My World My Justice Ch.21

Colin sat across from Director Piggot, the debriefing on Stormfront's capture finally concluded. The decision was unanimous - the cape would be transferred to the Birdcage. Even Director Costa-Brown had approved the classification, which spoke to both the severity of the threat he'd posed and the strategic blow this would deal to Gesellschaft's operations.

Still, the situation left too many critical vulnerabilities exposed. A known hostile parahuman had infiltrated United States territory without triggering any security systems. Dragon's extensive surveillance network had found no trace of his entry point, which was unacceptable from a security standpoint. If Stormfront could bypass their monitoring capabilities, what was stopping somebody else from walking into downtown Boston? Or any member of the Slaughterhouse Nine from appearing in any major population center without warning?

The street evacuation remained equally troubling. Every resident and tenant had received anonymous phone calls inviting them to an impromptu community event, complete with small gifts and incentives that convinced everyone to assist since some of them were hesitant. The calls were untraceable; the numbers led nowhere, and the timing was impossibly convenient. Without that intervention, the collateral damage would have been tragic. Stormfront's complete disregard for civilian casualties had been absolute - even True Might's notoriously destructive methods, which the people seemed to willfully ignore, had seemed restrained by comparison and he actually helped contain what could have been a city-wide inferno.

Now came the inevitable logistics which meant mountains of additional work when they were already operating beyond capacity, if it wasn’t for the Tinker teams that would have been ten times worse. Albeit, with Dragon's assistance, his team could optimize the efficiency calculations and implementation schedules, but it would require overtime to maintain the schedule he already planned.

The reinforcement announcement provided a positive development. Additional officers, support staff, and capes were finally being assigned to Brockton Bay. The city had been critically understaffed for a very long time, and more personnel meant better protection coverage. Though it still irritated him that they had to think defensively about "territory" - as if the Protectorate were just another faction competing for influence rather than legitimate law enforcement.

"Dragon." he said, turning toward the screen. "Specifics on the incoming reinforcements. Timeline, specializations, and logistical requirements."

Director Piggot leaned closer to listen better, though the deeper frown puzzled him. She'd been the one consistently asking for additional resources.

She explained that three squads will arrive by the next week, along with their own equipment and supplies, which also meant the increase in their budget to accommodate them. Then the workers, meaning support staff, technicians, administrators, etc. Perhaps some might look down on normal office people but he knew that they were essential to keep everything running so more hands were always welcome to spread the workload.

"And the cape assignments?" Colin pressed, as that was the important part.

"Three confirmed transfers, though specific identities remain pending security clearance. Preliminary briefings suggest complementary power sets to our current roster." 

Colin found himself cautiously optimistic. The timing was fortuitous - the ABB showed increasing signs of violence, though the Independent’s precise surgical strikes continued to delay any potential outbreak. Oracle's guidance was evident in their operations, creating a delicate balance that kept the Asian gang relatively at bay, otherwise they would have attacked the Empire the very next day after Stormfront’s defeat.

"Before we finalize the logistics," Piggot said, her voice taking on a sharper edge, "I want to discuss our defectors."

His posture stiffened slightly. Villain defections were rare - most came through capture rather than voluntary surrender. Willing cases typically indicate either desperation or gain.

"Tammi Herren, age sixteen, formerly designated as Rune of the Empire Eighty-Eight," he began, his tone clinical. "Official defection processed seventy-two hours ago. She's entered PRT custody under standard protocols for minor parahumans seeking asylum."

"Given her former allegiance, surveillance and parole conditions will be extensive - harsher than Shadow Stalker's oversight level," Dragon added, displaying relevant documentation. "Current status: house arrest with monitoring bracelet, scheduled psychological evaluations, movement restricted to designated safe zones."

The woman’s expression darkened. "Her file indicates confirmed kills."

Colin's jaw tightened. "One fatality - part of Empire rituals. Multiple assault charges targeting civilians based on ethnic profiling." He paused, letting the implications settle. "These weren't accidental casualties. They were deliberate acts of violence."

