In the late afternoon, the bank's waiting hall was packed with people. The sharp rhythm of high heels striking the polished stone floor mingled with the ring of telephones and the steady call of queue numbers from the loudspeakers. LED boards lined the walls, blinking relentlessly with glowing text, making the weight of waiting all the more tangible.
White light from the ceiling lamps reflected down, sharpening the tense, restless expressions on every face. The rows of faux-leather chairs were arranged with clinical precision, spotless, impersonal, as if to emphasize that time here always moved slower.
In one corner, a family of three squeezed together on adjacent seats. The son sat in the middle, looking weary, sleeves of his crumpled shirt rolled up, eyes averted as if avoiding all contact.
To his left sat his mother, bony hands clasped tightly, her sharp gaze darting about with restless vigilance. She wore a pale knit cardigan, her silver hair neatly coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck, her stern face tinged with a hint of malice.
To his right sat his pregnant wife, her rounded belly showing clearly beneath a loose dress, head bowed over her smartphone. Her lips were pressed tight, as though holding back a retort.
The mother let out a sigh, trying to keep her voice low, but her shrill voice still cut through the noise of the waiting hall.
"I don't understand why you went and married someone from the Outer Wall like her—she's no help at all. Look at our house now, cramped like a tin can, stuffed with people like sardines in oil. If you'd married someone from inside the city who could lend a hand, maybe you'd already have your own place by now."
The husband winced slightly and squeezed his wife's hand, a quiet gesture of comfort.
"Mom, please don't talk about my wife like that. Everyone has hard times. As long as we stay united and work hard, we'll be able to buy a house someday."
Beside him, his wife's lips curved faintly. She was long used to her mother-in-law's venom, but still felt warmed by her husband's defense. Her fingers flicked swiftly across her phone screen, as if to detach herself from the endless skirmish.
"Hmph. Who knows how long I'll be waiting for you two to "work hard." I heard that back in the old days, tradition was to kick the kids out at eighteen. How come the longer this world goes on, the worse it gets?"
"Mom, that was before the Great Invasion, generations ago. Back then you could live anywhere, so throwing kids out was manageable. But now the Inner Walls are always overcrowded, housing prices sky-high. Without saving up for years, who can afford that? You think we want to live packed in with you forever?"
The mother's eyes flicked toward her daughter-in-law's belly, her voice sharp with bitterness.
"Hmph! If it weren't for that baby, I'd have kicked both of you out already—you could go live in the Outer Wall with her! And once that child's born, it'll just be another sardine crammed into my can. How will we even survive? And now you force this old body of mine to crawl to the bank, draining my coffin savings just to cover the childbirth expenses! What sin did I commit in my past life to end up owing you two like this?"
The husband let out a soft, teasing sigh, flashing a warm, coaxing smile.
"We know it's tough on you, Mom. Times are hard, but I promise, once business picks up, I'll pay you back. Honestly, you didn't need to go all the way to the bank to withdraw cash. Just use the app, it's quick and easy!"
His mother snapped her head around, eyes wide, voice shrill. "App? What app? I don't trust that rubbish! One wrong tap, and poof—scammed! Your money's gone! You know that neighbor who tried playing modern with her fancy app? Hackers, or whatever they're called, wiped her out completely. You think I'm old and foolish? I'd rather haul myself to the bank on these two legs and hold the cash in my hands—let's see anyone try to steal that from me!"
"THIS IS A ROBBERY! EVERYONE GET DOWN! HAND OVER YOUR CASH, PHONES, AND JEWELRY—NOW!"
The bustling bank lobby froze. All eyes turned to a tall man in a black hoodie, his face hidden under a mask, storming into the center of the room. Then they flicked back to the mother, who'd just made her bold declaration. Then back to the hooded robber.
Sensing that the crowd's reaction was not the fear and obedience he expected, the robber felt disrespected. With a sudden snarl, he drove his right fist into the wall beside him.
A deafening crash echoed as the wall shattered, his hand glinting with a metallic sheen that reflected the panicked faces around him. Screams erupted, some stumbled off their chairs, others dropped to the floor, clutching their heads in terror.
