NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 225: Expensive Actions
Brigid kept walking with her head low as her suitcase rolled behind her with the faint click-click of tired plastic wheels on linoleum tiles. Her medium puffy coat swayed slightly with each step, hood partially shadowing her face even though they were indoors.
She looked… done.
Not mad. Not sad. Just very disinterested in literally everything happening around her—like the type of girl who could walk past a raging monster and not even blink.
Marcus and Sarah trailed close.
They bickered over a very complicated map that looked like it was designed by someone who'd never seen buildings in real life.
"I don't understand…"
Marcus muttered, twisting the paper left, then upside-down, then sideways like it might unlock a cheat code.
"The building's map says the girl's dressing room should be right here somewhere."
Sarah side-eyed him as she walked, brushing one of her braids behind her ear.
"Uh-huh. And flipping it like a pancake helps how exactly?"
He held up a finger dramatically before she could finish.
"Please. I can read a Mercator world map of 1569 with just two glances. One dressing room in the largest convention building is a piece of cake. (.-`ω´-)✧"
He squinted, pulled the map so close it nearly touched his nose, and mumbled something unintelligible. Sarah didn't even bother replying this time—just blinked slowly like a cat watching someone fall down the stairs.
Trailing ahead, Brigid finally gave Marcus a slow, unimpressed side-eye.
"Why don't I have a personal dressing room like the other prodigies?"
Her voice was flat.
"I heard Irina got an entire floor to herself. Just to change into her suit."
She looked away with a tired blink—
"I should have one too."
Marcus gave a half-laugh, not quite mocking but not understanding either.
"As if Big Bro would ever go for something that shameless. I mean—if you wanna stand out in this crappy era of heroism, act less like a celebrity and more like a hero, right? Heroes are always selfless. They don't care about dumb things like floor space or fancy mirrors."
He puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying this unexpected opportunity to channel Scott. He even nodded to himself like he'd dropped some kind of sacred wisdom.
But Brigid mumbled back with a much lower voice—
"So I should just not have good things, huh? All because I was cursed with powers I never asked for?"
Marcus blinked. "Huh?"
Brigid stopped walking entirely.
Her head was so low her bangs masked her face.
"If these powers don't even let me feel… normal, or wanted, or anything close to special—what's the point? I'm not even special enough to have my own dressing space."
Her tone was sharp, bitter, but also… hurt.
"It's not about luxury. I'd also like Lord Scott to see me as a woman. Not just his dumb little student. If my powers can't even get me that, then what are they even for?"
She started walking again, a little faster now as her face hardened with each step.
Marcus looked stunned, actually stunned.
"Wait, what…? Brigid, what's this about—? The benefit of having powers is saving people and putting a smile on their faces. You know this more than any—"
But she wasn't done.
"I do like Nightwatch…"
She snapped over her shoulder.
"But Irina's right. He had no powers. He became a hero anyway. That kind of person's rare. Special. I don't know if I want to be like him anymore. What's the point of trying to be brave and selfless when the people who pretend to care about me won't even give me five damn minutes of validation all because I don't go for stupid stupid talk shows or do ads for stupid products nobody wants?"
She gripped the handle of her suitcase tightly.
"Silver Sentinel, Nightwatch… they're my role models, but I have to accept I can't be like them. You can't teach courage or selflessness. Just because I admire them doesn't mean I have to be like them, right…?"
Her boots thudded harder as she finally saw the sign up ahead—Girls' Changing Area B.
"Tch… maybe I should just be a corporate sellout. At least then I'd be famous. Respected. Already saving people like I always wanted to."
With that, she stomped off, rolling her suitcase faster and with more attitude than a runway model who just got snubbed from the final walk.
Marcus turned to Sarah, mouth open, hand half-raised like he was expecting a save file to reload.
"Are you seeing this??"
Sarah looked… frozen.
Eyes slightly wide, lips slightly parted.
"Wow. I've never seen her like that."
"Yeah…"
Marcus muttered, still staring down the hallway.
"That's what I was afraid of."
Brigid entered the dressing room, and Sarah followed shortly after with hesitant steps.
Marcus stood awkwardly outside like a lost puppy.