Even accounting for her age, the pattern showed clear intent.

"We had planned comprehensive intelligence debriefing regarding Empire cape identities and operations," Dragon continued, "but Director Costa-Brown personally intervened. All interrogation procedures were halted with extreme prejudice."

"Convenient," Piggot muttered, barely containing her frustration.

"Under normal circumstances, she would be in a secure holding cell," He explained. "However, that action was prevented due to the second defector she brought with her." His voice took on a more serious tone. "Terra - cape designation Earthshard. Based on initial assessments, she may be among the most powerful parahumans currently within city limits."

Dragon's display shifted to heavily redacted psychological evaluation files with the picture of the girl. "Preliminary assessments revealed extensive trauma indicators. Years of systematic sexual and physical abuse, forced chemical dependency, complete psychological conditioning. She's currently experiencing withdrawal symptoms under medical supervision."

"The concerning detail," Colin continued, his analytical mind cataloging the implications, "is her complete absence from any official records. No birth certificate, no documentation, no trace of existence in any database. Working theory suggests she was born off-grid and kept entirely isolated from society."

"Communication remains severely compromised," Dragon added, her voice carrying an unusual tone. "Three-word responses maximum, primarily non-verbal acknowledgment. Any attempts at detailed questioning trigger severe psychological distress - screaming, panic attacks, complete dissociation. So we were forced to stop further exams as we don’t want to risk her to lash out."

Colin's hands unconsciously clenched. The systematic nature of it offended his sense of order and justice. "The discovered abuse wasn't just for tactical conditioning or trigger event manipulation. It was torture implemented for its own sake."

The room fell into uncomfortable silence as the implications settled.

"Of course, we need approval to continue with her full rehabilitation so she can join the Wards program," He stated. "I believe her high level of geomancy capabilities could prove invaluable against Endbringer threats - isolation tactics against Leviathan, terrain stabilization against Behemoth." He paused, running other tactical calculations. "Post-engagement reconstruction capabilities would also significantly reduce infrastructure damage from major cape confrontations."

The older woman nodded approvingly. "With the budget increase, her rehabilitation will proceed as planned."

"Current timeline places Tammi’s integration into the Wards program under a new alias at approximately fourteen days," Dragon reported.  "Pending psychological evaluation clearance and—"

But her companion wasn’t able to finish since the door exploded inward with a thunderous crash.

"Oi, why does everyone look like they're planning a funeral?" The mouse themed heroine announced, striking a dramatic heroic pose in the doorway, her cape somehow billowing behind her. "Come on, people! Smile! Life's too gouda to spend it frowning at paperwork!"

Before anyone could respond, she appeared beside Colin in a blur of motion. "Ooh, what's this?" She snatched a pen from him. "Official hero pen! I'm commandeering this sacred weapon for the noble cause of spreading good cheer and better cheese!"

"Return that immediately," He commanded, rising from his seat.

"You'll have to catch me first, my metallic knight of stern expressions!" Mouse Protector giggled, before she moved to the director’s side. "Fear not, Director of Perpetual Paperwork! I shall reorganize your documents into a formation more befitting our heroic calling!" And she quickly began rearranging the carefully organized files into a smiley face pattern.

The authoritative woman’s glare could have melted steel, but the heroine was already gone.

"Greetings, magnificent Dragon!" she announced, pressing her face against the screen. "Tell these wonderfully grumpy people that even the most serious cheese needs time to breathe!"

"Mouse Protector," Colin said through gritted teeth, as he couldn’t help but compare that attitude with True Might. "you are disrupting an official briefing of critical importance."

"That's exactly the point, my tin friend!" She returned to his side, somehow managing to ruffle his hair despite him wearing his helmet. "Sometimes the most heroic thing you can do is remind people that we're the good guys! We should act like it occasionally!"

Before he could react, she vanished entirely, taking his pen and leaving only mocking laughter echoing through the ventilation system. 