The robber grinned in satisfaction—yes, yes, this was the reaction he wanted. He glared at the mother, now rigid with shock, her wide eyes unblinking until her son pulled her down, and she finally grasped what was happening.
The bank's alarm system activated automatically as the hooded robber burst in, sending a silent signal to the police network. Within minutes, Officer Daniel's team screeched to a halt in front of the bank, sirens wailing as they sealed off the street.
The bank's glass facade gleamed under the afternoon sun, mocking the chaos within.
Daniel ordered the perimeter set up, his eyes fixed on the entrance where the robber was barking at bank clerks and civilians to gather the money.
One man tried to make a dash for the door, but the robber hurled a chunk of broken wall at him. The debris grazed his face before shattering against the far wall with a thunderous crack, fragments scattering across the floor.
This was no ordinary thief. A superpowered one. Trouble.
"Lucas, grab the loudspeaker. Try to make contact," Daniel said, voice low but firm.
The growing crowd outside raised their phones to record. Daniel never understood these people, but he was used to it. He continued, "Emma, check the cameras. How many hostages?"
Lucas, a lanky rookie, fumbled with the megaphone before his voice rang out:
"This is the police! Come out with your hands up! We can talk this through!"
No reply. Only faint cries from inside, muffled by the thick glass. Daniel glanced at the tablet Emma held up, its screen showing the bank's camera feed. The robber paced furiously, barking orders at terrified clerks stuffing cash into bags. The patches of exposed skin on his body shimmered with a metallic sheen.
[Iron Skin]. Great, the type cops hated most. Normally, police with standard firearms could handle F-rank superhumans or lower, but against a defensive power like this, regular bullets were useless.
"Chief, he's not responding," Lucas reported, lowering the loudspeaker. "What now?"
"Hold your positions. Just keep him occupied." The public often criticized the police for being useless, but regular officers like them were only equipped for patrol, negotiation, and stalling—not combat.
Daniel keyed his radio. "Dispatch, where's SWAT?"
"ETA twenty minutes," came the reply.
Twenty minutes, too long, yet there was nothing they could do—the bank was simply too far from the SWAT base.
"[HeroNet] has two responders confirmed," Emma said suddenly. When violence involved superhumans, [HeroNet] alerted nearby supers. Civilian-grade missions like this were easy pickings for Raisers and Trainees chasing Honor Merits, but Daniel wasn't optimistic. The skilled ones were usually busy with higher-reward jobs.
Minutes later, a lanky guy in a flashy jacket appeared, holding a selfie stick, striding confidently. "Yo, fans! Your hero's here, ready to save the day!" he declared, grinning broadly for his livestream, waving at his phone like a social media star.
He turned to a petite girl in a slightly worn sports jacket, smirking. "Oh, isn't this the famous Sidekick Kick-the-Side? Wait, no, I remember your other nickname—Defective Raiser, stuck at Level 1 forever, right? Here to be a punching bag? Hahaha!" He burst out laughing.
Daniel recognized them both immediately—"K-Pulse" Klein and "Sidekick Kick-the-Side" Mai, all too familiar from the online feeds.
Daniel frowned when he saw Klein, who was still livestreaming and interacting with his audience even as he reported for the mission. But considering Klein's level and abilities, Daniel let out a relieved sigh—at least this guy would be useful in this case, so he let it slide.
Turning around, he saw Mai peeking at the criminal's information, which had been traced using his superpower, on Emma's tablet. He was satisfied with her attitude, but in this case, a Level 1 Raiser like Mai wouldn't be of much help.
He knew more about her than just the meme. The sniper support she had provided for Inferno Knuckle had practically become required study material for both police and the military.
But back then she had a sniper rifle in her hands. Now, all they had at the scene was a sidearm—shorter range, weaker force, and far less precision.
Handguns carried a high degree of random deviation, and matching the kind of accuracy she'd shown with a sniper rifle was impossible. This wasn't about skill, but hardware—and with hostages inside, unless they could lure him out, firing a gun in there was far too dangerous.
