Returning to the halls of Northgate High after the weekend felt like stepping into a different country.
The administration, reeling from the twin humiliations of the pep rally and the city-wide scandal originating from their student body, had transformed the school into a miniature police state.
Stern-faced security guards, new hires with grim expressions, were posted at every major intersection. Hall passes were being checked with zealous scrutiny.
The air, once filled with idle chatter was now thick with a tense, watchful silence.
But beneath the administration's iron fist, a rebellion was brewing.
The Evil Villainess was a legend.
Students whispered the name with a kind of reverent glee.
Maya's manhwa, "The Villainess Archives," was the most popular site on the school network, its pages viewed through hidden proxies and shared via encrypted messages.
We hadn't just exposed a corrupt hero; we had given the students a new one to root for.
My relationship with my own cadre had undergone a seismic shift. We were no longer just a girl and her terrified pawns. We were a unit.
At lunch, we sat at the same table in the bustling cafeteria. No one dared to approach. We rarely spoke, communicating instead through a silent language of shared glances and subtle gestures.
I would watch as Jake, full of newfound bravado, would recount a play from the latest Grav-Ball game, while Mark would silently show Leo a new piece of code on his datapad.
They were still them, but they were also Havoc, Oracle, and Ghost.
They carried themselves differently, a secret confidence radiating from them that the other students could feel, even if they couldn't understand it.
Maya often sat with us, a quiet observer sketching in her notebook, our official historian and unofficial minister of propaganda.
She was the only one I occasionally communicated with via text during these gatherings, exchanging intel under the guise of scrolling through social media.
The catalyst for our next operation came, as I knew it would, from the school's desperate attempt to reclaim the narrative. During the morning announcements, Principal Thompson's grim face appeared on the screens.
"In light of recent events that have cast a shadow on the heroic ideals our city is built upon," he began, his voice strained, "Northgate High is proud to announce a mandatory 'Heroic Integrity Seminar' for all students this Friday.
We will be joined by a very special guest, the esteemed hero Lumina, who will speak on the importance of truth, duty, and resisting corrupting influences."
A picture of Lumina flashed on the screen.
She was a hero known for her powers of light and empathy, capable of projecting feelings of calm, trust, and honesty. Her unofficial title was 'The Confessor.' S
he was a living propaganda machine, a weapon of soft power designed to soothe dissent and reinforce the status quo. This wasn't just a seminar; it was a counter-attack.
It was aimed directly at the heart of my growing legend.
The System, ever opportunistic, agreed.
[New Mission Generated.]
[Mission: Seminar of Lies]
[Description: The establishment is deploying one of its most potent weapons of propaganda to quell dissent. A villainess knows that the most effective way to fight a lie is not with truth, but with mockery. Sabotage the seminar and turn their weapon of influence into an object of ridicule.]
[Objective: Covertly alter the seminar's presentation materials to humiliate the guest speaker and undermine the event's message.]
[Reward: 200 VP, 75 EXP.]
[Failure Penalty: All team members will be placed under 'System Probation' for one month (no new missions, no VP gain).]
The reward was modest, a solid "VP farming" opportunity.
The penalty was annoying but not catastrophic. This was the perfect mission to test my team's new cohesion, to see how they operated now that the initial shock had worn off.
That night, we met. Not in the warehouse, but in the digital space of a heavily encrypted, temporary chat room I had created.
Their icons blinked to life: a swirling ghost, a clenched fist, a glowing circuit board, and a simple, elegant quill.
I laid out the mission.
This is a surgical strike, I typed, my words appearing in the chat. In and out. We are not destroying the seminar; we are poisoning it. We will make their hero of truth look like a fool.
The planning session was different this time. I didn't just issue orders. I presented the problem and opened the floor.
Oracle, what's the status of the auditorium's AV system?
Mark's reply was immediate, accompanied by a string of schematics.
Same system as the gym, but with upgraded security protocols after the rally.
Direct access to the presentation server is fire walled.
The data is uploaded to a local terminal in the auditorium's control booth the morning of the event. Physical access is the only viable path.
Ghost, I typed, turning my attention to Leo. The control booth. Layout. Security.
Leo, who had once been a bundle of nerves, responded with surprising clarity.
Second floor, back of the auditorium. One door, electronic lock. Security patrol passes every fifteen minutes.
There's a ventilation shaft that leads into the ceiling space directly above it. It's tight, but possible.
His time as my mart slave had given him an encyclopaedic knowledge of the school's service routes.
Havoc, I typed. We need a diversion. Something to pull the patrol away at a critical moment.
Jake's response was eager.
The theatre department's storage is on the same floor. They have a machine that creates theatrical fog.
I could 'accidentally' set it off. Create a panic about another 'electrical fire.'
It was a solid, if uninspired, idea. He was learning.
The plan was set. A nighttime infiltration.
Jake would create a diversion. Leo, guided by Mark, would enter the control booth via the vents and upload Maya's new, altered presentation files.
It was risky, placing the most critical part of the mission in the hands of the pawn I had almost gotten killed.
But his loyalty was the highest. I needed to see if that loyalty had translated into competence.
I needed to push him to 100.