Power Thief's Revenge [BL]-Chapter 165: Ride or Die

Chapter 165: Ride or Die
There was stunned silence for a while.
Then came the shouts, in overlapping demands, in microphones thrust toward his face as if proximity alone would force answers out of him.
"Mr. Potentia, when did you first—"
"Is it true your Guild covered—"
"Was Raphael Mirasol—"
"Were all the names you mentioned that of your suspected paramours—"
The cameras flashed in a frenzy, ers leaning forward like a tide of hungry mouths.
Hermes didn’t stop. He stepped away from the podium, ignoring the calls, ignoring the way every word sharpened into accusations.
Golden Apple security surged in around him, a wall of dark suits and earpieces. They cut a path through the chaos, guiding him down the aisle and back through the doors before the press could claw more pieces out of him.
The din followed him down the hall, muffled only when the doors shut behind them.
Far across the city, Raphael was watching.
On the ninety-ninth floor of Fiery Cross, the flat glow of the television lit his immaculate room. He sat at ease in his armchair, posture perfect, while the screen replayed Hermes’s announcement on a loop. ers shouted, their voices distorted by replays, captions crawling across the bottom of the screen like ants.
The robot maid wheeled over, holding a porcelain teapot and a tray of steaming cups. Raphael took one without looking away from the screen.
"Thank you," he murmured.
The tea was fragrant, sweet, delicate. He sipped, and his lips curved into a smile.
***
The elevator doors closed with a heavy clunk, sealing Hermes back in the world of steel and tinted glass. His pulse still ran hot from the press, but at least here it was quieter. Ymir, Magni, Aphrodite, and Somner crowded in with him, the five of them boxed tight, their reflections caught in the polished walls.
For a long second no one spoke. Then they all exhaled at once, a rough, tired chorus.
"You did good, Brother Modi!" Magni said with a thumbs up.
Somner nodded. "Kept it short, kept it simple. Didn’t let them drag you into the weeds."
"Let the media buzz themselves out," Ymir added. "Better they spin theories off half-truths than dig out worse ones."
Aphrodite’s eyes flicked to him, soft behind the lenses of his glasses. "You didn’t throw Golden Apple under the bus. That matters. They’ll appreciate it."
Hermes leaned back against the elevator wall, letting their words sink in. He wanted to believe them. Wanted to believe he hadn’t just carved his own grave in front of a thousand flashing cameras.
Ymir gave a sharp nod, but his voice carried a warning edge. "Don’t relax yet. It’s only day one. You’ll need to brace for the fallout."
Hermes let out a humorless laugh. "When do I not?"
No one argued with that.
***
The Ninth Department offices weren’t quiet. They never were. Even on a bad day there was chatter, laughter, Victorina’s booming voice rattling the walls.
But when Hermes walked in, the room was subdued.
Victorina sat perched on a chair, tutu puffed around her massive frame, her enormous biceps taut as cables. She wasn’t smiling. Not even humming. Just watching him enter with her head tilted, lips pressed together.
Cam looked up from his desk, eyes narrowing. His usual side-eye had sharpened into something colder, suspicion carved into his face.
Fiero had his hands stuffed in his pockets, staring up at the ceiling as though something fascinating was lodged in the vents.
And Vera, draped in black as always, sat cross-legged with her phone in hand, fingers scrolling, face unreadable.
Eris was the first to break the silence. She leaned back in her chair, boots up on the desk, arms crossed. Her grin was sharp and condescending, but her tone was sharper.
"So," she drawled. "All this time... all of you knew. And you just kept smiling at us, lying through your teeth."
Hermes stiffened. His squad flanked him, but he raised a hand before they could speak.
"I’m sorry," he said, and meant it. His voice was steady, low. "I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you sooner. I was afraid it would change things."
The silence stretched uncomfortably.
Then...
Victorina let out a giggle, high and irrepressible, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"Vic!" Fiero barked, elbowing her. "C’mon, we talked about this. We’re brooding!"
That set her laughing harder, tutu bouncing as she doubled over. Even Vera’s lips curved in the faintest smile, though she didn’t look up from her phone.
Eris shook her head, chuckling now. She stood, crossed the room, and hooked Hermes into a headlock.
"You think you’re slick, huh?" she said, grinding her knuckles into his scalp. "We noticed ages ago."
Hermes staggered, caught between relief and exasperation. "Noticed—what?"
"Strands of Ymir’s hair frozen in your ice cubes," Eris said, grinning. "Magni’s skin peels mixed in your coal snacks. You think we don’t look?"
"Cam’s Snapshot pegged it months ago," Victorina chimed in between giggles. "He just kept his mouth shut. Thought it’d be funny watching you squirm."
Cam smirked faintly. "I wanted to see if you’d own up."
Fiero ruffled Hermes’s hair once Eris let him go. "Should’ve told us sooner, man. We had your back the whole time."
Hermes blinked, staring at them all. The weight that had been strangling his chest since the conference cracked, loosening. Relief rushed in so fast it almost made him dizzy.
Victorina’s grin softened as she leaned forward, resting her chin in one massive hand. "You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re part of Cloud Nine now. We’re in this shit together."
Vera finally glanced up, her dark eyes sharp. "But fewer secrets, from now on. You owe us that much."
Hermes nodded. "Yeah. You’re right."
So he told them. Not everything. He didn’t mention Raphael’s involvement with Eirwyn, the Thirteen Stripes, the history buried under constitutional law. But the general shape of it. The offer. The farce of fake dating. The promise of something bigger lurking behind it.
He expected laughter again, or more suspicion. Instead, the room turned thoughtful.
Eris crossed her arms. "If it’s a farce, then it’s a farce we’ll help you sell. The media wants a story, we’ll give them one."
Victorina pumped a fist. "We’ll make them swoon!"
"Or puke," Fiero muttered.
"Same effect," Victorina said, unbothered.
Vera adjusted her bracelets, her expression flat. "Just remember, Hermes. Public image is one thing. The fight underneath is another. Don’t mix them up."
Somner leaned back against the wall, watching the squad’s energy settle around Hermes like armor. "Guess that’s that, then. You’ve got your cover. Now we drink."
And they did.
Later, in the dim warmth of a bar tucked beneath the Ninth Department, their laughter spilled over glasses and low music. Ymir drank with his usual restraint, Magni and Victorina arm-wrestling in the corner, and Somner and Fiero placing bets. Aphrodite sat quietly beside Hermes, his presence steady, anchoring.
Hermes looked around the table, at faces lit by neon glow and tilted glasses. For the first time in weeks, the fear in his chest loosened enough to let something else in.
His gratitude for true friends who were ride or die in this trying times.