Chapter 56: A New Approach
Back at the safehouse, the glow of the surveillance monitors reflected off Kenzo's glasses as he sat in silence, reviewing the footage from earlier that night. The room was unusually quiet—everyone could feel it. The kind of stillness that came not from peace, but from pressure.
Audrey sat cross-legged on the couch, her eyes scanning Kenzo's expression as he rewound the clip again. Hana leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, brows furrowed. Damian, sitting upside down on the armchair like a contorted cat, had his usual humor drained from his face.
Kenzo finally clicked pause and leaned back in his chair. "It's worse than I thought."
"Define worse," Hana said evenly.
Kenzo removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "She hit him. Again. But this time... he looked like he expected it. Like it was normal."
Audrey's breath caught. Damian straightened slowly.
"He was completely silent. No pushback, no flinch. That kind of submission—it's learned. Conditioned."
"And no one's listening to him," Kenzo added, hesr voice hardening. "He tried asking a stranger for help tonight—a man who saw them arguing. But the guy brushed him off, like it was nothing. Like it was impossible for a guy to be the one suffering."
Audrey nodded solemnly. "That's what makes this so insidious. He's not just trapped by her—he's trapped by a world that doesn't believe someone like him can be a victim."
"He's being broken," Hana whispered. Her voice trembled with restrained anger.
Kenzo nodded. "Exactly. This isn't a situation we can fix by exposing her with one clever reveal or scaring her off. If we go in with our usual strategy, we risk retraumatizing him or making things worse."
"So what?" Damian asked, trying to shake off the tightness in his chest. "We just wait around and let her keep doing this?"
"No," Kenzo said. "I'm saying we need a different approach. A quiet one. We don't just rescue him—we have to help him rebuild."
Hana exhaled slowly. "What are you suggesting?"
Kenzo turned toward Audrey. "We use our strengths. Audrey, you work on him emotionally—subtle check-ins. Let him talk when he's ready. I'll collect enough hidden evidence to back his words if he decides to come forward."
"And me?" Damian asked.
"You're already on the inside," Kenzo said. "You keep the charm up. Gain Angel's trust. Observe how she manipulates others. We need to understand how she holds power—not just over Alex, but over everyone around her."
Audrey's expression remained solemn. "And when we have everything?"
Kenzo hesitated. "Then we decide together. But this time, Alex leads the ending. Not us."
A tense silence fell over the room.
Damian looked between them. "You trust he'll be strong enough to take that lead?"
"No," Kenzo said honestly. "But we'll be strong enough to hold him until he is."
Hana nodded thoughtfully. "I agree with Kenzo. The environment around him needs to change too. I talked to some of his friends earlier—they care about him, but they have no idea how serious things have gotten. Awareness matters. If we can't turn the tide publicly, we can shift it privately, starting with those closest to him."
Audrey stood, smoothing her skirt, a new fire in her chest. "Then let's start tomorrow. We don't just stop monsters. We heal the wounded."
And for the first time that night, everyone nodded at once.
This wasn't just a rescue mission anymore.
It was recovery.
And they would do it one breath, one truth, one quiet step at a time.
—
The next day at school, Hana and Audrey split up during lunch to observe. As expected, Alex was eating alone again, hunched over a packed meal in the far corner of the cafeteria. His eyes never left his tray. From time to time, he would glance at the door like he was waiting for something—or someone—but quickly looked away.
Then something surprising happened.
Two of his classmates—part of the group Hana had seen before—broke away from their table and approached him slowly.
"Hey Alex," one of them said gently. "Wanna join us? You don't have to eat alone."
Alex looked up, startled. He blinked at them as if he didn't quite understand what he was hearing. Then his face tensed, his mouth moving before his thoughts could settle.
"No. I'm fine," he said. His voice was flat. "I just want to be alone."
One of the boys opened his mouth to say something more, but before he could speak, Alex stood up abruptly. Tray still in hand, he walked off in the opposite direction. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just... hollow.
The boys stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to do. One of them shifted his weight and started after Alex, only to stop halfway, watching his friend disappear through the cafeteria door.
"I just... I don't get it," one of them muttered. "Something's seriously wrong."
"Yeah," the other agreed. "We should've pushed more. Or at least tried sooner."
-
Around the corner, Hana noticed a small group of Alex's classmates chatting and laughing at one of the lunch tables. The tone was light, almost carefree, but there was a lingering weight beneath their words. As she got closer, she slowed her steps and listened, catching fragments of the conversation just loud enough to make out.
