power gap, Ji-an’s sharper personality—I’d assumed she’d cause trouble.

This reaction?

So-hee shrugged, aggrieved.

No physical clash, at least.

“You two seem tight. Worried you’d fight.”

Tight? Ji-an wanted to yell, but I cut in.

“Did you apologize?”

“Apologize?”

She looked confused.

I was firm.

“Yeah. I knew you’d clash. Why else put you together? You caused her trouble—apologize. Thought you’d skate by?”

“Ugh.”

She groaned.

Not just about apologizing.

Without that talk, she could’ve done it.

But to someone trying to separate her from me?

She teared up.

My firm gaze left no choice.

To stay by me, she couldn’t refuse.

“S-Sor…”

“Who starts an apology with ‘sorry’? Not ‘sorry, lunatic,’ right?”

How’d he know?

She bowed, meek.

“I’m… sorry.”

So-hee pondered, arms crossed, rubbing her lips.

“Lacks sincerity, but I’ll accept.”

“Good. Apologizing’s nice.”

Even insincere, saying it was progress.

They’d see each other a lot in my plan.

Skipping apologies would fester into bigger issues.

I placed a hand on Ji-an’s neck.

“Come with me.”

“Okay.”

Back in the meeting room, Ji-an frowned instantly.

“Hypocrites. Like personified trash, reeking.”

“Your mouth.”

“Uh, I mean…”

Thinking I’d scold, she slumped.

I wasn’t nitpicking her words.

They were trash, not elders deserving respect.

“Not that. Why the weird historical drama talk?”

“Oh. Books at the facility. Got stuck. Too weird?”

Her young, female appearance made villains underestimate her.

Odd speech diluted that.

Years later, it was a habit.

She chose standard words with me, though.

“Anyway. They want to use or study your Trait. Thoughts?”

“That?”

She declared, crisp and clear.

“Can’t do it anymore.”

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