[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Neville grabbed the end of the rope, silently doing a constrictor knot around the tube of untouched nutrient solution. His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the adrenaline and anger coursing through his veins.

"Working late?" Neville called out calmly from a distance, keeping his items hidden.

The man was visibly startled up but because it was still dark, Neville didn’t know who the other person was. But when the man looked at him, he just laughed, a harsh sound that made Neville’s skin crawl.

"Does it matter?" The man continued as he sat back down, carelessly resting his head in the headrest. "You’ve been poking around where you shouldn’t. Some people don’t appreciate that."

[Host, do you know how to fight?] Shelly asked nervously, her avatar hiding behind the cubicle wall.

’I’ve never been in a fight, but I do know some rope tricks,’ Neville’s lips curled into a small, secretive smile as he thought back. He remembered the summer he spent learning at Boy Scouts, adjusting his grip on the makeshift weapon.

"Nothing personal, Hope. But you’ve seen too much." The man pulled out something from his pocket.

Neville’s body moved before his mind fully processed the threat. He swayed the weighted rope in a perfect arc; the heavy nutrient solution tube acted as an impromptu flail. It caught the man square in the temple.

Thwack!

"Ugh!" The man stumbled with his hand holding his head, but Neville was already moving.

The nutrient solution sloshed quietly in its container as Neville swung the rope for another loop, wrapping it around the man’s neck like a serpent.

Neville yanked the other end hard, his smaller frame using leverage rather than brute strength. His fingers worked frantically to secure a one-handed knot before tugging it tight.

"GARGH!"

The man’s choking sounds echoed through the empty office space. His wild thrashing only made things worse—the rolling chair he had been sitting in tipped backward from his struggles.

BAM!

The headrest slammed into the wall separator with enough force to dent the plaster. Neville winced at the noise but didn’t let up.

This was no time for hesitation.

The man’s face must’ve been turning into an alarming shade of purple based on his gurgling noises. As a means to survive, the man managed to plant his feet and started to rise.

Panic shot through Neville’s system—if this guy got free, he was done for. What kind of omega would fight in close combat? Not like he was trained for this either. The odds weren’t exactly in his favor.

Neville lunged forward, using the remaining length of rope to bind the man’s torso. But he miscalculated the distance, coming too close.

The man’s fingers tangled in his carefully styled hazel-brown hair, yanking hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"Got you now, you little—" the man snarled, trying to get a good look at his attacker’s face.

Neville struggled wildly, using the rope to bind the man’s hands even as his scalp screamed in protest. The man wasn’t letting him go, his grip tightening until Neville swore he could feel individual hairs being ripped from their follicles.

[Host, you’re going to go bald!] Shelly shrieked in his mind, her concern more about aesthetics than actual safety.

’You’re the one getting bald after this!’ Neville mentally snarled back.

As the man’s fingers dug deeper, Neville made a decision. If he was going down, this bastard was coming with him.

With every ounce of strength his omega body possessed, he grabbed the armrest of the chair and shoved it sideways, using his weight to tip them both over.

BANG!

The man’s head cracked against the marble floor with a sickening thud. Blood immediately began pooling beneath his skull, but his grip on Neville’s hair remained iron-tight, if anything growing more desperate.

Through the haze of pain, Neville’s hand fumbled around for anything useful. His fingers found something. Without hesitation, he drove his fist directly into the man’s crotch.

The effect was instantaneous.

The man’s hands released Neville’s hair as he curled into himself, a high-pitched whine escaping his throat.

Neville scrambled backward, his hands already reaching for the handcuffs he had tucked into his belt earlier.

The metal clicked satisfyingly around the man’s wrists.

But it was short-lived.

The man’s leg shot out, catching Neville directly in the shin.

"ARGH!" The pain was immediate and intense, his skin already beginning to purple with what would be a horrible bruise.

Something dark and vicious rose in Neville’s heart. His suppressed frustration, of pretending, of smiling through impossible demands and other people’s—it all crystallized into pure, undiluted rage.

His hand was already reaching into the system mall’s interface, pulling out a heavy acrylic block that materialized in his grip.

The weight felt good. Solid. Satisfying.

Neville crawled near the man’s struggling legs, dodging, and brought it down on the man’s ankle with all his strength.

CRACK!

"AHHH!" The man’s scream was music to Neville’s ears. But he wasn’t done.

The other ankle received the same treatment, the acrylic block coming down once, twice, three times until the man’s legs were useless, twisted of sorts.

Breathing hard, Neville set about securing his prisoner properly.

Another constrictor knot wrapped the man’s ankles to the chair’s support pole. Then he hauled the chair upright—no easy feat given their size difference—and positioned it under one of the nearby emergency lights.

Neville felt he deserved more restraints and bought another set of rope from the system mall, binding the man’s torso and arms to the chair until he looked like a ship’s mast wrapped for a storm.

"Phew." Neville wiped sweat from his forehead, grabbed another chair, and collapsed into it. His entire body ached, adrenaline slowly giving way to exhaustion.

[Host, you’re safe!] Shelly popped out, her shell form spinning in the air before she caught sight of the man’s state. [Ugh, host, is getting physical really necessary? I don’t like action scenes if they’re not bed scenes! (╥﹏╥)]

’Neither do I.’ Neville worked to calm his racing heart, though a smile played at his lips. ’But Shelly, this isn’t about getting physical. It’s about venting. Healthy mind, healthy life.’

