Chapter 230 - 231 Paperwork.

Things moved quickly once the location was secured. Between organizing the multi-tiered gala heist and dealing with the continuous, soul-crushing stream of aspiring supervillains looking to be interviewed, my schedule was completely slammed.

Ha...

Paperwork.

It truly was the least glamorous part of the criminal underworld. Little wonder most classic evil overlords shoveled their administrative duties straight onto their number-two lieutenant.

Which I tried not to do, but I was seriously beyond lucky to have Glacia keeping the gears turning.

She had a genuine, genetic head for all the complex bookkeeping and logistical budgeting an organization like mine was rapidly accumulating.

It made complete sense, seeing as she was the heir apparent to Captain Zero’s vast syndicate empire. She knew how to juggle the hidden ledgers, budget for custom death traps, and handle the tedious nitty-gritty of corporate-tier evil.

Which worked wonderfully for me, seeing as I had a mountain of other tactical dumpster fires to put out on a daily basis.

Still, it would all be worth it in the end. Because as every artist knows—and what is proper villainy if not a violent, high-stakes work of art?—the final payoff to your hard work was all that actually mattered.

Thus, the night of the charity gala arrived. It wasn’t a massive, world-ending shindig by global standards, but it would more than get the job done.

We’d ended up repurposing a lot of the museum’s old Egyptian exhibit decor for the ballroom. Hey, might as well recycle, and it gave the whole hall that great, mysterious ’ancient desert’ vibe.

Tall, faux-sandstone pillars. Walls decorated with cheap painted murals and faux-hieroglyphs. A couple of prop statues of ancient animal-headed deities guarding the corners. It really set the right mood, and I would never apologize for staying under budget.

There was also a vague, unsettling sense of occultism hanging in the air, courtesy of Lilith’s immaculate, hyper-precise eye for interior design.

Even the massive, glittering orb suspended from the vaulted ceiling, officially labeled DONATIONS, had been subtly reshaped and painted to look like a menacing, stylized sun disk.

Man, I was genuinely going to miss having the crimson demoness around once she eventually packed her bags and went back to reporting to Edna. But until that inevitable day arrived, I was going to make damn good use of her talent.

I circulated around the crowded floor as the high-society attendees filtered into the grand hall.

I’d stationed Glacia right at the main entrance, looking utterly breathtaking in a floor-length gown of shimmering silver sequins, her snowy white hair swept up into an intricate chignon. Her cool, impeccably professional smile was doing wonders as she checked the wealthy donors and socialites pouring through the doors against our RSVP list.

"How’s the door looking?" I asked, drifting over to check in.

"Flawless, sir," Glacia said, beaming with quiet pride. "Not a single uninvited disruption so far."

"Excellent. Let me know if anyone suspicious tries to bypass the checkpoint."

"Of course, sir."

I gave her shoulder a light, appreciative tap and drifted back out into the bustling crowd.

The high-end catering crew was hard at work, swarming through the room with silver trays, serving up delicate hors d’oeuvres. Because as everyone in Metropolis knew, it wasn’t a proper rich-people gala unless you were balancing miniature pieces of gourmet food pierced with decorative toothpicks.

And the turnout was massive. Feed just a hint of the right rumors into the underground circuit, and every cape-obsessed socialite and thrill-seeking billionaire in the tri-state area would come running.

That spectacle was nine-tenths of the cultural appeal of living in Metropolis. Sell admission to a live, high-society charity auction featuring an alleged archaic, mystical artifact, and the only thing guaranteed to draw a bigger crowd of heroes was flashing a multi-carat diamond.

Soon enough, the live band on the elevated stage struck up a smooth, upbeat jazz number. Many of the attendees drifted naturally toward the front to admire the podium, where Rhea’s synthetic, runic cube sat locked safely inside a heavy, tinted display case. The eager press corps was kept at a respectable distance by a velvet rope and a couple of Steve’s clones wearing identical, anonymizing security uniforms.

Perfection.

I meandered through the mingling crowd, keeping my magnetic senses dialed up to maximum, quietly sweeping the room to sniff out any unforeseen threats.

Fortunately, nothing too concerning popped up. Plenty of expensive designer jewelry, high-end smartphones, and a smattering of mundane cybernetic implants, but nothing heavy enough to indicate a real super-tier threat. No unauthorized deployable power armor.

A few bodyguards were packing heat under their tuxedos, but they were standard private security, and they weren’t going to start shooting unless their VIP clients were physically assaulted.

Even so, I casually reached out with my magnetic field, giving every single firearm in the room a gentle, microscopic twist of its internal springs. Just enough to jam the firing pins if things went sideways. Always practice good safety habits.

I did notice a handful of strange, esoteric amulets and charms hanging around the necks of a few of the more eccentric guests.

Local magic-users, no doubt. They might complicate the set pieces if they tried to play hero, but only a complete fool would look at Rhea’s glowing plastic-resin cube and think it was a genuine cosmic threat. Alright. Everything was tracking according to plan.

As I maneuvered around a cluster of chattering socialites, I spotted Vanessa standing near a marble pillar.

She was still wearing a few subtle bangles and esoteric silver charms glinting against her wrists, but she had wisely toned down the full mystic aesthetic for a high-society function.

Instead, she was wearing a powder-blue evening gown that was almost embarrassingly modest for an event like this—though ’modest’ was doing some heavy lifting, considering the sheer volume of chest trying to stretch the fabric to its absolute structural limit. But hey, I wasn’t complaining.

Given how fiercely committed she was to building her new career as a straight-arrow hero, her presence here wasn’t a surprise.

Prime timing to check in, so I wove my way across the polished floorboards. She caught sight of me approaching and instantly stiffened, drawing herself up into a defensive, guarded posture.

"Enjoying the festivities?" I asked, stopping a respectful distance away.

"Not particularly," she replied coldly, her single visible eye narrowing.

Wow, she really wasn’t going to make this easy on me. Fine. Straight to business it is.

"Well, the staging is coming together nicely," I said, keeping my voice low and conversational.

I gave a subtle nod toward the elevated stage, where Psyren was currently standing center-stage behind the microphone, belting out a soulful jazz number while the live band carried the rhythm. She was utterly mesmerizing, the crowd completely captivated by her voice.

Naturally, Psyren was wearing a clever disguise—a dark wig and tinted contact lenses—while casually broadcasting a light psychic dampening field across the room to cloud the minds of anyone looking too closely at her face.

Odds were high that even if a sharp-eyed reporter figured out she was a wanted villainess, nobody was going to ruin a good party over it. Metropolis citizens loved the theatricality.

Where would the bad guy make their grand entrance? Through the glass skylight? Crashing the front doors? Bursting out of a catering cake? A sudden dimensional tear? Or maybe hiding right here among the invited guests?

The strategic possibilities were endless.

And that was the undeniable magic of events like these. It wasn’t just about watching heavyweights in spandex beat each other through concrete walls—you could catch that any night down at the underground Death Rumble.

No, it was the breathless anticipation. The electric thrill of trying to guess when the powder keg would finally blow.

I just needed to make sure Vanessa was keyed into the script and ready to take center stage.