My Borderline Supervillain-Slash-Hero System

Zane closed the final bundle of signed M.O.U.s and tucked them neatly into his silk pouch, a pleased smile on his face.

Har, the chubby twin, stretched and yawned.

"Alright, everyone's already inside. Guys, why don't we head in too?"

Dar, the elegant one, chimed in,

"Let's go. If we're too late, our rankings will fall behind everyone else."

But Asphalt grinned wider than ever.

"Not yet, darling. What you just saw? That was just the trailer. The real show is about to start. Today, I'm going to make each one of us the richest people alive. Trillionaires."

Dar rolled her eyes.

"Trillionaires? We're already rich—after all those extor—uh, I mean, donations. Half the batch owes us with ridiculous interest rates."

Asphalt chuckled and turned to Zane.

"Zane, they seem to trust you more than me. Why don't you explain?"

Zane stepped forward with a calm smile.

"Alright, take a look ahead. Who do you see?"

The twins followed his gaze.

"Our third-year seniors and the teachers," Har said flatly.

"Exactly," Zane nodded. "They've just arrived—and if they want to go through this gate, they'll have to go through us. Just like everyone else."

Dar stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Wait… you want to extort the seniors? And the teachers?! Be my guest. We're out. We're not joining this madness."

"Sister Dar, come on," Asphalt said smoothly. "We didn't extort anyone. It was a fair donation. And really, are you scared of offending those uptight dinosaurs? Where's the wild, fearless twin of the Varkoss Household I used to know?"

"No one's forcing anyone," Zane added with a shrug.

"But think about it. The 'donations' we collected earlier? That was just the tip of the iceberg. These seniors and teachers—they're the real sharks. Imagine the loot we could milk from them."

Asphalt grinned and pointed toward the crowd.

"And look at them. You feel it, right? That murderous intent? They're already glaring at us like they want to kill us. You think asking for donations will offend them? They already hate us."

Zane felt the weight of those hateful stares—most of them directed at him. Cold and venomous. His smile wavered, just for a second.

Asphalt, sensing it, slapped a hand on his back and said warmly,

"Don't worry, buddy. They're already baring their fangs. Since they want war, let's give them a spectacle. No one escapes our bait today."

Then he burst into booming laughter—loud, wild, and unrestrained.

Strangely, the laughter was infectious.

Dar covered her mouth at first but gave in, giggling. Har followed a moment later, their doubts dissolving into excitement.

They weren't just chasing profit anymore.

They were hunters—setting a trap for their arrogant seniors and unsuspecting teachers.

This continuation flows naturally and keeps up the comedic tension, slowly escalating the standoff into something absurd (but fun). The image of a group of senior students and teachers seething while four freshers eat skewers and play golf is both clever and satisfying—it builds the comedy, shows Zane's group's confidence, and heightens the tension for the inevitable clash.

Zane didn't laugh.

But his smile returned.

Calm. Steady. And sharper than ever.

They waited by the gate.

Across from them, the group of 150 teachers and 300 third-year students also stood still—watching, waiting.

Neither side moved.

Minutes passed. Then nearly an hour.

But no one chose the other path.

Zane's group camped at the gate entrance.

The seniors and teachers held their ground farther away.

Eventually, the senior students began to realize Zane's true intent.

"They want to extort us, too?" one of them muttered through clenched teeth.

"Dream on."

Frustration bubbled. Some of the teachers began murmuring angrily, fists tightening. But Ronaldo—the eldest and most respected among them—raised his hand.

"Hey. We're not here to pick fights. Stay focused on our duties," he said firmly.

Still, even Ronaldo's jaw twitched.

Patience, it seemed, was running thin everywhere.

Back at the gate, Har was the first to crack.

He yawned, stretching dramatically.

"Let's just go in already. They clearly don't want to deal with our gate."

SMACK.

Dar slapped the back of his head.

"If you're bored, go play with your pet pig, not our reputation," she snapped.

Zane noticed their growing restlessness and decided to change tactics.

"Anyone hungry?" he asked casually.

He'd expected Har to perk up first—but surprisingly, it was Asphalt who jumped in immediately.

"Me!" he said, eyes gleaming.

He had already tasted Zane's river monster skewers before—and he hadn't forgotten.

Zane smiled and pulled out four large plates.

He laid them out and began unloading skewers of barbecued river monster meat he had prepared earlier. Thick, sizzling, aromatic.

"They're still warm. Dig in—it's on me," he said.

Asphalt devoured his like a starving wolf.

The twins took one bite—and both practically melted on the spot.

From beside them, the corrupted boar snorted loudly in protest.

Zane tossed a dozen skewers its way.

The beast swallowed them whole—sticks and all.

From across the clearing, the third-years and teachers watched in disbelief.

"They're… feasting?"

"Those little rats are picnicking in front of us?"

Angry murmurs swelled.

Ronaldo scowled. "Be patient. They're just freshers—they haven't even set foot in the Academy. You're all losing your cool over children."

But even his voice wavered.

Because deep down, he too was losing patience.

And waiting in silence was the most brutal test of all.

Meanwhile, Zane's team wiped the last of the sauce from their fingers.

Zane leaned back, satisfied.

"I think they're close to snapping," he said. "What about this—let's play a round of golf?"

Without waiting for a reply, he reached into his storage pouch and pulled out an entire golfing kit.

Clubs. Balls. Tees. Even flags.

Dar blinked. "You actually packed golfing gear?"

Zane shrugged. "Shelby insisted. Said it'd come in handy."

"And it did," Asphalt beamed.

They set up right next to the gate and began hitting balls across the open field.

The corrupted boar happily fetched them, no matter how far they flew.

It didn't take long for a full-blown competition to erupt—who could drive the ball the farthest. Laughter rang out. Dar whooped. Har did a victory dance. Asphalt shouted distances like a sports commentator.

All boredom vanished.

All tension forgotten.

Except on the other side.

"They're… playing golf now?" a senior teacher seethed.

"This is war," muttered another.

Ronaldo finally sighed and rubbed his temples.

"That's it. Enough waiting. Let's go."

He turned, and the rest of the group followed him.

"For better or worse," he muttered, "those brats know exactly what they're doing."

The wave of teachers and senior students began moving toward the gate—toward Zane and his merry band of troublemakers.