Daniel said calmly, "The target is Jack Thompson, 42 years old, Level 15 Trainee, with the superpower [Iron Skin]. Next, we'll—"
Klein smirked, brushing his hair back as he cut Daniel off. "Level 15? I'm Level 18, boss. Leave it to me. Oh, and I'm K-Pulse Klein—don't forget to catch my livestream on YouToob!"
"No, we just need to hold him off or wait for him to come out…" Daniel tried to continue, but Klein shoved him aside. The strength of a Trainee wasn't something an ordinary person like Daniel could resist.
Klein waved his hand. "No worries, I've got this. Gotta move fast for the fans." He handed his phone to his assistant, instructing, "Get a good angle," then charged straight into the bank.
"Idiot," Daniel heard Mai mutter, and he thought the same, his forehead veins bulging with anger.
This was why he hated working with superhumans. They were trained after being confirmed as Raisers, but when no one at the scene could control them, they always acted arrogant and uncooperative.
Klein rushed inside, his fists emitting a faint glow and producing a humming sound that pressured the surroundings.
The robber coldly watched Klein charge in, stepping back with his right foot. His knees bent low, weight sinking steady; left arm rose before him in guard while the right hand drew tight against his hip.
Just as Klein threw a punch, the robber flicked his left hand in a smooth arc, brushing against Klein's elbow and knocking the glowing fist aside with ease, while his right hand snapped forward with a straight punch.
[Karate: Uke–Gyaku Zuki!]
A dull thud of fist meeting flesh echoed as Klein was sent flying back, crashing into the doorframe with a sickening impact. The punch to his stomach left him writhing in pain, spitting out some unidentified liquid.
Emma muttered, "His superpower is clearly more effective at long range—why get close?"
Daniel exasperatedly glanced at Klein's assistant, who hurriedly panned the livestream phone away. "To look good on camera, obviously."
"Back off!" Klein shouted, raising his hand, not daring to let the robber close in. The air around his hand vibrated intensely, forming a tiny distorted orb of energy. "Take this, you bastard—Kinetic Bullet!"
A loud explosion rang out as the [Kinetic Bullet] shot toward the robber—but its speed was barely faster than a thrown stone. With the reflexes of a Level 15 Trainee, he dodged with ease. The bullet slammed into a stone pillar behind him, shuddered violently, then exploded, blasting out a deep crater
The robber slowly stepped back. He cursed his luck for running into a Trainee whose ability hard-countered his own.
Though this kid was just a show-off rookie, broadcasting every trick he had online until nothing was secret. In a one-on-one fight, the robber was confident he could take him down despite the level gap and countering ability—because counter or level meant nothing if you couldn't land a hit, and this kid had no real combat skill. But the current situation didn't allow for a fair fight.
Klein wouldn't dare close in again; he'd keep shooting from a safe distance. And if the robber tried to chase him outside, even bullets that couldn't pierce his iron skin would still batter him with bone-rattling impact if the police opened fire without restraint. Which left him only one option…
Klein let out a low, mocking laugh and started firing [Kinetic Bullets] in rapid bursts.
The robber flowed across the floor with sharp, trained footwork. He dropped low, weight shifting as his back foot slid and his body pivoted just enough to let a shot slice past his chest.
Another bullet came quick—he glided forward in one smooth step, as if skating across the ground.
A third flashed in—his shoulder dipped, body twisting, and the glowing orb hissed by, close enough to feel its heat.
[Karate Steps: Ashi Sabaki]
No matter how many he shot, they all cut through empty air. Klein's smirk began to falter, irritation flashing across his face as the robber dodged with infuriating ease.
"Not good," Mai suddenly said.
Officer Daniel's eyes narrowed at her words. His pupils contracted as he finally caught the pattern—the robber wasn't just dodging. He was angling himself, step by step, herding closer to the terrified civilians.
Daniel shouted, "Klein, stop!" But the robber's mocking glare and Klein's desperation to shine on his livestream had driven him into a frenzy, ignoring the order and unleashing two more bullets.
The robber, surprised by Klein's recklessness, hadn't expected him to keep firing despite the people behind, and so he was a heartbeat late to dodge. Thinking fast, the robber focused Vorn into his right arm, then drove it forward in a spiraling arc, palm open, guiding the glowing orb off his forearm and away instead of meeting it head-on.