"Yeah, I mean, Alex has been acting kind of off," one said. "But maybe he just needs space."
"Didn't he say something about his girlfriend stressing him out?" another added. "I thought he was exaggerating. She seems... normal."
"Still," a third chimed in, "he looked really tired today. I kinda feel bad now."
A fourth student, quieter than the others, lowered her voice. "You guys think maybe it's worse than he said? Like... what if something's really wrong?"
The others hesitated, awkward tension settling into the silence.
Audrey joined Hana, having overheard the exchange. They stood close but didn't interrupt, simply observing.
"They care," Hana said quietly. "But they're still stuck in that mindset—assuming it's not that bad because it doesn't look like a movie scene."
Audrey nodded. "That's where it begins. Indifference. Doubt. And suddenly people like Alex are invisible."
Hana glanced back at the students. "I think it's time I used my ability. A small nudge. Nothing dramatic—just... adjusting the tone of their memories, reinforcing the concern. Planting enough weight that it moves them to act."
"You sure?" Audrey asked.
Hana nodded firmly. "Alex needs people around him who don't just notice something's wrong—but who choose to act on it. Even if they don't know the full truth."
Audrey smiled faintly, sensing the change like a shift in atmosphere. "Do it. Let's turn the tide quietly. One step at a time."
She exhaled slowly and stepped a bit closer to the group of students, narrowing her eyes slightly. As her fingers brushed the side of her skirt, a faint shimmer flickered in the air around her—barely noticeable, like a ripple through time. Her eyes glazed over for a brief second as she focused, then softened again.
In that moment, subtle alterations took hold: fragments of past conversations rewrote themselves in their minds—memories of Alex's exhaustion deepened, flashes of his empty stares sharpened, and their earlier doubts felt heavier, more urgent. Not enough to make them suspicious—just enough to remind them of what they'd ignored. Enough to shift silence into action.
A few seconds later, one of the boys straightened in his seat. "Guys... maybe we should talk to him again."
Another nodded. "Yeah. Even if he says no, we should still try. He shouldn't have to go through whatever this is alone."
They didn't suddenly understand the full picture—none of them did. But something in them leaned forward now, instead of pulling away. A decision, however small, had formed.
"Let's find him after school," one said. "Just hang out. Check in. No pressure."
Hana, watching from a distance, gave the faintest smile. A single nudge. That was all it took to set things in motion.
Audrey stepped closer, her arms folded but her expression warm. "Good job," she said softly, nodding toward the group. "You didn't push them. You guided them. That's what makes the difference."
Hana shrugged slightly, her voice calm. "Just enough for them to feel what was already there. The rest... they have to decide themselves."
Audrey smiled. "Still, it matters. You helped open a door."
She nudged Hana lightly with her elbow, her tone fond. "I don't say it often enough, but you're amazing at what you do. The way you shape things—quietly, gently—it's powerful."
Hana let out a breath, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. "I just give them a chance to listen to what they already know."
"And sometimes," Audrey said softly, "that's exactly what saves people. Not shouting the truth, but helping others hear it themselves."
That afternoon, as the final school bell rang and students spilled from classrooms into the corridors, Hana and Audrey slipped into the background near the front gates. They kept their distance, eyes scanning for a familiar silhouette.
It didn't take long to spot him.
Alex, head low and bag tightly slung across his back, was moving quickly—too quickly—through the courtyard. His posture was tense, as if the air itself was weighing him down. He was clearly trying to make a beeline for the exit.
From the other side of the walkway, four students stepped out of a classroom and noticed him. Two girls and two boys—his friends.
"Hey, Alex!" one of the girls called, jogging slightly to catch up.
Alex stopped mid-step, turning stiffly. "I—I can't talk. I'm in a hurry."
One of the boys frowned, stepping closer. "You always say that lately. What's going on, man?"
Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing. I just... I have somewhere to be. I can't be late."
"But you've been skipping lunch, study sessions... You ghosted our group chat too," one of the girls said, her tone more worried than accusatory.
"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Alex snapped—but the words weren't angry, just brittle. Like they were holding back a storm.
He turned again and made to walk away—but one of the boys stepped in front of him, not blocking, just slowing him down.
"Alex. Look, we don't know what's happening. But we've known you since primary. And if something's wrong—we want to help."