His hand hovered near the handle, then pulled back when he saw the beefy security guard squinting at him.
The guard said flatly.
"You sick little perv… (－＂－怒)"
"Uhh… eheh… sorry, I forgot…"
Marcus laughed nervously as he backed away with a shameful salute.
Then he yanked out his phone and dialed Scott.
"Yeah. I should probably call Big Bro…"
･･･
Meanwhile—
In a wide, dim room near Memorial Hall, Scott stood in front of Princess Willow—his face and shirt still blotched with spaghetti sauce. The silence between them was so strong it could be bottled and sold as anti-noise.
Willow had a starry-eyed look as she tilted her head up at him, with pink cheeks.
"Wow…"
She gulped dramatically.
"You're tall…"
Scott blinked down at her, not sure whether to thank her or throw a towel over his head.
"Aha… thanks."
They just… stood there.
BRRAAAANG!!
His phone suddenly vibrated loudly on the expensive old desk beside them.
"Saved by the bell…"
Scott muttered, already turning to grab it.
But Willow suddenly reached for his hand.
Her soft fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Mmm… you can do that later!"
She said in a weirdly innocent tone.
"You should, uhm, change… and clean up first."
She nodded anxiously.
"Yeah—Yeah—!! Do that! Wouldn't want Nadia thinking anything weird is going on, right? (￣▽￣*)ゞ"
Scott narrowed his eyes.
"Define weird."
"Tee-hee~"
Willow giggled, scrunching her little nose.
Scott sighed and turned around to pull off his shirt.
"Could you… (;一_一)"
"Hm?" she blinked.
"You're uhm…"
"Need some help?" she cocked her head.
"Could you… not stare while I—?"
She blinked again, not moving.
"Right… (￢_￢)" Scott muttered. "Okay."
He peeled off his shirt, revealing a lean torso and the kind of muscle definition that could make a fitness influencer spiral into depression. Willow immediately slapped her hands over her mouth as if she just witnessed an ancient taboo. Her fingers splayed like her soul was escaping through them.
『SO HOT—!!! ❤️』
She took a few steps back.
Then Scott stretched—
Just enough to make his back ripple.
Willow made a quiet, barely-audible eep and reached a hand out like she was about to poke his triceps.
Then Scott turned.
"Can you hand me the extra shirt?"
"I—I SWEAR I WASN'T LOOKING!!"
She screeched and turned away, waving her hand like she was deflecting invisible blame.
Scott just stared at her with tired, half-lidded eyes.
"Uh-huh. (￢_￢)"
He rinsed his face at the dusty sink, water sloshing messily as he muttered—
"Just pass me the shirt…"
"Yes, daddy—"
"Huh?"
"NOTHING—! (╬ Ò﹏Ó)"
Willow quickly rushed to grab the folded shirt on the desk and tossed it.
He caught it mid-air without looking.
"Sooooo~"
She said after a pause, already tapping a finger on her chin as she played around with her feet.
"Do you leave shirts hanging around convention centers or…?"
"Uhhh… I'm a model. We can download clothes on demand. Life hack."
Scott said as he dried his face.
Willow giggled. "Funny."
Scott slipped the new shirt on, adjusting it smoothly as he turned toward the door.
"Come on, let's go—"
He opened the door and—
THUD.
Nadia nearly toppled forward, her ear having been pressed to the door.
Scott instinctively caught her shoulder.
"Uhh… curious much?"
He asked, raising a brow.
"I was obviously just checking on Willow…"
Nadia said, standing up straight with the defensive energy of a teenager caught sneaking snacks.
"She wasn't with her guards."
Scott stared blankly. "Right… (;一_一)"
Then, Willow spotted Charlie and River down the hallway, flanked by her actual guards.
Her entire body stiffened.
"We should go, Nadia!"
She squeaked, grabbing Nadia's wrist.
"B-but I haven't—"
"You can always finish that later, come on, let's go greet your dad!"
She insisted, relentlessly dragging her away like her life depended on it.
Scott watched them leave, arms crossed loosely.
Behind a distant pillar, Emma peeked, then pumped her fists like she'd just won a bet.
"YES! YES! Leave!"
