Hero Party's Villain: What's the Point If Heroines Are Not Broken?-Chapter 20- Velmore Academy

"Do you know this man, young miss?" one of the guards stepped forward and asked respectfully. More security personnel, hospital staff, and local police were starting to arrive on the scene, entering the premises one after another.

It was clear this area would soon be crowded, and her first priority was to get the young miss out of there quickly.

"Yes... somewhat. He’s the parent of one of my students," Hela replied calmly, brushing her hair back. "Inform the authorities quietly and keep things under control."

Without another word, she walked toward one of the black sedans nearby. Her male bodyguards immediately got out and opened the door for her. As she stepped in, her expression was unreadable—her jaw clenched beneath a faint smile.

She had seen something in his eyes, in the way that entire moment played out, that thrilled her. Something told her exactly what might have happened.

Still, not everything made sense.

Her father was dead. That girl had been hugging the man who was supposedly involved. And he—he had looked at Hela directly, even calling her name casually, without addressing her by title. That alone left her unsettled.

Why had she ignored him all these years?

"Send me all the details on Satteus—from the Psychology department, bench number 48," she ordered. She didn’t even remember his full name. Just a vague memory of where he sat—quiet, near the back of the classroom. Unlike the other students who tried to catch her eye or act interesting, he had stayed focused, detached.

And because of that... she’d never paid attention to him. Not until now.

’Hm?’, And suddenly as she thought about how she was aware of all of the students under her, especially those men, she felt it confusing as to why she had not yet noticed that young man in the classroom or even tried to test his mental capacity.

It was surprising to her that she missed someone like him in the classroom.

"Yes, miss," her assistant replied instantly, already tapping on a tablet as she followed Hela into the car. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Back on the scene, no one seemed to notice the small black insect crawling silently along the ground. It was ant-sized, almost invisible, clinging to the dark fabric of the guards’ uniforms.

They also didn’t realize that the man lying dead on top of the car had begun to leak a thick, black tar-like liquid. It dripped slowly, blending into the black paint of the sedan.

Bit by bit, it seeped down, sticking to the boots of the guards standing nearby—only those assigned to Hela.

None of them reacted.

The crowd had been kept at bay, but something was clearly off—only no one saw it yet.

Vroom

The engine started. The car carrying Hela pulled away from the scene. She left behind the body, the confusion, and whatever formalities remained. Her people would handle everything from here.

And about the inquiry of the police and local authority who might question him after checking the local cameras and footage, she would handle it all. After all, until she was done with him, no one could touch him.

Not even the government to a certain extent.

"Turn the car towards the Academy...." Hela ordered while with her figure disappearing behind the black glasses of the car’s windshield, she just gave the last glance towards the hospital building before turning her head forward, as there was a grin on her face, seemingly the one she had when she found a prey.

---

The afternoon sun filtered through the swaying trees as the lazy breeze carried the scent of the canal drifting nearby. Students lounged across the grassy patches outside Velmore College, bags tossed aside, shoes half-kicked off, minds lingering somewhere between lectures and daydreams.

The quiet murmur of conversations mixed with the occasional splash of water birds fluttering across the canal’s surface.

Among the small groups scattered around the open grounds, two young men walked side by side along the stone path that curved near the waterline.

One was broad-shouldered, wearing the college’s blue-white uniform shirt with sleeves rolled tightly around his thick biceps. He walked with a laid-back gait, a slight swagger in his steps, occasionally tossing a glance toward the passing girls with a smirk.

His skin was a few tones deeper from regular workouts under the sun, and the gym tag on his backpack swung with every step.

"Hey," he said, suddenly stopping and flexing his arm dramatically, the veins along his forearm popping as he curled it in front of his friend. "What do you think? Do you really think Professor Hela liked my biceps? Didn’t she compliment me the other day?"

His friend, much leaner and paler, didn’t stop walking. A book rested in his hand—Modern Cognitive Psychology: Vol. II—as he turned a page with a thumb and adjusted his glasses using one finger.

His uniform shirt was perfectly tucked in, collar stiff, not a wrinkle out of place.

"Riven, seriously?" he muttered without looking up.

The muscular one—Riven—grinned wider, keeping pace beside him.

"I swear, she gave me this look during the last class. Right when I was stretching."

The thinner one finally glanced at him, brows pulled slightly together behind the lenses. He shook his head, expression caught between tired sarcasm and genuine disbelief.

"I was seated beside you, dumbass. That calrifies more about her taste for intelligent men like me," he said plainly, flicking the page again. "Not muscle heads."

He paused.

"So piss off."

Riven burst into laughter, nudging him with a light shove on the shoulder—

Bam!

"Arghh—damn you all!"

But attracting both of their gazes was a voice of someone yelling, causing both of them to halt and look in that direction, where they saw a scene unfolding just a few dozen feet away, beneath the shade of a sycamore tree lining the canal.

A thin boy, glasses barely hanging from his face, was pinned against the rough bark of the tree.

His school uniform was wrinkled, one of his sleeves torn, and dirt had smudged the side of his cheek where he’d probably been shoved to the ground earlier.

Two bulky seniors stood in front of him, both wearing the same Velmore College crest but carrying themselves more like they owned the grounds than attended them.

One of them—a lanky girl with tied-up hair and a literature book clutched in her hand—stood to the side, laughing obnoxiously.

"Ah, it’s Arfuruute!" she shouted with a wide grin, mocking him with the exaggerated tone of a stage actor. "Damn, was he seriously dreaming of being some gun-wielding hero in another world? Hahaha—someone throw him in a ditch, he might really come back without a mechanical arm, pfft!"

The boy against the tree winced as one of the thugs struck him lightly in the gut, not enough to seriously injure—but enough to keep him folded forward, gasping.

Another student in the group, a taller guy with bleached hair and thick forearms, chuckled and stepped closer to the boy.

Riven’s brow furrowed slightly. The smile on his face dropped as his arms lowered.

The bleached-hair guy—Zekk, one of the seniors known for having zero chill—glanced in their direction and seemed to spot Riven. He didn’t stop. Instead, his smirk widened.

He grabbed the scrawny boy’s glasses from his face and held them up between his fingers like a fragile insect.

"Isn’t it funny," Zekk said, turning the glasses in his grip while looking beside Riven, "how these punks with blind cockroach eyes start to play piano the moment these glasses are removed?"

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