The Beelzebub Files, released to the world by an unnamed vigilante, sparked massive debate. However, the discussion wasn’t about the shocking, unprecedented footage, but rather about the grim validation of humanity’s inherent evil—a truth many had long suspected. It was akin to spotting a cockroach at home: for every one you see, there are likely thousands hidden nearby, silently scuttling beneath your feet by day and crawling over your bed at night.

The so-called "monsters" were always meant to include humans.

The unnamed vigilante’s file did not make it onto the superhero ranking lists—nor the supervillain ones. If it had, the level of public discourse it incited would have easily catapulted it to the top of the latter. This wasn’t surprising. For one, the vigilante’s style alone ruled out a place among heroes. He had left no identifiable image, no trace of superpowers, and his methods were closer to those of a highly trained assassin. This very ambiguity was what fascinated the public.

Before the Meteor Shower Even, people’s imagination of superheroes didn’t necessarily require superpowers. The defining traits were more about appearances, genius, technology, wealth, personality, and rivalries—an interplay of qualities that created an almost magical image.

Think of a glowing arc reactor on someone’s chest, a sleek black cape over a skin-tight suit, or a flashy sports car. Villains followed similar rules: a bald head, green hair with clown makeup, an infinity gauntlet, or even culinary skills could serve as iconic traits. What truly defined these extraordinary figures, however, was their unwavering courage to sacrifice—or to let others sacrifice—for their cause.

The unnamed vigilante evoked that same traditional archetype long celebrated in fiction. Unlike the modern reality of superhumans, his image represented the kind of legend that ordinary people could strive for—something achievable through determination and skill.

Many admirers eagerly awaited a formal statement or further actions from the vigilante. Until then, they struggled to assign him a definitive and iconic title. Everyone had their own nickname for him, ranging from "Mosquito Slayer" and "Maggot Decorator" to "Swamp Sweeper." The most popular shorthand, however, was simply "V," capitalized to represent "Vigilante." The letter "V" already had an iconic association with heroism, though it remained unclear whether this vigilante operated exclusively in New Orleans. What was certain was that his debut strike had already become legendary.

V for what? The public continued to wait for answers.

※※※

The chef from Westlake Restaurant again carried a bento up the private elevator to the president office on the top floor of Grimm Tower. The world’s richest man was, as usual, sprawled over his desk, eagerly awaiting his meal.

“Do you actually like eating bentos? My hand’s injured, and I’m forbidden from working. Sunny Jie made an exception for you, but I just used the restaurant’s standard ingredients—nothing special,” Nemo commented.

Of course, he didn’t charge the billionaire any extra. Nemo now believes that Matthew isn't picky, but the way he enjoys his food so much still feels a bit fake.

“One phone call, and it’s delivered—meat, vegetables, rice, soup—all included. No need to make reservations, dress up, drive, find a companion, browse a menu, or deal with the media tailing me. Super convenient. Plus, this lunch has the taste of privilege. I like it,” Matthew replied sincerely, a grain of rice clinging to the corner of his mouth.

Could this playboy still have a hint of a nerd’s practicality? Nemo idly scrolled through his phone while waiting for Matthew to finish his meal. Since returning from Lakeview Villa, Matthew had been so busy he practically lived in his office. This wasn’t surprising, especially with the Beelzebub Files shaking the world and dragging the Grimm Group into yet another whirlpool of morally ambiguous conspiracy theories. On top of that, Matthew had to worry about Nemo’s latent superpowers and the question of their control.

Of course, Nemo wasn’t visiting Grimm Tower for delivery tips. The bento was merely a cover, something Matthew had begged him to bring along for appearances.

Whenever Nemo came to see Matthew Grimm, it was always to discuss matters of trouble.

“Before my roommate gets wheeled into your hospital, we should finalize the deal we discussed at Lakeview Villa. I don’t want any extra distractions before we start.” Nemo was referring to the bed-side negotiation they’d had regarding control over superpowers and the reason for his memory loss.

"You always take my every attempt at kindness as a form of coercion, Nemo. It’s a bit hurtful," the billionaire said elegantly, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief.

"You’re overthinking it. It's just the literal meaning—concern. Knowing who I am and what I’m about to do will help me focus on a particular direction, like developing a superpower. You know I really don’t like this kind of thing. I need a strong reason to force myself to practice it," Nemo said nonchalantly, crossing his arms.

"For the sake of justice?" The billionaire blinked.

"Haha, very funny." Nemo’s gaze remained serious, without a hint of humor.

" I once believed that you lacked any long-term plans for your life. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so casual about being the Grimm Group’s leader," Matthew said.

"Is that a problem?" Nemo felt frustrated. He had amnesia—living paycheck to paycheck was an achievement in itself. And if that wasn’t enough, He was navigating migration as a new immigrant, making everything even harder.

"A bit of a shame."

Nemo didn’t understand what Matthew meant by that, but it seemed like he truly believed it.

Perhaps Matthew Grimm was an extreme control freak, but Nemo Captain wasn’t much different.

