[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary Chapter 25: Set!

The show wrapped up with a final display—this ti holographic dolphins leaping through shimring waves—and the crowd began to thin.

Neville slipped out through the crowd towards the corporate garden. There was a secluded bench tucked under the shade of a massive, ancient oak tree. The seat was still damp from the morning’s sprinklers, but Neville barely registered the chill as he sank down and finally pulled up the email.

Lilianna’s face smiled out from the header, polished and perfect. Neville exhaled through his nose and forcibly dragged his eyes downward to the actual text.

Still, he couldn’t resist the idle curiosity.

He opened a new window, fingers tapping almost of their own accord: Lilianna Gringer.

StarNet flooded him with results. Photos, interviews, glossy fashion spreads, gala appearances. A golden girl carved into perfection.

The public record was quite blunt: Alpha. Age: 26. Relationship status: single.

Only a few years older than , he mused, thinking. I wonder if Sarah would introduce if I—

But the fantasy instantly shattered with another person’s face. Those piercing silver eyes, long fingers...Lips that—

Neville shook his head in a frustrated motion.

"Enough," he muttered under his breath.

Focus, Neville. For God’s sake, focus. He couldn’t let that man live rent-free in his head every second of the day. He couldn’t afford it. Not now.

With renewed resolve, he switched back to the email, forcing himself to scroll past that supermodel and absorb the words that glowed on the screen.

CLASSIFIED — COMPETITION CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Project Title: AEGIS

Joint Mandate: Maxwell Corporation & Imperial Military Command

Objective: Design and propose a next-generation mothership capable of sustained ultra-long-distance warp travel and autonomous fleet command.

The words that followed made his breath catch. This wasn’t just a military contract; it was a foundational piece of the Imperial Fleet’s future. They were seeking a vessel that could travel distances previously considered theoretical, surviving warp jumps that would tear lesser ships apart.

It wasn’t the impossible technical specifications or the astronomical budget that made Neville’s hands begin to tremble.

This wasn’t just a contract.

It was the contract.

It was a crown loaded with weapons for the one who could claim it.

And more than that...

A mory, unsolicited and unwelco, surfaced, sending down his spine. Back to the ’original tiline’ that the System had shown him. That was also a mothership, but it was not like the one the Imperial Military wanted to achieve now. That mothership was far larger and bristling with advanced weapons.

He rembered how Grayson had wielded it—not as a commander, but as a man gripping a blade to cut the world down when it turned on him. That image had seared itself into Neville’s mind, the sheer destructive power forcing the System itself to beg for intervention.

Neville’s hands were trembling unconsciously, feeling sothing that had nothing to do with excitent. He inhaled the crisp garden air sharply, but it did little to calm his heart.

This "innocent" contract—this corporate ga-show-like competition the employees were chattering about—was the first domino.

The email was clear: while Maxwell Corporation had been essentially "selected" for the contract—nothing was set in stone. The Imperial Military reserved the right to withdraw if the proposals fell short. The internal competition would decide which team carried the project forward.

The winning team would work directly with the executive board.

With Grayson.

Neville’s hands tightened on the device, knuckles whitening. In the original tiline... had soone else won? And if so—who had put this weapon in Grayson’s hands?

A notification blinked across his screen: Proposal competition registration now open. Slots are limited to the first 1050 participants.

"A man destroying the world over a rejection," Neville murmured, his voice low, almost reverent in its dread.

His fingers moved before his mind could argue, registering naturally like a habit. The confirmation arrived as the counter ticked: 1037 of 1050 slots filled.

Silly. It sounds so damn silly, Neville thought, a bitter twist at the corner of his mouth. But when it happens—when it happens—no one will be laughing.

Another chi. A final ssage flashed across his screen:

Registration confird. Team assignnts will be announced tomorrow. Good luck, Participant #V4823.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Days slipped by, and the Archives had turned into a warzone of silence.

At night, the only sound was the low hum of the quantum cores, their glow painting ghostly patterns across rows of deserted desks.

Neville moved through the shadows; his footsteps were absorbed by the thick carpet. Ever since catching Ethan red-handed, paranoia had drilled a new habit into him—arriving before anyone else.

Today, he had outdone himself; this was even earlier than his already ridiculous early mornings.

Still, he thought he would stop by his desk first.

That was when he saw it.

A flicker. A shape. It was not a ghost. There was a real person hunched over his desk, face half-lit by the pale wash of his terminal screen.

Neville’s pulse spiked, sharp and imdiate. An intruder? Here? Now?

From where he stood, he could already make out the data streams scrolling across the display.

His files. His painstakingly compiled research—exposed under a stranger’s hands.

I changed desks twice, Neville seethed, frustration tightening his jaw. And still they hover around my work like moths to a damn fla.

[Host! What do we do?! (°ロ°) !] Shelly’s voice cracked into his mind, so loud in his skull he almost flinched.

’Quiet, Shelly,’ he commanded, steel edging into his inner voice. ’Be ready.’

The System Mall interface materialized in his peripheral vision. With a few deft, silent gestures of his fingers in the air, he selected his tools. His calm and intentional movents were in contrast with the tension burning in his chest.

His fingers moved in practiced swipes—a long industrial rope and a pair of reinforced handcuffs.

A faint shimr in the air beside him, and they materialized in his hands. The rope dropped heavy into his hand, coiling like a live thing, while the steel cuffs caught the faint glow of the screen.

Neville’s lips curved in sothing not quite a smile.