Nadia glanced back at Scott one last time, and something cloudy showed in her eyes.
"So… you really are trying to dodge this conver—"
Scott let out a soft breath to cut her off.
But then, surprisingly… smiled.
"I promise we'll talk about it. Over dinner. I'll be staying in Meteor City for a week. Pick the place."
Nadia blinked. Her breath caught for a second.
Then Willow dragged her out of sight.
Scott looked down the hallway.
Emma emerged with her backpack.
"I should go get my S-Rank ID and leave before anyone important sees me…"
And with that, she left with her mask high.
Few seconds later—
The lights inside Memorial Hall dimmed.
The chatter among the audience dipped to polite murmurs as golden spotlights shimmered to life, their beams danced across the wide marble walls before finally focusing on center stage—right where a sharp-looking woman in a fitted navy-blue suit stood.
Short brown hair. High heels. Piercing but composed eyes behind a thin pair of designer glasses. She gave a gentle, rehearsed smile that was meant to say trust me, I know exactly what I'm doing.
She didn't wave. She didn't flinch.
She simply smiled at the people.
The important people.
The sponsors, the CEOs, the tech moguls and the legacy heroes seated in the velvet-lined VIP booths that dotted the back of the vast, chandelier-lit room.
As for the rest of the crowd—fans, curious onlookers, first-timers, and anxious rookie heroes lining the far bleachers?
She didn't seem to care.
Her voice came steady through the mic system.
"Hello, everyone. My name is Ann Silverlake, and I'll be your host for this year's SMPE Week."
She made a neat little bow.
A delicate applause followed.
Classy. Polite. Like the kind of clap you give after hearing a cello solo at a private wine tasting.
Standing by one of the massive side pillars with folded arms was Scott.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Hrmm. The last SMPE definitely had way more life than this one… so boring…"
He glanced across the rookies, all standing a bit too stiff, a bit too polished. Like they were afraid to breathe wrong in front of potential sponsors.
"They're probably trying to act all refined now, appeal to future investors or whatever. Ridiculous."
He huffed with a crooked smile.
"I trust Brigid. She doesn't care about any of this fake stuff. Honestly, she's too good for these people. She's probably backstage being her usual unfiltered self…"
He paused for a moment. His proud smile softened.
"Heck, I'd let her say any perverted thing she wants on stage. Long as she's having fun."
He looked down, a warm glint in his eye.
"That's all I want for her…"
But then—
"Holy shit—it's her!"
Someone gasped from the crowd.
"Oh my God…! Here comes the queen herself!"
Scott blinked and turned in the direction everyone was gawking.
"No way. Queen Elizabeth III is here? Seriously?"
But it wasn't royalty. It was Irina Golovin.
And she looked like royalty.
She strode in like she owned it all, her snowy white hair felt like glowing clouds under the lights. Her slender, long legs and confident gait turned every eye toward her—and not a single step felt forced.
Around her bustled a small team.
One assistant fanned her makeup, another held up bottled water and asked if the temperature was okay. Yet another carefully adjusted the folds of her cape, while Sasha, her chief aide, tapped on a digital clipboard as they approached the side of the stage.
Scott blinked. "She really came all out…"
Just then, he noticed a cluster of sharply dressed Iranian men seated in one of the exclusive sponsor lounges. They were whispering and gesturing toward Irina with greedy eyes.
"She's sexy. Very perfect for launching our new automobile campaign!"
"No, no, no…"
One countered, sipping wine.
"She definitely has a watch girl aura. Picture her advertising our $90,000 chronographs. Class and danger. That's the brand."
They kept naming absurd numbers.
Outrageous figures. Tens of millions.
Scott gave them a side-eye and clicked his tongue.
"She hasn't even spoken yet, and they're already planning how to slap her on their billboards. Tch…"
He looked back toward Irina.
Her entire presence gave off a different energy.
Cool, elegant, but strangely untouched by pressure.
"She's not just confident… it's like she's convinced that she's the best in the room."
He watched her closely, expression unreadable.
"Actually… she kind of reminds me of Emma."
His gaze lingered on her as if trying to figure something out—until Irina suddenly turned and locked eyes with him from across the hall.
