[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary Chapter 315: Second Match

On the other side of the observation deck, a very different conversation was taking place.

Michael and Michelle had both logged in from their private accounts, joining the growing crowd of spectators watching the match through the ga’s public viewing system.

The student viewing section was packed.

"Holy shit," Michael breathed, his eyes wide as saucers.

His sister Michelle didn’t respond imdiately. She was too busy watching the replay of the sand maneuver, her avatar’s expression frozen in sothing between shock and admiration.

"He just tried to short-circuit a cha with ocean water," Michelle said slowly, as if testing the words for plausibility. "In a standard model. Using basic physics."

"Is that even legal?"

"It’s not illegal." Michelle’s lips curved into sothing dangerously close to respect. "It’s creative."

"It’s insane," Michael corrected. "He’s fighting a military man with tricks and improvisation."

"Let’s see how far he will go with those tricks." Michelle nodded toward the screen, where the second match was loading. "Look—a hot map."

Michael groaned. "Oh no. He’s going to die so hard."

○●○●

[MATCH 2 PARATERS]

Mode: 1v1

Ti Limit: 5 Minutes

Map: Volcan (Random Selection)

Loadout: Standard cha - Plasma Blade, Light Pulse Gun, Triple-Shot Projectile Laser Missiles

The second arena materialized around them, and Neville’s eyes sparkled despite all expectations.

The Volcan Map was a nightmare for anyone who had played here.

There was a massive cone of rock and magma suspended impossibly in the upper atmosphere. Towering spires of volcanic stone jutted toward the stars while rivers of molten lava carved glowing channels down their slopes.

The sky above was not sky at all but the void of space itself, stars glittering cold and distant beyond the thin mbrane of the arena’s artificial gravity bubble.

It was beautiful but deadly.

Absolutely perfect for what Neville had in mind.

[Host, this map has a twenty-three percent player elimination rate from environntal hazards alone,] Shelly reported. [The volcano is programd to erupt randomly within the match tifra. Probability of eruption in the next five minutes: seven percent.]

’I’ll just have to rake up that percent.’

Grayson’s cha materialized on the opposite side of the volcanic cone. Its tal sheen was gleaming against the red-orange glow of the lava below.

Neville could practically feel those silver eyes assessing the terrain, calculating angles and distances.

He probably expected Neville to play defensively—to try and repeat the terrain exploitation from the first match with more careful positioning.

A reasonable assumption, given the previous performance.

But Neville had no intention of being reasonable in this ga.

[MATCH START]

He charged forward.

But not towards Grayson.

He aid at the volcano’s active vents, the spots where plus of superheated gas erupted in irregular intervals.

His cha weaved between spires of cooled lava, plasma blade ready, moving with aggressive intent that had Grayson adjusting his stance.

Good. Let him think this was another close-combat attempt.

They t in the air, fifty ters above the volcanic slope, blades clashing in a shower of sparks.

Neville was still outmatched as Grayson’s strikes ca faster, hit harder, and left less room for error.

But this ti, he wasn’t trying to win this exchange.

He was just moving into position.

’Forward strike, boost left, pivot!’ Neville barked commands in rapid succession.

Shelly translated them into the button to click just fast enough to keep him alive.

Each exchange pushed them higher, closer to the volcano’s smoldering peak.

Grayson pressed the attack, clearly puzzled by Neville’s aggressive tactics but unwilling read too much into it.

Why question an opponent who seed determined to exhaust himself?

One minute in.

Two minutes.

Neville finally switched weapons.

The pulse gun ca up, blue bolts streaking toward Grayson’s cha with all the accuracy of a drunk marksman.

Shot after shot went wide. He missed by ters, by dozens of ters, painting the volcanic stone with scorch marks that seed almost random.

Grayson began to frown.

He asked, [Are you okay? Your aim—]

"Just rusty!" Neville lied cheerfully, dodging a retaliatory slash. "You know how it is!"

Another volley of pulse fire.

Another series of misses.

But Neville wasn’t aiming at Grayson.

He was aiming at the vents.

[Thermal readings are spiking,] Shelly reported, her cheerful tone rising with excitent. [Volcanic activity is increasing by seventeen percent.]

[Twenty-three percent.]

[Thirty-one percent...]

The pulse gun’s energy bolts weren’t powerful enough to inflict major damage to a cha, but they generated trendous heat on impact.

Heat that was currently being absorbed by already-stressed volcanic rock.

Heat that was disrupting the delicate thermal equilibrium, keeping the magma chamber from erupting.

Neville switched to missiles.

[What are you doing?] Grayson demanded, watching three projectiles streak past him and slam into the volcanic cone below. [Wait. Those have auto-aim—there’s no way you’ll miss—]

"Who says I’m missing my shots?"

The volcano began to shudder.

Rumbling with rocks rolling down.

Deep within the cone, magma surged upward through newly stressed fractures.

The ga’s physics engine was designed for maximum realism. It faithfully modeled the chain reaction of thermal expansion, structural failure, and catastrophic pressure release.

The eruption began.

Neville stopped fighting. He simply waited, hovering in place as lava fountained skyward around them and the entire arena started coming apart.

Grayson’s cha hung in the air fifteen ters away, close enough to see the exact mont realization dawned on him.

[You did this on purpose.]

"Basic thermodynamics," Neville replied, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. "Localized heating of already-unstable geological formations accelerates the volcanic cycle. It’s science."

[This is a ga.]

"Even gas have physics engines."

Grayson’s cha spun toward the arena boundary, thrusters flaring.

If he could reach the safe zone before the eruption caught him—

But Neville had already started firing.

Every remaining shot he had, every missile in his payload, all of it directed at the single goal of keeping Grayson from escaping.

The pulse bolts didn’t need to hit—they just needed to force evasive maneuvers, to buy precious seconds while the volcano did its thing.

[You’re going to kill yourself, too!] Grayson shouted.

"Yeah, but you’ll die first!" Neville shouted back, snickering.

The lava surge caught Grayson’s cha first.

The superheated magma engulfed his cha from below.

Warning sirens scread through both their cockpits.

[ENEMY UNIT: CRITICAL DAMAGE]

[ENEMY UNIT: ELIMINATED]

One second later, the sa fate found Neville.

[PLAYER UNIT: CRITICAL DAMAGE]

[PLAYER UNIT: ELIMINATED]

[MATCH COMPLETE]

[WINNER: Gravy]

[MARGIN OF VICTORY: 1.02 SECONDS]