[Karate: Nagashi-Uke]
The bullet streaked past his shoulder and detonated high against the wall above.
He didn't care about the other bullet—it was a stray, a wild shot ricocheting straight toward the crowd. It tore across the floor, aimed at the pregnant wife frozen in terror. Screams erupted; her husband scrambled to shield her, only to slip helplessly on the tiles. In that split second, just as impact was certain, a dark blur flashed in and shoved the woman's head aside.
The pregnant wife stared wide-eyed at her mother-in-law—the one who always berated her, dismissing her as an Outer Wall nobody—now collapsed on the ground.
Klein finally snapped out of it, his face pale as he realized what he'd done. The robber glanced back at the scene. Most hostages had scattered, leaving only the family of three behind him.
Seizing the moment, he grabbed the pregnant wife, yanking her toward him while kicking the husband unconscious as he tried to intervene.
"Everyone back!" the robber roared, dragging her to the center of the room. "Clear the way, or she's done for!"
"That's why we should've waited for him to come out, you idiot," Daniel muttered under his breath, shooting a glare at Klein's assistant. The poor guy fumbled with the phone, torn between continuing the livestream for Klein's fans or stopping it altogether as the situation spiraled out of control.
The assistant's hands trembled, his eyes darting between the phone screen and the chaos unfolding inside the bank. Sweat beaded on his forehead, reflecting the harsh glare of the bank's overhead lights.
The scene inside the bank was a frozen tableau of terror. Klein stood rooted to the spot, his hand still raised in the firing position. His chest heaved, and his wide eyes betrayed a mix of shock and guilt as he processed the disaster he'd caused.
The air around him still hummed faintly with residual energy, a low, ominous drone that seemed to mock his earlier bravado.
The hostages, scattered across the polished marble floor, let out stifled whimpers and groans. Some clutched each other, their faces pale, while others curled into fetal positions, trying to make themselves smaller targets.
The pregnant woman, now held in a chokehold by the robber, gasped for air, her hands instinctively cradling her belly. Her eyes darted back toward where her mother-in-law had fallen, catching only a glimpse of the other hostages trying to drag the old woman to safety. The robber's metallic arm gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights, his grip unrelenting as he pressed her against his chest like a human shield.
The tension hung thick, a suffocating weight that seemed to slow time itself. The wail of police sirens outside seemed distant, drowned out by the pounding heartbeats of those trapped inside. The bank's glass walls, pristine and gleaming just moments ago, now reflected distorted images of fear and desperation.
Daniel, standing just beyond the entrance with his team, clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he struggled to make sense of the mess. His radio crackled faintly, but no new orders came through. The negotiator, a wiry man with a clipboard and a headset, was trying to stall, his voice steady but strained as he called out to the robber. "Let's talk this through. No one needs to get hurt. Just tell us what you want."
The robber, however, wasn't listening. His hooded face turned slightly, his cold eyes scanning the room with the confidence of someone who'd done his homework. He knew the police playbook—keep him talking, delay until SWAT arrived.
But he wasn't about to let that happen. "Clear the road now!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating off the walls. His metallic hand twitched, tightening briefly around the woman's throat, drawing a choked sob from her. The sound cut through the room like a knife, making several hostages flinch.
Amid the chaos, a low mutter broke the silence from the crowd of hostages. A middle-aged man, his suit rumpled and tie askew, crouched near the back. His face was flushed, his eyes darting nervously as he whispered, "She's just some Outer Wall woman. Forget about her and take out the robber already."
His words, though hushed, didn't go unnoticed. A young woman nearby seized on his comment. Her voice exploded into the tense air, shrill and venomous, echoing across the lobby from behind her medical mask. "She's just a filthy Outer Wall mutt! Let her die and take out the robber already!"
The middle-aged man froze, his hands flailing as he tried to shush her. "Oh, for heaven's sake, I didn't mean it like that!" he stammered, his voice cracking with panic. But the young woman ignored him, her tirade unrelenting.