She froze. Mouth slightly open.
Then—
"Miss Irina! No stopping!"
Sasha hissed, tugging her arm.
But Irina didn't move.
Her delicate hands flew to her chest, pressing lightly over her heart.
"Wait, wait—I saw him!"
Sasha gave her a confused glance. "Saw who?"
Irina's cheeks flushed a beautiful pink as her fingers squeezed against her chest.
She practically squealed—
"I saw him! I can't believe it—Scott's really here!"
Her usually poised elegance crumbled in two seconds flat. She looked less like a global supermodel and more like a teenage girl being told her crush was standing right outside her door.
The crowd murmured.
One guy asked, "Who's she talking about?"
Another rolled his eyes.
"Duh, this room's packed with world-famous people you idiot. Probably one of those rich, snobby European dudes behind the glass. Or those Arabian guys that make videos about how your father can't afford their Rolex and should probably go get a fucking Casio."
That got some chuckles, and a few people started throwing subtle glares toward the velvet-lined sponsor area.
Security tightened slightly.
Even the glass wall separating the elite section hummed as its opacity setting gently activated.
Meanwhile, Irina had gone full sparkly-eyed mode.
『Did he really come here… for me? To support me at my SMPE? Awwww~! ❤️』
Her heart practically levitated out of her chest.
『We had that really good talk… and maybe I didn't want to be the first to text him… and maybe he didn't either… so he just came to see me in person?! I'm sure when I ask him he's gonna act like he didn't come here to see me!』
Her giggles bubbled out.
Her entire team exchanged side glances.
Sasha sighed, "What is wrong with this girl today…"
Irina pumped a tight fist in the air.
"Alright, guys! I'm fired up! I'm gonna blow this SMPE off the charts!"
She threw an arm around Sasha and shouted—
"Okay, gimme the script! Let's go!"
Her team perked up, smiling proudly behind her.
Back on stage, Ann Silverlake smiled as she addressed the crowd.
"Alright, everyone. Let's buckle up for one of today's major presentations!"
Classy applause.
Scott's phone vibrated again.
He sighed, pulled it out, and stepped away from the crowd.
He pressed it to his ear.
"Sarah? What's up?"
Silence.
He frowned. "Sarah?"
Still nothing.
"Is Brigid okay? They haven't called her yet, but we should probably hold out because of Adira—"
Finally, Sarah's voice came through. Dull. Flat.
"… Brigid left."
Scott paused. "Left where? To pee or something?"
"No…" Sarah whispered.
Scott's blood ran cold. Her tone. That pause.
Something was wrong.
He walked deeper into a quiet corridor near the side balcony, away from the noise.
"Sarah, what happened? Talk to me."
After a long pause, she finally replied.
"Brigid said… she's not interested in doing this anymore. She's always been told she has to be a corporate hero. That maybe it's the only way she'll ever get the chance to make real change in HER own way."
Scott's entire body went still.
He stared blankly at the tiled wall.
"… No."
His voice came out hard.
"No. Brigid would never say that. I'd bet my life on it. She's never wanted that. Not once."
He turned sharply as his voice spiked.
"What the hell is going on? Is this some kind of joke?! She's the one who always said she'd go beyond all this shallow celebrity trash!"
Sarah swallowed.
"It was probably something Irina said to her."
"Wait, Irina…?"
"A competitor. She's one of the four pro—"
Click.
Scott ended the call.
His eyes slowly turned back toward the stage—where Irina was now standing confidently behind the mic, waving to the audience.
But his face wasn't filled with awe anymore.
It was hard.
Still.
And in his chest, something tightened.
･･･
Meanwhile…
Outside the convention building, a sleek black limousine sat quietly along the curb.
Inside, Brigid sat in silence.
Her suitcase lay by her feet.
Her face was blank, eyes dull like a dimmed-out star.
Across from her, Adira Crowe smiled over the rim of her wine glass.
Her blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Well, well…"
She chuckled sweetly.
"So you finally decided to come back to me. Mhm~ I didn't even have to work that hard, did I?"
She took a slow sip.
"Don't worry, Brigid. I'll make you a real hero…"
Brigid didn't respond.
She just stared out the tinted window.