System Mission: Seduce the Final Boss [BL]

Chapter 156: I am a villainous leader now!

"Ouch..."

The word barely escaped Blake’s mouth before another sharp pain shot through his side.

He groaned.

As always, Spoon couldn’t be bothered to teleport him somewhere convenient.

His bed waspparently too much effort.

Instead, he had been dumped unceremoniously onto the cold kitchen floor.

Blake sighed, planting both hands on the tiles before slowly pushing himself upright.

At first, everything seemed... manageable.

His breathing was shallow, but steady, his head wasn’t spinning, his arms and legs still obeyed him.

Basically, compared to the last few times he’d been injured, this honestly wasn’t that bad.

Then he tried standing.

"...Ah, no, this is definitely bad."

The moment he straightened his back, an agonizing pain exploded across the right side of his chest.

It felt as though someone had wedged a knife between his ribs and twisted it.

Blake immediately bent over again.

"Holy..."

Even breathing hurt.

Taking a full breath sent another wave of pain through his chest.

He gritted his teeth.

"Seriously..."

Every step became an ordeal.

Instead of walking normally, he found himself hunched over, one hand pressed against the kitchen counter for support while the other instinctively protected his ribs.

He looked less like a teenager and more like an old man whose back had given out decades ago.

By sheer stubbornness alone, Blake eventually reached the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Then removed his cap.

Next came the Blank Mask, which was thrown into the sink before dissolving into particles of light (for once Spoon didn’t need an order), revealing his real face beneath.

Blake slowly lifted his shirt, his eyes widening.

"...What the hell..."

A massive bruise had already begun spreading across the right side of his ribcage.

Dark purple.

Almost black in some places.

The entire area looked swollen, the skin stretched tightly over the injury. Near the center, one section looked... wrong.

It wasn’t dramatically sticking out, but something definitely wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Blake gingerly pressed around the bruise.

"...!"

He immediately regretted it.

Pain shot through his chest so violently that his knees nearly buckled.

He grabbed the sink to steady himself.

’Yeah, I’m definitely not fine.’

His face, surprisingly, looked much better.

Apart from a couple of shallow scratches near the corner of his mouth and a small cut on his chin, he looked almost untouched.

It was deceptive.

Anyone looking at him would probably assume he’d simply fallen over.

Meanwhile, every breath felt like punishment.

Blake stared at himself in the mirror.

’Should I call an ambulance?’

He really didn’t want to go that far but, if one of his ribs had actually shifted, and if it had punctured something, he couldn’t exactly ignore it.

Today was Saturday.

He’d chosen a Friday evening on purpose.

Weekends gave him time to disappear without needing to explain why he wasn’t at school.

And, more importantly, he had absolutely no intention of staying at Blake’s family houses, not after he was bothered that much by basically all of them.

Still, the operators were going to ask questions, so he needed a believable explanation.

Not something involving another person.

If anyone else had supposedly been there, the paramedics would naturally ask where they were, why they hadn’t called emergency services, or why they hadn’t stayed to help.

Blake slowly limped back into the kitchen, one hand constantly pressed against his side.

The pain made him grit his teeth with nearly every step.

After a moment of looking around, his eyes landed on the small folding step ladder tucked beside the refrigerator.

"That’ll do."

With far more effort than he would’ve liked, he dragged it beneath the overhead cabinets.

He climbed exactly one step before immediately climbing back down.

There was no point making the injuries worse.

Instead, he grabbed a bottle of kitchen cleaner, a rag, and placed both on top of the cabinet.

Then he deliberately tipped the ladder over.

It crashed loudly onto the tiled floor.

Still not enough.

Blake looked around again before taking a ceramic mug from the drying rack.

"...Sorry."

Crash!

The mug shattered across the floor, pieces scattering beneath the fallen ladder.

The scene practically explained itself.

Someone cleaning.

Ladder slips.

Person falls sideways into the kitchen counter before collapsing.

It was simple and believable, even if well, it was barely 4 a.m., but at most he would only look crazy.

