10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 68 - Meeting of Superheroes

She began pacing slowly, her hips swaying with a hypnotic, natural rhythm despite the strain in her ribs.

Her free hand was in her hair now, pulling the silky strands away from her flushed neck in a motion that inadvertently thrust her heavy breasts forward, straining visibly against the flimsy hospital attire.

"You’re telling me to date him again," she spat the dark words out.

Ermond’s voice continued speaking from the phone—firm, but not without its share of guilt.

Ytrisia closed her eyes for a moment.

Her delicate throat bobbed with a silent, heavy swallow.

"I’m not some pretty pawn to be moved across the board because he suddenly has a dark ’reason.’" Suddenly, it was heard that this was an absolute order from the family head, who was naturally the one who funded the orphanage and had even sponsored her as a voluptuous superhero affiliated with one of the subsidiaries within the Blac family.

"And about Cruxius? He doesn’t get to stalk me, manipulate situations around my body, and then act like he’s not the one who made you call me."

There was a heavy silence on her end for a heartbeat too long.

The fierce fight was still in her eyes, but something else now lingered beneath it—deep exhaustion... and a trace of reluctant, submissive understanding.

"Don’t give me the ’for your own good’ talk," she murmured bitterly. "You always say that right before you ask me to walk into the fire."

// Don’t forget the Blac family gave you the luxurious life you have right now, Ytrisia, you should return the heavy favor. //

And finally, a cold, commanding voice that had been held back until now by Ytrisia’s stubborn determination reached out of the phone’s speaker, resonating deeply enough to sink into her chest like a barbed thorn.

A heavy pause.

"...yes... I understand..." Something just broke within her trembling frame. She was indeed just a vulnerable orphan in the end, beautifully packaged and blessed to have received their dangerous favor. Her shoulders slumped, the gown slipping just a fraction more to tease the swell of her breast, as she surrendered entirely to her gilded cage.

---

The highly secure meeting chamber of the Hero Association was quiet—suffocatingly quiet for a room packed with the world’s most powerful, physically dominant protectors.

No windows, no press—just cold steel walls and one massive, polished table.

The air hung thick and heavy with raw tension, dimly lit by overhead strips that cast long, imposing shadows behind the seated heroes, highlighting the sharp lines of their hardened physiques.

Each shadow stretched like a second self—jagged, warped, exaggerated—as if the sheer, thrumming power of those at the table could barely be contained in their human forms.

At the far end, the most imposing figure sat perfectly still—back rigid, face veiled behind stray strands of hair and heavy half-darkness. No one dared address him directly. They simply didn’t need to.

The dark conversation moved without him, circling like hungry vultures.

"Monster incidents are down. Drastically," murmured one suited man, his thick glasses glinting with cold data reflected from his sleek tablet, his tailored suit stretching tightly across his broad shoulders. "Without disaster, there’s no help to offer. Our value slips each week."

"And donations. Media reach. Investor backing," another hero added, his deep voice sharp—like he was calculating ruthless profit margins as he spoke. "The public is getting dangerously bored."

A massive figure in dark, heavy armor leaned forward, the metal groaning softly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Then maybe... we make our own disaster. What if we brutally use every superhero to break those closed gates—aren’t you all supposed to be the absolute strongest?"

That heavy suggestion floated in the quiet air just long enough for its terrifying weight to be felt.

"Pfft."

"Oh my, haha."

Then came the laughter—quiet, cruel, tinged with a dark exhaustion.

"You think we haven’t tried?" another hero purred, his thick arms folded securely across his broad chest, a dark cloak coiled around his muscular frame like thick smoke. "Elbawar himself tried to physically break one of them. It didn’t even budge."

"!?"

"What?!" The youngest board member was clearly taken aback, his breath catching as his wide eyes drifted toward the imposing figure seated at the far end.

Elbawar’s hands were casually folded, resting in his lap as if he wasn’t even part of the tense meeting—perhaps because his dominant views were far too important to be wasted on petty arguments.

After all, the world’s strongest hero, an absolute SS-Rank anomaly, was a walking, breathing catastrophe in their own right. Yet even she—hiding seamlessly behind that impenetrable masculine facade and heavy armor—couldn’t break those massive gates.

"Mortals are deliciously stupid." A few murmured in dark agreement. Some smirked. Others rolled their eyes in shared arrogance. The heavy air buzzed with a subtle, electric resentment—at how the youngest member, the only fragile human among them, still naively believed superheroes were literal gods capable of the impossible.

Just like how some desperate mortals always do.

Still, the imposing figure at the head of the table said absolutely nothing.

Then, a sharp, piercing ring cut violently through the heavy silence.

Everyone paused. The female assistant, standing rigidly behind the table, her tight pencil skirt hugging her lush curves perfectly, hesitated—then glanced nervously toward the man at the head. A lazy, commanding flick of his finger. Permission granted.

The assistant leaned over, her blouse straining slightly, and pressed the speaker.

A distorted, deeply mocking voice filled the chamber, crackling slightly, but unmistakably real:

// Ahem, hello Elbawar. Are you still clinging to that dramatic, pathetic god complex act of yours? //

’!’

Several heads snapped up. Eyes widened in sheer disbelief. One or two heroes shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their muscles tensing, all of them now staring toward the head of the table—where Elbawar sat completely unmoved, seemingly unoffended.

But inwardly, they all knew the arrogant caller had crossed a fatal line.

// Let me introduce myself. I’m a supervillain named Father. Yeah, you can confirm that intimately with your mothers too. //

"...This bastard," one of the voluptuous female heroes muttered, her glossy mouth twitching in sheer outrage as her manicured hands tightened fiercely on the polished table, her chest heaving against her tight bodice.

But none reacted with the violent outrage they normally would—not in the terrifying presence of that man.

// I’ll be joining Zone 7 of the Villain Syndicate soon. Already got rid of two A-rankers. Oh, and I’ll definitely be releasing those highly classified videos—the ones from the Hero Association’s private labs. The ones showing... intimate human experiments. //

A heavy pause.

// And hey, Elbawar, why not officially tell the entire world that you’re actually a woma— //

BANG!

A loud, explosive sound cut the mocking voice short. The heavy speaker blew out in a violent burst of static.

No one flinched. But every single hero stood up slowly, their powerful bodies tense, fists clenched tight enough to turn their knuckles white.

The final, scandalous words hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The deeply intimate insult wasn’t just about spilling dirty corporate secrets. It was a direct, highly personal attack on their untouchable apex predator.

Silence fell over the room like a heavy, cold blade.

"We shouldn’t act recklessly," one broad-shouldered, caped hero muttered, his dark shadow twitching behind him like something alive and hungry. "Things are already brutally bad in the public eye, especially after that Blac heir’s little stunt."

"Elbawar, maybe that arrogant call was deliberately meant to provoke you... be cautious," a female hero added, her piercing eyes fixed on the imposing figure at the head of the table. She felt the heavy, vibrating heat in the room—this wasn’t just a slight against the Hero Association. It was deeply, dangerously personal.

"Should I go after that cocky bastard?"