"Take him down now!" she screamed, her voice rising to a fever pitch. "Kill him and that Outer Wall trash he's holding! Their lives aren't worth saving! Let those parasites die—there'd be more space for the rest of us!"
Her words dripped with venom, each syllable laced with a hatred that seemed to consume her. She stood up slightly, her slender frame trembling with rage.
Daniel's face darkened with fury. What a day, he thought. The situation was already a powder keg, and now he had to deal with this kind of bigotry?
The crowd around the young woman buzzed with unease. Some hissed at her to shut up, their voices sharp with disgust, while others only frowned, unwilling to go that far even if they shared her prejudice. The air grew heavy—the outburst had unsettled everyone, dragging buried resentments into the open at the worst possible time.
But the young woman didn't stop. Her voice grew louder, more unhinged, as if the chaos had snapped something inside her."I've had enough of this! Kill them both—both of them! That bastard and that Outer Wall scum—they're both the enemy! Their very existence is an insult to us all, a stain on society! They're born guilty! Why should I have to suffer this because of them?"
Her words spiraled into absurdity, each accusation more outlandish than the last. She jabbed a finger toward the pregnant woman, her eyes wild. "Take them both out! My father will level the Outer Wall and drive those vermin back to where they came from!"
The hostages nearest her recoiled, some scooting away on the floor, their eyes wide with disbelief. The pregnant woman's husband, still sprawled on the ground after the robber's kick, stirred weakly, his face contorted in pain and rage.
He reached out a trembling hand toward his wife, but the robber's grip on her tightened, cutting off her air. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror, but she didn't cry out—she couldn't.
Klein, still standing in the middle of the lobby, looked like he'd been slapped. The bravado was gone, replaced by a sickly pallor. He kept his stance as if ready to fight, but his body trembled, eyes flicking back and forth between the robber and the hostage in his grip. No one could tell what was running through his head.
His assistant, crouched low behind a counter, hadn't stopped filming; the phone was still pointed shakily at the scene. On the screen, the livestream chat flooded with shocked emojis and panicked comments, but Klein didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on the pool of blood left where the mother had fallen, the crimson trail leading deep into the crowd.
Daniel's mind raced. The negotiator was failing, SWAT was still minutes away, and Klein's recklessness had already cost one life—maybe more if this went south. The young woman's hateful rant was like gasoline on a fire, stirring unrest among the hostages and making the robber's grip on the situation even tighter.
The robber's eyes narrowed, his temple twitching.
He turned slightly, scanning the room behind him, and his gaze locked onto the young woman. Her striking eyes caught his attention first, then the smooth, bare shoulders and her slender frame hugged by a tight tank top.
A predatory gleam lit his eyes as he dragged the pregnant woman toward her, his tongue flicking across his lips at the sight of panic flashing in those beautiful eyes. The young woman shrank back step by step until her bare shoulders pressed against the cold wall, her breath quick and shallow, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm.
"Oh, an Inner Wall girl, huh?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "And your daddy's some big shot, is he? Well, how about you grace us with your noble presence and take her place as my hostage?"
The robber let out a mocking smile. "You're right—an Outer's life isn't worth much… but with you, I think I'll feel much safer."
The young girl let out a piercing scream, her voice cracking as she hurled curses, thrashing weakly in a mix of fear and futility. The robber grabbed her arm with ease, his iron grip unyielding, and shoved the pregnant woman aside. She stumbled, collapsing into her husband's arms, who had just struggled to his knees, his face pale and streaked with sweat.
Daniel pressed a hand to his forehead, muttering under his breath, "What kind of day is this? Nothing but lunatics." The situation was spiraling further into chaos, a tangled mess of egos, fear, and violence. Deep down, a small, bitter part of him thought the girl deserved this after her hateful outburst, but his conscience as a cop quickly smothered that thought. He couldn't let it cloud his judgment—not now.
The girl flailed, her free hand swinging wildly, striking the robber's face and chest as she screamed in terror, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her soft, pale fists were laughably ineffective against his iron-hardened skin, not even enough to make him flinch. But the relentless blows knocked his mask askew, exposing part of his face. He barely cared—by now the police had surely identified him anyway—but the ceaseless backfists were starting to grate on his nerves.
