Shouldn’t someone stop this?
The thought had barely crossed my mind when, as if we’d somehow shared the exact same thought, a man suddenly shot up from his seat.
His face was flushed with anger.
"Those bastards were given up on even by the judicial system, which gives us Hunters maximum leniency!" he roared. "And now you’re talking about releasing those beasts back into the world? Are you out of your fucking mind? I can’t agree to this!"
"As I have already stated," the speaker at the front replied coolly, "the President’s approval has already been..."
"Then isn’t it the Association’s job to prevent that kind of misjudgment before the approval is even granted?" the man cut in, slamming his hand against the table.
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Then the older man sitting at the head of the table spoke.
"As the Association President who allegedly aided that ’misjudgment,’" he said quietly, his brow furrowing, "I would very much like to hear the esteemed opinion of Iron Fist Marcus Thorne. What exactly do you think we should do?"
Marcus’s face stiffened.
For a brief moment, embarrassment flashed across his expression, but he quickly recovered and raised his voice again.
"Wouldn’t it be enough to call upon the perfectly healthy retired S-rank Hunters instead of using criminal scum?"
"Do you know why those retired Hunters retired while they were still ’perfectly healthy’?" the President asked with a sigh.
Marcus didn’t answer.
"Isn’t it because even wealth and fame could no longer outweigh the risks? They got out while they still could."
"..."
"Moreover," the President continued, leaning slightly forward, "the target requiring subjugation is a Gate that completely annihilated a party containing two S-rank Hunters. Do you really think those people would come running back?"
Marcus’s face gradually turned bright red.
"Th-then, what about commissioning a Guild from overseas?" he finally managed.
"That was rejected for the same reasons as before." The President waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, if you’re willing to pay the exorbitant prices that you, Mr. Thorne, don’t seem particularly concerned about, perhaps a commission might miraculously come through."
"Th-then we should try that..."
"But after barely managing to borrow someone else’s strength," the President cut in, his voice growing sharper, "how do we deal with the void in S-rank power that will remain afterward?"
Marcus’s mouth closed.
"If another S-rank Gate appears shortly afterward, are you suggesting we go begging overseas again? Handing over enormous sums of money and valuable business interests every time we’re incapable of dealing with our own problems?"
"..."
"The Convict Unit isn’t simply a disposable suicide squad for this one subjugation."
The President’s voice settled into something final.
"It’s meant to create a sustainable S-rank force that can remain active until new domestic Hunters emerge. Please keep that in mind when making your judgment."
"Profit...!"
Marcus spat the word through clenched teeth.
Unable to come up with a better alternative, he slammed his fist onto the table with a loud crash and dropped back into his chair, visibly fuming.
So it ends up like this after all.
I settle deeper into my chair.
Good thing I stayed quiet.
They rushed straight into a vote knowing exactly how it would turn out from the beginning, didn’t they?
Well, it’s obvious how this would normally go.
They’d hand the job over to one of the super-giant Guilds, offer a few carrots in return, maybe some generous tax breaks for the next few years, and call it a day.
But the problems wouldn’t end there.
During the preparations alone, prisoner management could slip up just a little. One mistake would be enough to invite a tidal wave of public criticism.
And during the actual subjugation?
The precious Guild forces they’d spent years and mountains of money raising could suffer massive losses.
Even if they somehow managed to pull off a successful subjugation, the public and the opposition party would be waiting for the first mistake. One tiny incident involving the Convict Unit, and they’d tear into the entire operation.
And even if they endure all of that, what happens once new S-rank Hunters finally begin appearing domestically?
The future of the Convict Unit they’d painstakingly built, while receiving all that criticism, would immediately become uncertain.
In other words, no matter how I look at it, this is a pot filled with nothing but poison.
Something no one wants to touch.
But since it’s none of my business, I just need to sit here and tune it out.
Everyone else is probably thinking the same thing anyway.
"Yaaawn..."
I desperately stifle the yawn creeping up on me and quickly scribble down the name of Marcus, who’d just put on such an impressive show.
Iron Fist Marcus Thorne.
Noted.
Then I close my eyes.
I’d love to check my phone right now, but they’d confiscated it earlier, citing security reasons.
Seriously, why am I even at this meeting in the first place?
I shift uncomfortably in my chair.
In the past, I was supposedly a big shot. But now?
I’m just the head of a Guild that’s nothing more than a shell of its former self.
A has-been among has-beens.
All the Guild members left long ago, and now it’s just me and my secretary trying to keep the Guild’s nameplate from falling off the wall.
"The results of the vote you all cast are now in."
The Association President’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
Anyway, just as you’d expect from the Hunter Association, their administration is absolute shit...
"Then, Elias Gallagher, I look forward to working with you."
"...Huh?"
My eyes snap open.
For a second, I just sit there, wondering if I somehow misheard him.
Then I look around.
The old men and geezers who’d been fervently complaining just moments ago are now staring directly at me.
And somehow, despite everything that had happened, they all seem strangely united.
What is this ominous setup?
"Uh, um... what do you mean...?"
My voice trails off.
"As of today," the President says plainly, "you have been assigned the management of the Convict Unit composed of former S-rank Hunters."
...
Me?
That?
Why the hell me?
What kind of twisted train of thought led to me being chosen over Guild masters with solid careers, functioning organizations, and actual people under their command?
Did these old men collectively develop dementia or something?
I force myself to stay calm.
There has to be a way out of this.
"Well... wouldn’t this position be far too much for someone like me?"
"It is the opinion of the other Guild masters," the President replies, his expression completely unreadable, "that there is no one more suitable than you."
"B-but, aren’t my abilities lacking?"
I spread my hands, doing my best to look as harmless and unqualified as possible.
"Besides, I’m not even in a position where I should be sitting here in the first place."
"Lacking in ability?"
The President repeats the words, and a faint smile touches his lips.
"Don’t you already possess an ’ability’ more suited to this than anyone else’s?"
...
Damn it.
He’s bringing that up here?
"No matter how I look at it," he continues, his gaze remaining fixed on me, "this is a task that only you, with your special ability to control and restrain Hunters, can handle."
"There seems to be some misunderstanding."
I answer quickly, my palms beginning to sweat.
"First of all, my ability isn’t some concept of hypnotizing or manipulating people..."
"Don’t you already have a track record of brilliant success?"
He interrupts me before I can finish.
His voice drops slightly.
"Manipulation... no."
His faint smile deepens.
"’Domination,’ I should say."
...
I quietly clench my fist and shut my mouth.
Because if I raise any more objections here, I’m starting to get the feeling these bastards will only dig deeper.
And the deeper they dig, the more likely they are to drag up stories I never want to hear again.