Alex's eyes flickered, panic threading beneath the surface. "I just can't be late," he whispered, then slipped past them, half-running toward the gate.
His friends stood there for a moment, unsure. One of them sighed deeply.
"He's scared of something. You saw that, right?"
"Yeah," another replied. "I think... I think we've been looking the other way too long."
They exchanged glances. No one had answers, but one thing was clear now—they weren't going to ignore the signs anymore.
One of the girls stepped forward, frustration and worry lacing her voice. "Okay, that's it. We're done guessing and watching from a distance."
She turned to the others. "Let's go to my place. Right now. We're all free, yeah? We need to talk to him. Hear it from him directly."
The others nodded in agreement, a quiet surge of determination moving through the group.
"I'll text him," said one of the boys. "Just say we're hanging out. Nothing serious."
"No pressure," the girl added quickly. "We'll just be there. Like always. He doesn't have to say anything if he's not ready."
"But he needs to know we're not walking away," the quieter girl whispered.
They turned as one, following the path Alex had taken.
This time, they wouldn't let him run alone.
—
Later that evening, at the café, Damian was wiping down the counter with casual flair when the bell above the door chimed. He looked up just as Angel walked in, hair still damp from a rushed shower, bag slung over her shoulder. Her expression was calm, maybe even a little tired—but she moved with that same effortless poise that had quickly earned her admiration at the café.
"Evening, Angel!" one of the baristas called with a grin. "You're a machine, girl. Class all day and now your shift? I'd be dead on my feet."
Another chimed in, "She's got that main character energy. Hardworking and still nice to everyone. I swear you must've cloned yourself."
Angel gave them a humble smile, brushing her damp bangs behind her ear. "Thanks. I just don't like letting people down."
Damian, behind the counter, quietly rolled his eyes as he poured a fresh batch of syrup into a squeeze bottle.
Far from an angel, he thought. But hey, the irony wasn't lost on him.
As the evening rush settled into a quiet lull, the café staff went about their day-to-day tasks. Damian moved between the espresso machine and the register, taking orders with ease while subtly keeping an eye on Angel.
He noticed it more than once—Angel pulling out her phone, her face shifting into something tighter and more irritable each time she looked at the screen. Damian, ever observant, caught glimpses of her messaging someone, the name 'Alex' appearing more than once.
During one quick glance while passing by to wipe a table, Damian caught a fragment of the conversation:
"Why do you ignore me? You know I hate being left on read. Don't make me come find you."
Another message popped up moments later: "You're useless when you act like this. Don't embarrass me."
Damian's jaw clenched as he turned away, pretending to refill the sugar containers. The staff continued to chat in the background, laughing about a spilled milk incident earlier.
Angel returned to the counter, her face composed again as if nothing had happened. She took her place beside Damian and started steaming milk, humming softly.
Damian didn't say a word. But he knew what he'd seen—and it only confirmed what they already feared.
Still, something in him burned. It was one thing to read about abuse, another entirely to watch it unfold this close. The messages, the shifts in Angel's expression, the complete façade she wore around everyone else—it gnawed at him. And maybe, just maybe, it got the better of him.
Later that night, while the café was winding down and the others were busy closing, Damian found himself next to Angel at the sink. She was scrubbing a coffee pot, her hair pulled into a lazy bun, shoulders tense but face calm.
"So," Damian said casually, trying to keep his voice even, "your boyfriend—Alex, right? He doing okay?"
Angel blinked at him, clearly not expecting the question. "What?"
"I mean," he shrugged, smiling like it was idle chatter, "you guys seem close. Just wondering if everything's good."
Angel's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "We're fine. Why?"
Damian leaned closer, lowering his voice, playing the role of friendly. "You just seem... intense sometimes. The texts. The calls. Must be a lot to juggle with school and work, right?"
For a flicker of a second, something sharp passed through her gaze. Then it was gone.
"You don't know anything about our relationship," she said, her voice still sweet, but laced with warning.
"Didn't say I did," Damian replied. "Just saying it's a lot. Hope you're not pushing too hard, that's all."
Angel turned away, rinsing the pot briskly. "Maybe stick to steaming milk, Damian."
He raised his hands with a chuckle. "Just trying to make conversation."
As he walked away, his pulse quickened. That was stupid. Reckless. But worth it.
He caught sight of her reflection in the chrome pitcher—expression flat, jaw tight.
She knew something was off.
And now, so did he.