Did she actually fit inside there? Or did she did something to appear that she used the ventilation?

Moments later, Miss Militia burst through the still-open door, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry! She was supposed to be with the Wards but then she just vanished from  and—"

"I despise working with independents," The director muttered darkly, methodically reorganizing her files again. "Absolute nightmare to deal with."

He straightened his hair with sharp, irritated movements. How had she managed that? He was certain he'd addressed every security vulnerability after the Toilenator incident.

Still, he had to grudgingly admit that Mouse Protector's effectiveness against villains stemmed from this exact behavior - she was equally infuriating to everyone, but criminals found public humiliation particularly demoralizing.

"She mentioned wanting to 'catch up with everyone' since her Ward days," Miss Militia explained apologetically. "I should have anticipated this."

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-Daniel, True Might-

Time surely passes fast when nothing world-ending is occurring. Well, I still do my heroic duties, of course, along with those random missions which reward a single credit each.

Well, calm relatively speaking, since Oracle had to pull serious overtime after my fight with that asshole Stormfront, dealing with the gangs. The fight had raised a massive fuss everywhere since that bastard was rather infamous on the international scene, and my crushing victory had naturally spread across news outlets, social media, forums—you name it. Mostly good things about me, though.

And 'overtime' was a weird term since she didn't technically work for anyone. Freelancer was more accurate—she's just an informant. Either way, she'd been working nonstop until late hours coordinating with other cape teams, and I was planning to drop by later with food, maybe some new games.

And maybe stay to play something with her—a fighting game or racing game. I miss the days when I sat down in front of the TV and played for hours. Yeah, I should do that.

But first, I had obligations. Contractual obligations.

And those had me back at the gym where I'd had that boxing match with Mirko, which is now officially the property of La Doña Word Conglomerate. It's surprising how fast they rebranded the place, complete with a justice-themed name: "Justice's Forge Fitness Center." The logo is literally a hammer and scales.

Subtle as a brick to the face.

The place is closed today because the group I signed with finally called me in for work. Of course I could reject it or reschedule, but I didn't exactly have any other commitments or events planned—I was pretty much free. Also, they want to cram as much promotional material as possible into one session, which is why I'm standing here in different clothes instead of my hero outfit. Instead, I'm wearing a tight black tank top, grey shorts, and plain sneakers they provided.

 No brands, no logos.

Probably didn't sign with a fashion company yet.

Or maybe because they had to order the biggest size available, or maybe custom-make one. I mean, fair enough—I'm a really tall and hulking person. It must have been difficult to find a size that could fit me.

I'm not posing for a photoshoot, surprisingly. Turns out I'm so photogenic that they already have plenty of material and have been using existing shots for a while. I discovered by chance they started selling wallpaper not that long ago and I actually liked one since it was from when I first introduced myself to the city after stopping that bank heist. The lighting caught my face just right and gave good contrast to my costume too.

Instead, they're doing reference poses and taking detailed measurements of my body so I can get properly fitted clothes, because the current ones feel a bit tight in some parts. And most importantly, they want to make an action figure.

An 1:12 scale action figure. Of me.

It'll be fun seeing a lot of mini-me on store shelves. Kids playing with True Might figures in their houses or parks, maybe with a button that repeats my ridiculous lines like 'JUSTICE PUNCH!' or 'JUSTICE HAS ARRIVED!'

…

…

Okay, I can already picture it, and rather than make me cringe, the thought actually makes me smile.

Damn, kids' happiness has actually become a legit reason why I keep enduring this crippling speech affliction.

So are these the thoughts you have when you're becoming a symbol?

But my thoughts are interrupted when a woman in a formal dress and heels approaches, tablet in hand. She shows me pictures of two different snack options—what looks like a health bar and some kind of cookie.

"Could you give us your opinion on which one would be better?"

I point to the cookies without hesitation.

"When faced with such delectable choices, the wise champion knows that even justice requires proper sustenance!" The words pour out automatically before I give her a thumbs up. "But we must also reward our faithful bodies with sweet delights after long battles against the forces of evil!"