His smile turned sharp, dangerous in a way that would have shocked anyone who knew him. ’Besides, no one will question me for attacking him. I got some damage too.’

He stood, stretching despite the limp from his injured shin. Every muscle protested, reminding him that his current body wasn’t built for combat. ’Did you get everything?’

[I did, host!] Shelly exclaimed, projecting a holographic display of recorded footage—every second from the moment Neville came into the subsequent fight, captured from multiple angles, all while hiding the fact that the items he used came out of nowhere.

’Good.’ Neville scrolled through his contacts, considering who to call.

The authorities? No, this was an internal Maxwell Corporation matter.

Security? They would ask too many questions about why he was here at four in the morning.

Then he remembered—Bryan Stewart, chief secretary and the only person who arrived at the office earlier than even Grayson himself.

When did that guy even find time to sleep? Neville had his doubts.

He had Shelly place the call. Bryan picked up on the second ring.

"Mr. Hope?" Bryan’s voice was alert, showing no signs of having just woken up.

"Where are you?" Neville cut straight to the point without minding their positions while checking the ropes one more time.

"About ten minutes from the company building. W—"

A shaft of light from a computer monitor illuminated the man’s face, fully revealing his face and slowly regaining consciousness.

It was the logistics guy who was with Ethan before.

"Come up here. Now." Neville hung up without ceremony.

Time for phase two.

The logistics man’s face was a mess of blood and bruises, his breathing labored through his broken nose.

"Oi." Neville’s voice dropped several octaves, channeling every gangster drama he had ever watched in his previous life.

"AAAH!" The logistics man cried as Neville stepped forward, planting his heel directly on the man’s thigh and digging in.

The logistics man’s eyes flew open, immediately focusing on Neville with pure hatred. "Ptooey!"

The glob of spit hit Neville square in the face. He stood there for a moment, feeling it slide down his cheek.

[Host, this man is quite fierce,] Shelly commented, sounding almost impressed.

’You don’t think I’m fierce enough?’ Neville shot back mentally, wiping the saliva away with deliberate slowness.

Shelly wisely remained silent.

"You won’t get anything from me, Hope," the logistics man sneered, though his split lip somewhat ruined the effect.

"What can I expect from trash?" Neville’s tone was conversational, almost bored, as he cleaned his face with a handkerchief. "Nothing."

"You think you’re so great, so special?" The logistics man’s laugh was bitter, tinged with pain. "You’re nothing too."

Neville almost laughed at the irony.

"Not like I want to be," he shrugged.

"No, you want it to be. You’re proud of this, aren’t you?" The logistics man’s eyes blazed with resentment. "I’ve seen you, always begging for help from Sarah and the others, always asking questions you should already know. You’re a parasite, Neville. You steal work from real professionals. You’re nothing but a fraud!"

"I stole someone else’s work?" Neville tilted his head, genuinely confused. His lips formed a slight pout—a habit he had developed to appear less threatening. "No, I did the work. I did the work better. That’s not stealing, that’s just being more competent than you."

Then he dragged the chair toward the alarm system mounted on the wall while limping. The logistics man was heavy, but Neville didn’t care. He secured the rope to the pull-up bar installed next to the emergency panel.

Turning back to his prisoner, Neville’s smile turned cold. "I’ve been called worse, but fraud is such a strong word, especially coming from someone like you."

The logistics man’s voice dropped to a threatening whisper. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"You know what?" Neville studied the man with mock realization, his ocean-blue eyes glinting dangerously behind his glasses. "You keep harping on about the morality of this work. But guess what? I don’t even know your name, but you know mine. So who’s to say I’m not really special?"

The logistics man, seemingly regained a bit of strength, began to struggle again. The chair was creaking ominously. "If they find out you touched me, they will hunt you down. You’ll never see the light of day again."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever." Neville waved dismissively, pulling out his light brain.

His fingers flew across the screen, pulling up file after file. "Do you even realize that your boss already threw you under the bus? He chose you to take the fall because he knew you were replaceable."

"What are you talking about?" Confusion replaced anger in the logistics man’s voice.

"Hm?" Neville turned off the privacy settings of the light brain holographic display and turned it toward him, innocence dripping from every syllable. "Haha, it seems like that person already knew you were going to fail. He just needed to make sure you fell alone. At least I’m smart enough to know when I’m going to fall alone or with everybody else."

The screen displayed a comprehensive log of the security breach, with the logistics man’s credentials plastered across every unauthorized access. His digital footprints were everywhere—amateur work, really. Whoever set him up didn’t even try to be discreet about it.

"He said there wasn’t going to be a trace." The logistics man’s voice cracked, disbelief and betrayal warring on his bloodied face.

"Well, he was wrong." Neville patted the man’s shoulder with mock sympathy. "Because he picked the wrong target to mess with."

The logistics man slumped in his bonds, the fight draining out of him as the reality of his situation sank in.

He had been played, used as a disposable pawn in someone else’s game.

Meanwhile, Neville’s fingers danced across the light brain’s surface, tracing the data trail back to its source. Each breadcrumb led deeper into Maxwell Corporation’s labyrinthine network, revealing a web of deceit that made his stomach turn.