He carefully lowered himself onto the floor beside the overturned ladder.

Immediately, another stab of pain shot through his ribs.

"Damn it!"

Only then did he take out his phone.

His thumb hovered over the emergency number for a brief moment before pressing it.

The operator answered almost immediately.

"Emergency services. What is your emergency?"

"Hi..."

Blake winced as he spoke.

"I think I kinda broke my ribs."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was cleaning the tops of the kitchen cabinets, standing on a step ladder, but then it slipped, and I fell sideways. My ribs hit the edge of the counter, and then I landed on the floor."

The explanation came surprisingly easily.

Mostly because everything except the fall itself was true.

The operator immediately began asking standard questions.

His full name.

His address.

Whether he was conscious.

Whether he could breathe.

If he was bleeding.

If he’d hit his head.

Blake answered each one as calmly as he could.

"No, I don’t think I hit my head, breathing hurts a lot though, but I can breathe."

"Any coughing up blood?"

"No."

"Can you move your fingers and toes?"

"Um, yeah."

"The ambulance is already on its way."

Blake slowly leaned his head back against the cabinet behind him.

Only then did he truly relax.

His body finally realized the danger had passed.

And with it, everything he’d been forcing himself not to think about came rushing back.

Rows of unconscious people suspended inside blue liquid.

The alien.

Trail-X.

The helicopter.

The spinning rotor only inches from his body.

His breathing became uneven.

"Sir?"

The operator’s voice sounded distant now.

"Are you still with me?"

Blake opened his mouth.

Instead of answering, a sob escaped.

He immediately covered his eyes.

"..."

He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

It simply started.

Everything he’d witnessed over the past few hours finally crashed into him all at once.

"I’m sorry..."

His voice trembled.

"I..."

The operator’s tone softened immediately.

"That’s alright, I just need you to stay with me. Can you hear my voice?"

Blake nodded instinctively before realizing she couldn’t see him.

"Yeah."

"Good, I’d like you to stay on the phone. Help is only a few minutes away, can you keep talking to me?"

Blake tried but, instead, he simply stared at the ceiling.

The adrenaline that had kept him moving since the infiltration was gone.

Only pain and exhaustion remained.

And the horrifying images that refused to leave his mind.

The operator continued speaking, asking simple questions every so often just to make sure he remained conscious.

Blake answered fewer and fewer of them.

His eyelids felt impossibly heavy.

"Blake?"

His vision blurred.

The last thing he heard before darkness swallowed him was the faint sound of someone pounding on his apartment door.

***

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Blake slowly opened his eyes.

White ceiling, fluorescent lights, curtains...

"Again..."

He sighed weakly.

Somehow, hospitals were becoming strangely familiar.

The room was quiet.

Only the rhythmic beeping of a monitor interrupted the silence.

A nurse noticed him moving almost immediately.

"Oh, you’re awake."

She walked over with a small smile.

"Good morning."

Blake blinked.

"Good morning. What time is it?"

"A little after eleven."

She first checked the monitor beside his bed before shining a small light into each eye.

"Can you tell me your full name?"

"Blake Ashford."

"And your date of birth?"

"The eleventh of November."

The nurse nodded approvingly before checking his pulse, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation.

"Any dizziness?"

"A little."

"Nausea?"

"Nope, for now."

"Pain?"

Blake looked at her.

She raised an eyebrow.

"...That bad?"

"Very."

"I’ll let the doctor know."

A few minutes later, another woman entered carrying a tablet.

She pulled up a chair beside the bed.

"Good afternoon, Blake. I’m Dr. Ellis. I’ve reviewed your scans."

Blake straightened slightly.

"So... how bad is it?"

She smiled reassuringly.

"It could’ve been much worse. You fractured two ribs on your right side."

Blake nodded slowly.

"One of those fractures is displaced. In other words, the broken pieces shifted slightly out of their normal position."

"So I wasn’t imagining it..."

"The displaced rib caused a very small puncture to your right lung."

Blake’s eyes widened.

"...Seriously?"