I will assume that those are healthy and nutritional cookies.

The woman's eyes widen before she scribbles notes furiously on her tablet, clearly eating this up. She nods approvingly before clicking away in her heels to wherever marketing executives go to plot their next moves.

But I can feel future kids thanking me for giving them permission to eat cookies after saving the world. You're welcome, children of America.

A few minutes later, another person comes into view and starts rapid-firing product ideas at me: breakfast cereal, school supplies with my image, and somehow even cleaning supplies marketed as "fighting the forces of dirt and grime." 

Each suggestion triggers my unstoppable heroic responses: "The first meal of the day is the foundation upon which all heroic deeds are built!" for the cereal, "The pursuit of knowledge is the mightiest weapon against the darkness of ignorance!" for the school supplies, and "even the smallest acts of righteousness contribute to the greater good!" for the cleaning products. 

I just made dishwashing soap sound noble. 

Could be worse I guess.

When they ask about products I'd refuse to endorse, I manage to draw some basic lines about nothing harmful or inappropriate, though at this point I'm sure my name is about to become a complete lifestyle for a lot of American children.

With that part done he leaves only then another woman approaches me, this one carrying a different tablet and wearing an excited expression.

"Mr. True Might, first of all we're very thankful that you came and second we'd also like to discuss the possibility of filming a training video—it would be perfect for you. More specifically, fitness workout DVDs."

That kind of thing gets me curious, causing me to tilt my head, and the expression must be very obvious because she immediately launches into more detail.

"We're planning to produce a DVD series with training videos that focus on hero-inspired fitness routines. There have been some attempts but the heroes usually didn;t have the energy or popularity." she explains, gesturing enthusiastically. "Of course, we know that you might not know how to do it or lead a fitness routine. So we have brought a fitness trainer and everything that you'd need to follow his lead and add your own... flavor to the instruction."

My own flavor. Right.

That surprises me, though. I never really thought about fitness workout videos or being part of one, and apparently from what I can deduce from her brief explanation, the plan is to test how these videos work out and then start producing more if they are successful. A whole series of releases aimed at helping people lose weight and get fit, all while repeating my one liner.

Huh… 

Well, I don’t see the harm if they are happy doing it.

And after thinking about it for a moment, I realize I've already been doing that kind of thing since I've been helping Taylor with her hero training—building strength and character. Today was supposed to be a break day for her because I literally had to sit her down, otherwise the girl would have gone off to train again without supervision.

Something about "fanning the flames of her justice," as she put it.

Yeah, it's getting worse.

So I accept the idea with an enthusiastic nod. “I will gladly help you in your noble cause to stoke the fires of healthy justice.”

That is taken as a cue for the office lady who quickly beckons somebody over, and a lean, fit African American man in a tight athletic jumpsuit comes into view. He walks towards us with a bright smile and immediately extends his hand.

"Hey there! I'm Marcus, and I'll be your aerobics trainer for this session," he says as I happily take his hand for a strong shake, matching his smile. "I gotta say, I was really excited to meet you, man. The newest hero in town and all that. Actually, I wanted to thank you for being there during that field trip with the Claw Patrol—my nephew was part of that group, and he's been absolutely ecstatic about it ever since. I hope you don’t take a few pictures after we are done right?"

I give another nod as I remember the kids' event with the Claw Patrol thing. Right, that was a good day.

"Could I get a quick autograph?" he asks, producing a pen from his pocket.

It's moments like these that should make you tear up a little on the inside. I will let my voice out now.

"OF COURSE, NOBLE CITIZEN!" I boom, taking the pen with theatrical flourish. "The gratitude of the innocent is the greatest reward a champion of justice can receive! Our young justice seeker's joy brings warmth to my righteous heart!"

Well, not too bad of a response.

Before I can ask where to sign, the trainer just grins and taps his jumpsuit.

Odd place but I accept it, nonetheless.