"You speculate that my superpowers are linked to my mental state. If that's the case, then I’d like to find a more stable anchor for my self-identity, not just as a currently amnesiac, Taiwanese immigrant chef."

" I see your passion for learning, which is good," Matthew nodded in approval. "First, let's confirm the scope of the information we agreed on. I won’t reveal specific names or identities, but I can tell you the exact cause of your amnesia and key points from your past life, which should be enough to represent your behavioral traits."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Agreed."

"Would you like some whiskey? This is an important moment."

"Stop talking nonsense."

Matthew, however, poured himself a glass, a bottle that seemed expensive but only half-full—he clearly didn’t want to finish it all at once. Nemo couldn’t understand why Matthew felt the need to prepare himself mentally. Was he worried about getting his ass kicked?

"You used to belong to a secret group."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Don’t laugh. I’m telling the truth."

"I’m laughing because I’m wondering how I ended up with amnesia and got thrown into a border jungle. So, what was my role in the group? Chef assassin?" Nemo had joked about being part of a killer group when he first arrived in this parallel world, his contact list on his phone full of code names. Was this the feeling of being mocked by his past self?

"An all-around support role: reconnaissance, rescue, cover operations, protecting targets, surveillance, guiding new recruits, making quick decisions in emergencies... In short, you were always there when someone was needed. Leadership and combat weren’t your strengths."

"Oh, the go-to guy," Nemo summarized succinctly.

"Not exactly. You were important. The group had a high casualty rate, and veterans were rare. Sigh, maybe I’ve talked too much. In any case, you were good at keeping both yourself and others alive. That’s a rare and valuable trait," Matthew said with an exaggerated hand gesture, almost like a lotus.

Nemo wasn’t swayed by Matthew’s flowery words and pressed on with his questions: " I asked you once whether I was a good person or a bad one before I lost my memory. Now, let me rephrase—‘I’ have killed anyone, right?"

The golden-eyed man didn’t answer right away, instead asking, "Why do you think so?"

"Because you mentioned two key things: a high casualty rate and the ability to survive. I can’t figure out how to balance those two with kindness. To me, it’s usually a matter of kill or be killed. Isn’t that what veterans are all about?" Nemo asked, his tone even.

"Alright! The answer is ‘yes, you’ve killed.’ the one who asked me to track you down, and from my perspective, we all think you're a good person. Make sure you remember that."

"Was I forced to stay in that group?"

"Wow! The Q&A has suddenly turned against me. I’ll give you the privilege of a friend’s trust—you joined willingly, Nemo." Matthew ruffled his black hair, a look of frustration crossing his face.

"A good person who voluntarily joins a killing group?" Nemo tapped his fingers on the armrest.

Matthew felt that Nemo’s habitual small gesture was giving him the beginnings of a headache.

"It was a vigilante group. I can’t say more for now."

"Got it," Nemo said, switching his approach to test another theory. " So my group is related to that maggot killer in the swamp factory?"

"There’s still a certain class distinction between ordinary people and superhumans, for example, government agencies, paid experts, or hereditary masters. If the Beelzebub Files author is an ‘A’ level, your group would be a ‘D’ at best… So…" Matthew gave Nemo a sympathetic look, which made the curly-haired chef want to flip him off.

"You guys are more like a bunch of enthusiastic volunteers. You still have normal jobs and lives, just ‘ordinary people.’ The Beelzebub Files group, on the other hand, has a more military-police vibe, so I didn’t immediately connect you with ‘them.’ The other party is well-hidden for now. I’m still investigating the background and threat level of that vigilante." Matthew sighed subtly, hinting at the situation but keeping his defenses up.

"Alright, enough life sharing. Let’s talk about your amnesia mystery," Matthew said, realizing that Nemo was too skilled at asking questions. Who would believe he's not an interrogator?

"Your group has made enemies of many ruthless killers. From what I know, five members have already been confirmed dead, and their bodies have been found and buried. Only you went missing after a battle, but it’s certain that you were captured." Matthew approached Nemo, who stood up from his chair as the billionaire reached out and touched his head.

This time, Nemo didn’t move. As expected, Matthew’s fingers precisely brushed against the old injury under his hair.

"Based on accounts from witnesses, you were already bleeding profusely from a head injury during the fight. Even if you weren’t killed and were captured, the enemy wasn’t going to treat you well. They would have interrogated you ruthlessly to extract information about your comrades. Otherwise, how could they have successfully tracked you down and ambushed you? As I mentioned earlier, all members of your group were ordinary people, with important loved ones. You… of course, wouldn’t have revealed anything, so you had to die. I suspect you convinced yourself that way—whether it was memory loss due to psychological or physical trauma, the information source was completely eradicated, and your comrades were kept safe," Without pausing, Matthew explained the origins of Nemo’s amnesia.

"But I don’t understand. Why would they leave me alive? Are they planning to use me as bait? Then they should at least place me where my companions might find me. " Nemo thought, puzzled. What kind of strange move was it to throw him into a deserted border jungle?