His smirk twisted into a snarl, patience fraying. "Enough!" he growled, metallic fingers digging into her arm, making her scream in pain—but her backfist swing didn't stop. The robber leaned closer, hooded face looming as he opened his mouth to spit another threat. But this time her harmless fist arced back toward his face with a trail of metallic light streaking after it. Before anyone could blink, a pistol was in her hand, its barrel rammed deep into the robber's open mouth, cold steel clinking against his teeth.
The bank fell deathly silent, as if someone had hit the mute button on a video. Every pair of eyes—hostages, police, even the robber—widened in stunned disbelief. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, the faint hum of Klein's residual energy fading into nothingness. The robber's eyes bulged, not from pain but from sheer shock.
Iron skin or not, a gun barrel in his throat was a serious problem.
Daniel froze, his mind racing. His gaze dropped to the small pistol in the girl's hand, then to his own holster—empty. How the hell—? His eyes darted to Emma, who still stood near the police cruiser. Just moments ago, Mai, the Level 1 Raiser, had been beside her, peering at the tablet's data. Now, the tablet lay forgotten on the hood, beside Mai's neatly folded sports jacket.
His attention snapped back to the robber and the girl. Those once-panicked eyes, now calm and steely behind the mask, were suddenly unmistakable. The shrill, bigoted persona was gone, replaced by a chilling composure.
"Let go," Mai said, her voice steady and low, "or we'll find out if your insides are as iron as your outsides."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the hostages, their fear mingling with confusion. The robber's metallic skin glinted under the bank's harsh lights, but his bravado faltered, his eyes locked on the barrel in his mouth. For a moment, no one moved.
Mai's gambit had been a calculated risk, laced with a touch of luck.
She had thrown herself into the role of a venomous, prejudiced Inner Wall elitist, channeling every ounce of her acting skill to provoke the robber. Every word, every curse she uttered had been aimed at his psyche, not at the hostage.
After reading Jack Thompson's file on Emma's tablet, she knew his history—an Outer Wall native whose very origins had doomed him to a chain of hardships, even after awakening as a superhuman.
The discrimination he had faced was a raw nerve, and Mai had jabbed at it on purpose. Making him sympathize with the hostage in his grip, making him feel she deserved to die, telling him she was Inner Wall, telling him her father was someone important—pushing him to see her as the more valuable hostage.
Even the bare shoulders, the tight tank top, and the deliberate way she carried herself—fragile, vulnerable, yet strikingly beautiful—had all been part of the act, baiting his lust, stacking every chance in favor of him switching hostages.
It worked. Her heart pounded, but her hand was steady, her eyes locked on the robber's.
Daniel and his team rushed in. Mai signaled for him to take the trigger and keep the robber under control. The man had surrendered, but no one on the scene could restrain him if he chose to resist—except that fool Klein, and nobody was counting on him anymore.
The paramedic team burst into the bank, their boots thudding against the polished marble as they scanned for the victim of Klein's stray [Kinetic Bullet].
The lead medic, a grizzled man with salt-and-pepper hair, muttered under his breath, "Which bastard swiped my med kit?" His eyes darted around, frustration etched into his weathered face.
It seemed some good people among the hostages had dragged the injured mother deeper into the bank, away from the chaos. The medic's gaze fell on his missing med kit, lying on the floor beside the victim—yet she was already carefully bandaged.
Her face was pale, her breathing shallow, but the dressings were precise, professional even. "What the…?" the medic muttered, kneeling beside her. A young bank employee tending to the woman pointed toward Mai. "It was her. Right after the woman got shot, she appeared and patched her up."
The medic examined the wound, his fingers deftly checking the bandages. He let out a low whistle, impressed. "This is textbook work," he said, nodding approvingly.
To be safe, he rechecked the injury. By some miracle, the bullet had passed clean through her shoulder, grazing only soft tissue without hitting bone. He shook his head, marveling at the luck.
Klein's [Kinetic Bullet] was a compressed pulse of force that, upon hitting a hard surface, would burst and unleash a devastating shockwave.
