Chapter 275 Good.

Chapter 275: 275 Good.

The absolute trick to being a successful bad guy was always remarkably simple: don’t be a dick.

You’d think it would be an easy baseline to hit, but an alarming number of registered villains failed the test on day one. Let’s face it, evil was inherently sexy, but that was just the glossy top coat.

Your average street-level supervillain usually dragged around an ego the size of the Hindenburg—and it was just as aggressively flammable.

One tiny prick was generally enough to set the whole thing off in a massive fireball of collateral damage. And let me tell you, this industry was absolutely filled with little pricks.

I was chewing on that exact thought as I sat in a sleek, glass-walled conference room, enduring a pitch meeting with Bootiful Boots.

Some naive folks out there might argue that multinational corporations actively paying supervillains to advertise their products was a major ethical violation.

But let’s be real—you didn’t claw your way onto the Fortune 500 without being severely morally grey, if not outright villainous yourself.

Employing sweatshop labor in the third world, actively pumping microplastics into the public water supply, dodging federal taxes—the usual corporate highlight reel.

Paying a few bad guys to wear their branded streetwear during a high-profile bank heist was probably the least evil thing the Bootiful Boots board of directors had done before their morning coffee.

"And as you can clearly see," Lionel Rey said, aggressively wringing his hands with a salesman’s greasy, ingratiating smile plastered across his face, "the mesh strips here are specifically designed to look like jagged claw marks, really showing off the top underneath."

"Mmm. I dunno," Psyren mused. She turned this way and that in front of the full-length mirror, pouting her lips in deep contemplation as she flattened the cropped jacket against her curves. "What do you think, boss man?"

I sat up a fraction straighter in my leather executive chair, giving Psyren the focused attention she truly deserved. She was currently rocking a spiked leather collar around her neck.

Her perky breasts were barely contained under a tight black tube top and the heavily branded jacket in question. A short, pleated skirt and ripped fishnet stockings ran all the way down her long legs.

She flashed me a brilliant smile, striking a practiced, dramatic pose.

Glowing neon pink hearts visibly throbbed in her eyes, radiating an aura of total innocence that was entirely, professionally feigned.

I scanned her up and down, taking a moment to genuinely admire the view. What exactly I had done in a past life to deserve her, I didn’t know. Well, actually, I did know, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain about the perks of management.

"Looks great," I said smoothly. "Very rawr."

Psyren giggled, playfully tugging the lapels of the jacket tighter across her chest. "Aw, thanks, boss. You really think so?"

"Everything looks good on you," I added.

"But does this specific fit make you a little randy, boss?" Psyren cooed. She slowly ran her manicured fingers up her thighs and over her chest in a teasing, deliberate motion. "Does it get you all hot and bothered?"

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. "You know it does."

"I know, but I just love to hear you actually say it," she purred with a sharp twitch of her hip. She threw me a wink from her glowing eye, actively sending a physical, neon-pink psychic heart floating directly my way.

I didn’t flinch, just letting the harmless psychic dart dissipate into glowing dust against my chest.

"So, what do we think?" Lionel interrupted, desperately trying to steer the room back to business. "Would you be open to organically marketing our fine product in your next livestream or league job? Naturally, Bootiful Boots would be more than happy to compensate you for your valuable time..."

"Mmm. Tempting," Psyren said, tapping her chin. "It does heavily compliment my brand aesthetic. But you know what would be even more tempting?"

"Yes?" Lionel asked eagerly.

"Fat stacks of cash."

That’s my girl. I chuckled as Lionel nodded frantically.

"Of course! Naturally! If you’d be willing to sign the standard contract right here, we’d be absolutely thrilled to have you aboard as a brand ambassador and, of course, adequately and heavily compensated! And please, feel free to keep that prototype sample."

"Naturally," Psyren echoed. She idly watched Lionel pull a thick, stapled contract from his leather folio and slide it across the glass table. Her bright eyes drifted my way. "Boss? Would you mind doing the boring part?"

"Not at all," I said. I pulled the heavy document toward me, uncapping a pen and scanning the legal jargon.

I didn’t fail to notice Lionel’s sudden, acute nervousness.

Whether he was sweating because he realized I was actually legally competent, or because he was terrified of my violent industry reputation, I wasn’t entirely sure.

I read the contract intently. I’d gotten incredibly good at this specific skill over the course of my career.

A lot of corporate agents loved to try and sneak lethal little clauses underneath all the dense legal boilerplate—like how the brand was completely indemnified if their sponsored heroes accidentally shoved a fist through your ribcage, or suddenly moving a decimal point regarding your backend merchandise points.

"Looks pretty standard," I noted.

"So very glad you agree!" Lionel replied eagerly, practically vibrating in his tailored suit.

"Aside from this tiny bit right here in section four," I noted smoothly.

I casually turned the contract around and slid it back across the glass, tapping a heavy finger against the offending paragraph. "I’m afraid we’re absolutely not going to let you retain her likeness rights in perpetuity for your secondary advertising campaigns."

Lionel’s greasy smile tightened just a fraction. "Ah. Yes. Well, the legal department thought—"

"The legal department was entirely wrong about us being stupid enough to sign that," I cut him off cleanly. "Strike that specific clause entirely, and we’ll have a deal." I stood up, buttoning my jacket. "You can overnight us a revised contract, and we will happily return it with a signature once that little oversight has been ironed out. Are we agreed?"

Lionel squirmed in his ergonomic chair, clearly running the math in his head on how far he could safely push back against a supervillain boss.

"Hey, Lionel. Do you want to know what we did to the last corporate suit who tried to sneak predatory details into our contracts?" Psyren asked sweetly. She looked over her shoulder at the rep, glowing neon-red hearts suddenly thrumming with intense, violent psychic pressure in her eyes.

Lionel swallowed hard, all the color instantly draining from his face. "We’ll, ah... we will get the revised paperwork to your office right away, sir."

"Good," I said. I glanced over at Psyren. "Shall we?"