Nemo knew deep down that his soul was from another world, he had been in Lone Star City for several months now and never once felt the presence of another personality inside him. The previous Nemo had probably been tortured to death long ago, and yet his body had still managed to hold on long enough for boss Liu to find him. The blackout in between didn’t make sense at all.

Matthew increased the pressure of his touch, Nemo annoyed, turned his head to avoid it. The billionaire suddenly spoke: "The drug cartel that kidnapped you was completely wiped out. The base where you were held and tortured was almost entirely destroyed, and no traces were left behind. I don’t know who saved you, but they left you near a smuggling route in the border jungle, where Liu Chun-niu found you. This is all I could trace. If I had to guess, it’s likely related to your former teammates from the group."

"But didn’t you say their combat ability was only rated D?"

"But their level of secrecy was SSS. Your people didn’t know each other very well; perhaps there was someone within the group who knew dangerous individuals like me, who, after your severe injuries and disappearance, went crazy and called in external help."

"I thought you would admit you were that external help directly."

"I wish I were. Unfortunately, I’m not. After the Meteor Shower Event, the government’s data integration system has been slow to rebuild. Just getting the original databases back online was tough. Many case records couldn’t be updated in time, some weren't even digitized. As for your appearance, there were only sketch portraits. That’s why we didn’t immediately recognize that the person applying for asylum, Nemo Captain, was you." Matthew gazed closely at Nemo, as if trying to imprint his entire existence into his memory.

Nemo believed Matthew truly had this ability. At least drawing his fingerprints from memory would be no problem for him.

"When we found an asylum application with a missing persons report matching the criteria for our search, the person who saw your face in the video recording of the credible fear interview was overwhelmed with excitement. The joy of finding you again, mixed with the pain of knowing you had amnesia, was indescribable. Not to mention the hasty and sloppy health check reports, which made that person incredibly angry."

When Matthew said this, Nemo felt it might be the most real side of the billionaire he had ever seen, though Matthew had clearly intended to reveal this to him.

"You really care about how that person feels, huh? Do you love them?" Nemo asked.

"You're not ready to understand the details yet. Let’s just say I hope that person doesn’t forget those feelings. This is crucial to me. Therefore, Nemo, you are equally important to me."

Nemo took a step back, distancing himself from the golden-eyed man, even though he had to look up to meet his gaze.

"You’ve nearly told me the answer. That person was someone I was willing to give my life for, a crucial companion. I’m certain of that, and that’s enough. From now on, I will not agree to any hypnosis or treatments that could help restore my memory, because I can’t be 100% sure that the information is safe and that you are completely trustworthy."

In reaction to Nemo's firm declaration, the billionaire responded with unexpected calm. "I’ll inform that person and ask them to respect your wishes."

As a transmigrator, Nemo didn't trust his body, nor did he trust this supernatural era. There might be some way—perhaps magic or alien technology—that could extract memories once contained in his brain, or find the items his predecessor had hidden from his teammates. Maybe his predecessor even wrote a diary with a list he didn’t know where he buried. There were just too many uncertainties.

What Nemo could do and was willing to do now was to protect the secret that the former Nemo had guarded to the death—a memory box that even its owner couldn’t open.

"From your description, it seems my teammates hid their identities from each other, ensuring that important member lists and personal information wouldn’t be exposed all at once. The characteristics of a single teammate are limited to what they know, and that person probably worked with me before, maybe even as a fixed partner. So, he or she could deduce my physical appearance, my voice, and my true identity." Nemo analyzed slowly.

"Now the superheroes are doing the same thing. Unfortunately, they aren’t as enlightened as you guys, and there are still too many flaws," Matthew unexpectedly complimented the mysterious style of Nemo’s group.

"There are probably more members whose numbers, appearances, and characteristics are unknown. They can only wait for teammates to voluntarily recognize each other or get dragged into the open. If that person wants to find the whereabouts of other teammates, they’ll need to work twice as hard! Now that it’s the age of superhumans, your dollar-powers will surely create miracles." Nemo wasn’t buying it.

The information overload he had absorbed today was already too much; all Nemo wanted was some peace and quiet.

That person was once his teammate, an ordinary person, but now they were incredibly important to Matthew, a well-known sponsor of superheroes. Was this indirectly saying that the person had awakened superpowers and had become a superhero?

Matthew’s strict protection of that person’s identity made perfect sense. If the information were leaked, Nemo could unintentionally become that person’s fatal weak point.

As long as Nemo didn’t know which superhero he was so important to, he wouldn’t instinctively show curiosity or concern. Even if that person, as an unfortunate fallen hero, collapsed in front of him, his sympathy wouldn’t exceed the limits of involving others.

Damage control. This was Matthew’s area of expertise, and It had also been the focus of Nemo’s prior sacrifices.

"Stubborn guy," Matthew teased with a smile. "I’ve got too much to do. Sorry I didn’t find you sooner."

"Don’t apologize. All you’ve brought is trouble. Without you, I could have just remained a blissfully ignorant Chinese chef, reading gossip news and minding my own business," Nemo said honestly.

"That stings, my friend."