She quickly raised a hand.

"Fortunately, it was only a tiny puncture, it caused a small pneumothorax. A small amount of air escaped around the lung, but it hasn’t progressed."

"So no surgery?"

"None, we’ll monitor you closely, but your lung is already beginning to stabilize on its own."

Blake sighed in relief.

"Your treatment is mostly conservative, so you’ll receive pain medication. You need to avoid strenuous activity for at least six weeks. So no heavy lifting or contact sports. And I strongly recommend sleeping partially upright for a while."

She handed him a small plastic device.

"This is an incentive spirometer. You’ll use it several times every hour while awake."

Blake looked at it.

"Why?"

"Because breathing deeply hurts. And when people avoid taking deep breaths, they’re more likely to develop pneumonia. So, even if it’s uncomfortable, you need to use it."

Blake nodded.

"You’ll remain under observation today. If tomorrow’s X-ray looks stable, you’ll likely be discharged on Monday morning."

"Thank you."

The doctor stood.

"Oh, one more thing."

"If you experience sudden worsening chest pain or severe shortness of breath after discharge... come back immediately."

Then she left.

Silence settled over the room once again.

Blake hesitated before asking the nurse,

"...Did anyone come to visit?"

The nurse glanced toward the chart, then shook his head.

"No."

Blake quietly sighed.

’Good.’

After the concussion, he’d removed both of his parents from his emergency contact list.

He’d rather recover alone than see either of them.

Looking outside the window, Blake noticed he was on the ground floor.

People occasionally walked past outside.

For some reason, that comforted him.

’So nobody knows for now, huh?’

Myles somehow always seemed to find out whenever Blake got seriously injured.

The fact he hadn’t appeared yet meant word hadn’t spread.

Blake slowly pushed himself upright, his eyes drifting toward the IV attached to his arm.

"...Ugh."

He physically looked away. For some reason, they actually disgusted him.

Just looking at the thin tube disappearing beneath his skin made him feel... contaminated, as though something foreign was crawling inside him.

He shuddered.

"Gross."

Unable to look at it any longer, Blake turned toward the window.

His thoughts naturally drifted back underground.

AL-TECH.

AFE.

A-exp.

Both facilities clearly served different purposes.

AFE contained conscious people, experimenting on them.

Meanwhile, at a-exp, there had also been countless people, but those people floated inside blue liquid, unconscious.

’Eh, maybe... AFE handles the experimentation itself, and once the procedures succeed, the survivors are brought to a-exp?’

Blake scratched the back of his head.

"I’m probably not too far off, right? Unlike Asher...’

That thought immediately irritated him again.

’Seriously, how does he not question any of this?’

He hadn’t seemed remotely surprised that an underground facility existed.

Only surprised that Blake mentioned that particular one.

Which implied, he already knew underground facilities existed, just, not beneath a-exp.

’You’re hiding something though, most definitely!’

He sighed.

During the conversation with Trail-X, he’d mixed lies with truth, enough truth to make him question Alfred, at least.

Groaning, Blake reached for the television remote.

He was feeling nauseated again, so maybe distracting himself would help.

The TV flickered on.

Immediately, news broadcast filled the screen.

Blake’s eyes widened.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

The anchor spoke in a serious tone.

"Authorities have identified what they believe to be a newly emerging extremist organization."

An emblem appeared on the screen.

Large white letters.

M.O.S.A.I.C.

"The name stands for Masked Organization for Subversion, Anarchy, Insurgency, and Coercion. Officials believe this group is responsible for the multiple attacks on AL-TECH’s facilities over recent months."

Blake blinked.

"What?"

The broadcast continued.

One photograph appeared, then another, then another one...

Security footage.

Camera stills.

Blurry images.

Every single picture was him, basically, but with different masks, during different infiltrations and from different angles.

In some, it was obvious that "I’ll Sneak For My Lover" was on, but in others, he could see himself perfectly, without any blurry, censored feeling.

Blake slowly lowered the remote.

’Hey, I don’t have an organization...’