Fortunately, Klein had calibrated it for the robber's iron skin, so when it struck the soft tissue of the elderly woman, the pulse didn't detonate. It passed straight through. Had it hit bone and exploded inside her, she'd have lost the arm—or worse, her life.
Satisfied that the victim was stable, the medic relayed a quick update to Daniel. "She'll make it, but she needs a hospital now." Turning to Mai, he asked, "You study medicine, young lady?"
Mai peeled off her mask, and for the first time her face was laid bare—a startlingly young face, soft and unlined, looking no older than sixteen. The medic blinked, taken aback. He had assumed, from her composure, that she was at least an adult.
"No, sir," Mai said evenly, her calm unchanged. "My grandfather was an army medic. I picked up a few things from him."
"Good grief," the medic muttered, shaking his head. Then he forced a grin. "Sidekick K—er, Mai, right? I know you. That's some damn fine bandaging." He turned to Daniel. "Make sure she gets credit for this."
With that, he hustled back to the ambulance, ushering the pregnant woman and her husband, who clung to each other, tears streaming down their faces as they followed their injured mother out of the bank.
Klein was seething, a volatile mix of rage and humiliation churning in his gut. His livestream had turned into a complete fiasco. He'd swaggered in, proclaiming he'd "save the day," only to be floored by a single punch, shoot an innocent hostage, and give the robber an opening to take control.
And now, to top it all off, a Level 1 "meme Raiser" he'd mocked had effortlessly resolved the crisis. If this footage spread, his reputation would be in tatters—a lifelong embarrassment. His jaw clenched as he imagined the flood of mocking comments already pouring into his livestream chat.
Swallowing his pride, he approached Mai, forcing a smile and extending his hand. "Good teamwork," he said, his voice strained. "There was a little hiccup, but we did well together!" His words were a desperate attempt to salvage his image, framing the fiasco as a coordinated plan: him distracting the robber while Mai sneaked in to pose as a hostage and take control.
Mai glanced at his outstretched hand, her expression unreadable. She understood his game—he wanted to spin this disaster into a shared victory to save face. But she wasn't about to give this reckless idiot an inch. Without a word, she turned away.
Green veins bulged on Klein's forehead, his eyes blazing with fury as he stared at her neck. His entire career teetered on the edge of ruin, and she wouldn't even throw him a lifeline. His gaze shifted, catching the eyes of the robber, still kneeling on the floor with Daniel's gun pressed into his mouth. The robber's eyes flicked up and down Klein's trembling form, then turned away, a smirk curling his lips in blatant disdain.
The mockery was unbearable. Klein felt the world closing in, every whisper from the hostages, every glance from the cops, burning like a thousand tiny slights. Something inside him snapped, a taut thread of restraint giving way. In a blind surge of rage, he lunged forward and slapped the robber across the face with a resounding crack.
Daniel's heart sank, the world tilting as if the floor had dropped out from under him. The sudden slap jolted the gun from the robber's mouth, the barrel slipping free. Despite the stinging blow, the robber's smirk only deepened, his eyes glinting with contempt.
In one fluid motion, the robber sprang up from his kneeling position, leaping high as his legs split wide. His iron-hardened feet arced outward, aiming for Daniel and Klein at the same time.
[Karate: Kaikyaku Tobi Geri]
Mai reacted in a flash, slamming her foot into the back of Daniel's knee, forcing him to collapse and narrowly dodging the kick that grazed his scalp. Klein wasn't so lucky. The robber's foot connected with his face, sending him flying backward, his body slamming into the marble floor with a sickening thud.
The robber didn't stop. The instant his feet touched the ground, he lunged at Klein—the only one present capable of hurting him—intent on disabling him completely. His arm drew back for a lethal handknife strike.
[Karate: Shuto Uchi]
The blow landed with brutal force, his iron-hard hand smashing into Klein's face. His head slammed against the tiled floor, cracks spiderwebbing across it like shattered glass. Klein twitched once, twice, then went still, his fate uncertain.
The robber whirled, bloodshot eyes locking on his next target.
Mai.