I quickly scrawl my signature across his chest, and he beams like a kid who just received a present. 

After that short moment, we head together to another part of the gym where there's better lighting and camera equipment already set up and the floor that looks perfect for those aerobics classes. Professional-grade stuff, complete with multiple angles and boom mics positioned strategically around the workout area.

Once we position ourselves in front of the cameras, my trainer starts explaining the routine, mentioning that we'll begin with simple exercises and basic movements like stretching arms and legs and knee lifts, before building up to more complexity. I guess this is standard progression stuff, but designed to be accessible for beginners, of course he also shows his energy when doing them.

I can already tell this is going to be absolutely cringe once the final product comes out. Me, in workout clothes, trying to teach people jumping jacks or lunges or burpees while spouting justice-themed nonsense.

But if it helps people get in shape... I guess that's something worthwhile.

"Alright, True Might," Marcus says, clapping his hands together with infectious enthusiasm. "Ready to show this country how a real hero stays in fighting form?"

I mentally sigh as I give a nod and move to become the star of the show once more.

Here we go…

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-Rebecca Costa-Brown, Alexandria-

Rebecca rubbed her temples in a futile attempt to ease the mounting tension before settling into her chair to watch the video on her computer. This was the unedited preview for "Aerobic Justice," soon to be polished and shipped to stores nationwide. Her team of analysts and marketing specialists had produced an exceptionally promising financial forecast, although she was quite sure they were just exaggerating it.

"MARCH FORTH, NOBLE WARRIORS OF FITNESS!" True Might bellowed at the camera, his theatrical flair reaching new heights as he flexed his muscles. "TOGETHER, WE SHALL CLAIM VICTORY OVER THE TYRANNY OF LAZINESS!"

He immediately launched into a series of knee lifts, his form absolutely perfect despite the bombastic delivery. Rebecca found herself witnessing what could only be described as the most dramatically intense fitness workout video ever conceived—somehow radiating more energy than entire fitness centers combined.

True Might moved through basic exercises with the same fervor he brought to actual cape battles, treating each movement as if the fate of civilization hung in the balance.

"FEEL THE RIGHTEOUS BURN OF JUSTICE COURSING THROUGH YOUR MUSCLES!" he proclaimed while demonstrating lunges with the same unwavering enthusiasm. "Let every repetition be a mighty blow struck against the forces of evil that would see you weak and complacent!"

Despite the absolutely over-the-top nature of his performance, Rebecca had to grudgingly admit he made it look effortless—not the exercises themselves, obviously, but the sheer commitment to his persona. The man seemed genuinely born for this kind of theatrical presentation, whether he was facing down dangerous villains or performing for a kids’ show.

"TOGETHER, WE SHALL VANQUISH THE INSIDIOUS FORCES OF SLOTH!" True Might declared before transitioning seamlessly into perfect squats. "For justice demands not only a pure and noble heart, but a vessel worthy of its sacred calling!"

He gestured dramatically at his own physique before continuing, "Whether you be young or old, strong or weak, all can answer the righteous call of Lady Justice!"

Rebecca paused the video and leaned back in her leather chair, her analytical mind already working. She didn't need to possess Thinker powers to predict the public's response. Stay-at-home parents would absolutely adore this content, and the fitness market would embrace it enthusiastically. Most importantly, True Might's rapidly growing fanbase would consume it voraciously, further spreading the image of their new rising star—a hero who was destined to become a global symbol of hope and justice.

As cheesy as that sounded. Contessa was putting all her faith on him, or so Rebecca thinks.

Which brought her thoughts to a more pressing concern: David's increasingly obvious jealousy. Eidolon had been sulking noticeably ever since True Might's meteoric rise to fame in a short period. The discovery of just how popular the newcomer had become, gaining followers at an astronomical rate compared to David—who had been considered the strongest cape in the world for years—had clearly struck a nerve.

