Dear Heroes, I really am a Villain-Chapter 62: Unlucky Bastards Second Half

— 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 screamed in agony every time 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 some 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 messes—like little sissies—it was clear almost every bone in their bodies had been cracked or fractured under that merciless 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 members with us. Inside was a massive, opulent living room meant 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 armed, aiming their guns at us from above.

It seemed the boss had only taken out the guards stationed outside the manor and hadn’t yet ventured inside.

"You think you can come in here, make a mess 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 consumed 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 somewhere 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 something had blocked them all.

"You... you’re a Villain!" someone 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 someone 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 punishment 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 come 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 me to a hospital, I’ll obey whatever you say..." The Don had completely broken down, reduced to a sobbing mess, pleading with the Boss.

And this time, the Boss finally stopped. He turned toward me 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 message. So this was the reason he beat Don Reale senseless—he wanted to secure the best possible outcome for us. As expected of our Boss!

I nodded to my brothers, and they began dragging in the rest of the gang members who had claimed to be working under Don Reale.

I gently helped Don Reale sit upright. Fortunately, the Boss hadn’t killed every bodyguards. Some of those pinned to the walls were only lightly injured, pierced in the shoulders, legs, or arms. With a quick injection of hyper-mending 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 moment, one of my brothers entered from outside. He walked up to me 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 messed up.

Neurothrill is known as the drug that lets users experience an absolutely lucid dream, complete with heightened feelings of excitement, 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 time. 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 resume where you left off. So users end up buying more and more Neurothrill just to stay high, constantly chasing that same 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, some city-states actively promote this drug. Especially the ones ruled under a dictatorship, since it drastically reduces crime 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, someone who despises this kind of filth, but never breaks a promise. A man who means 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 resentment—only a hollow, defeated gaze, his will completely crushed.

"These guys," Ricardo pointed at the gang members they had tied up, "said they were working for you. They claimed 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 some 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 someone of that caliber show up just to bomb their manor, kill three-quarters of his guards, and beat him into a sobbing mess...?

Don’t you know what bullying is!?

This is bullying!

I demand justice!

Don Reele screamed 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.