Rebecca had witnessed David's jealousy before, though never quite this intensely. When Captain Commando had joined the PRT, with his combination of combat skills, musical talent, and undeniable charisma, David had shown subtle signs of resentment, the way he stared or his hands clenched into fists. The fact that Mars was genuinely handsome while David was, at best, unremarkably average, had only added salt to the wound.

Then there was the incident with El Chapulín Colorado—the Mexican hero who had been single-handedly driving back Behemoth from Bogota while the Triumvirate was still en route. David's frustration that day hadn't been about their delayed arrival, but about the fact that someone else had accomplished what should have been their or more like his moment of glory.

Now, whenever True Might's name came up in a conversation, David's body language screamed that barely contained jealousy, despite his full-face mask hiding his expressions. And if he wasn’t wearing it, he would just turn his head for a moment.

This was definitely a problem that required immediate attention. She needed to contact some help and discuss Eidolon's deteriorating mental state. The last thing they could afford was for David to let his emotions compromise his judgment during a critical moment. They needed every advantage they could get against their true enemy after all.

Although, Scion hasn’t been doing much lately.

"Fear not, noble justice seekers!" True Might's voice boomed as she resumed playback. "With the blessed virtue of dedication..." He raised his right fist triumphantly mid-squat. "And the sacred integrity of perseverance!" He raised his left fist to match. "No couch shall imprison your potential! No laziness shall chain your spirit! For the greatness of Lady Justice calls to each and every one of you!"

He beat his chest with both fists before continuing his squats, letting out a hearty, infectious laugh that somehow made the entire routine seem genuinely enjoyable.

Despite herself, Rebecca felt the corner of her mouth twitching upward. The man's commitment to his character was absolute, maintaining the same level of theatrical intensity whether he was teaching a proper form of mountain climbers or facing down high rated capes.

Which raised an interesting question: didn't his natural charisma and obvious teaching ability make him perfect for...

"Wait a minute..." She paused the video and stood up abruptly, her mind racing as a half-remembered possibility surfaced.

She suddenly recalled an old, discarded government program that the PRT had acquired following Leviathan's devastating attack on Japan. The Japanese government had been forced to abandon several initiatives in the aftermath, and many of their resources had been quietly transferred to other nations' parahuman programs.

Rebecca walked purposefully toward one of her archive shelves, quickly navigating through the alphabetical sections until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a thick, dusty file and began reading about the ambitious Japanese project that had been shelved due to budget constraints.

"U.A. Academy." She read aloud.

-----------------------------------------------

-Taylor Hebert, Buzzwing-

Taylor walked across the hallway of Winslow High with her chin up and head held high, a stark contrast to her usual hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

Why wouldn't she carry herself with confidence? True Might was personally training her!

Two weeks, four days, and twelve hours since he agreed to mentor her, she calculated automatically, the same way she catalogued everything else that mattered in her life.

Most importantly, she could feel the effects. Her arms and legs felt harder than before, more solid. The constant exhaustion that had plagued her for months was fading. She wasn't getting winded climbing the stairs anymore, and even carrying her heavy backpack didn't leave her shoulders aching by the end of the day.

And to top it all off, True Might was helping her and her father with proper nutrition. He'd given her a complete meal plan and—much to her amazement—paid for all the groceries and ingredients himself.

"A HERO'S BODY IS A TEMPLE OF JUSTICE, YOUNG TAYLOR! IT MUST BE FUELED WITH THE FINEST SUSTENANCE!" She remembered him declaring while dropping boxes of fresh vegetables and all kinds of meat which Dad couldn't afford on his own.

So of course she had too many reasons to be happy. Even the training sessions, despite leaving her exhausted and sore, somehow helped her focus more in classes—even when some teachers clearly didn't give a damn about actually teaching.

‘Maybe it's because I'm not constantly thinking about them anymore,’ Taylor mused. ‘Hard to obsess over their latest attempts when you're too tired or happy, I guess.’

She arrived at the bathroom and paused before entering a stall, catching sight of herself in the mirror causing her to blink.

Gone was the girl with the perpetually hunched back and stick-thin frame who wore oversized, baggy clothes like armor against the world. Instead, she stood tall—really tall—wearing a normal green shirt that actually fit her properly.

When did I stop hiding?

She stepped closer to the mirror, reaching up to touch her face with tentative fingers. The changes were subtle but undeniable. Her cheekbones were more defined, not sharp but healthy. Her skin had more color. Even her hair seemed shinier, no longer the dull, lifeless curtain she'd hidden behind.

‘How did I not notice this happening?{ Taylor wondered, studying her reflection. ‘I look at myself every morning when I brush my teeth. But I guess I wasn't really seeing myself—just going through the motions.’

For the first time in years, the girl looking back at her from the mirror didn't immediately catalogue flaws and reasons for others to mock her. 

She looked... better. Stronger. 

She looked like someone who could become a hero.

No, she was a hero. She was Buzzwing, the Winged Guardian of Justice—a new independent who had already registered with the PRT with Maple's supervision after the Ward had found her during her first patrol as a cape.

Maple's the only Ward I've met so far, but I hope the others are as cool and nice as her.

Taylor straightened her shoulders, a decision forming in her head. She really should come clean and tell True Might that she'd already triggered. She'd been training really hard, and he'd acknowledged her progress. It wouldn't be wrong to ask him to become his sidekick now, would it?

"A TRUE HERO STANDS READY TO FACE DESTINY WHEN IT CALLS!" True Might's words echoed in her memory, and she nodded to her reflection with newfound determination.

The bathroom door suddenly burst open with a violent bang, slamming against the wall. Instead of jumping back like she would have weeks ago, Taylor simply turned to see who had entered, her body already shifting into a more balanced stance—another gift from True Might's training.

Sophia Hess stood in the doorway, alone for once—no Emma or Madison flanking her sides. The girl looked absolutely livid, her eyes burning with barely contained rage. Her hands were clenched into fists, and there was something wild and dangerous in her expression that made Taylor's analytical mind kick into high gear.

She's alone. No backup. And she looks like she wants to hurt someone—specifically me.

Taylor's first instinct was to step back, to lower her head and try to make herself invisible like she always had. But True Might's voice rang in her thoughts: "JUSTICE NEVER RETREATS FROM TYRANNY, YOUNG TAYLOR! A HERO STANDS FIRM AGAINST EVIL!"

So she held her ground, meeting Sophia's glare directly.

"Well, well," Sophia snarled, stalking closer acting like the predator she always boasted to be. "Look who thinks she's hot shit now. Walking around with your head up like you own the place." Her voice dripped with venom. "I've had a really shitty week, Hebert, and you look like the perfect punching bag to fix that."

‘She's positioning herself between me and the exit,’ Taylor noted, her mind automatically analyzing escape routes. ‘But I'm not the same person I was two weeks ago.’

"I'm not looking for trouble, Sophia," Taylor said evenly, surprised by how steady her own voice sounded.

Sophia's laugh was harsh and ugly. "Too fucking bad for you then. Because trouble found you, and I need to remind someone around here about the natural order of things."

The natural order. Taylor could only frown at that wording now that she thought about it.

"I said I'm not looking for trouble," Taylor repeated, but this time there was steel in her voice.

Two weeks of True Might's training, two weeks of building genuine strength, two weeks of remembering she was more than just a victim.

However, Sophia lunged forward without saying anything else, throwing a punch aimed directly at Taylor's face.

But she was ready. 

The hours of training kicked in, and she ducked to the side, bringing her own fist up in a clean, straight punch that caught Sophia squarely in the solar plexus. The other girl doubled over with a shocked wheeze.

‘Holy shit. I actually hit her!’ 

But that surprise was short-lived because that girl immediately tackled her to the floor with a roar.

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AN: And the chapter comes within a month.

Just calm things for now, or not now that the brain rot will spread further. But at least we are getting justice for Taylor now and she is standing up for herself too.