Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system

"Let me hand him over myself. My hands are itchy," said the operator who still had her boot planted on the man's back, halting the approaching detectives and officers.

She reached down, grabbed the man by the waistband of his shorts, and yanked them up along with his body. Then, without hesitation, she seized a fistful of his hair and pulled hard.

"Hiss—" the man groaned in pain.

"Hiss? Where was that hiss when you were hitting that woman?" Her tone was cold, devoid of mercy. She didn't even spare him a glance of pity.

Some younger officers nearby flinched, their idealism and textbook protocol nudging them to intervene. But the veterans stopped them with a glance and a subtle shake of the head.

Technically, yes—cases like this should be handled strictly by the police. But when Spirit Fox insisted on taking part, no one dared oppose.

And this wasn't formal procedure anymore—it was a message. A lesson.

It wasn't right by the book. It was beyond the law. But the older officers understood the deeper truth.

This man would be arrested, charged, maybe even imprisoned.

But would that be enough?

Too often, such men walked free after light sentences, only to return with a festering grudge and a sharpened knife.

They didn't see themselves as criminals—just victims of accusation. Of betrayal.

The person who reported them became the target of their hatred.

And that's why Spirit Fox took it a step further—not out of cruelty, but caution.

To imprint fear.

To brand a warning deep into his psyche: Don't come back.

That was how Spirit Fox operated. Like the older officers, Spirit Fox operators, who usually dealt with dangerous organized criminals and gangs, understood deeply about the perilous psychology and rebellious attitude, particularly against the weak.

It wasn't about upholding moral obligations—it was about protecting the vulnerable. Not because they had to, but because their humanity demanded it.

The operator exchanged a knowing nod with the officers preparing to write the reports. Somewhere else in the apartment, others were likely taking statements from the mother and daughter.

As she marched the cuffed man toward the door, she intentionally let his head bump hard against the frame.

He whimpered, but she didn't slow down.

"Ouch!" the man cried out in pain.

"Oops. Walk properly. Don't try to struggle," the operator sneered, the expression hidden beneath her hood.

As the two stepped outside, she suddenly hooked her foot behind his ankle, sending him stumbling into the wall. Before he could recover, she grabbed him by the neck and barked, "I said—don't move!"

"Ah!" he yelped again, his voice rising as sharp, cold pain shot through his limbs. She was pressing down on precise pressure points—one along his forearm where her grip tightened like a vice, and another near the base of his neck. His whole body stiffened in agony.

She leaned in close, forcing his cheek against the rough wall and tugged harshly on his ear.

Her voice was soft. Almost sweet. But the threat beneath was unmistakable.

"We haven't even reached the stairs yet. You know… accidents happen when suspects resist arrest. I mean, I'm just human too, right?"

The man opened his mouth, wanting to complain—but another squeeze at the pressure point silenced him. The pain was unbearable.

The operator ignored the uneasy looks from some of the nearby officers. Soon, she was out of sight, beyond the line of those who had witnessed her harsh methods.

One of the officers ahead reached out to help, but she waved them off with a dismissive flick of her hand.

"Oops… there you go again. Can't you just stop resisting and avoid making things worse?"

The man hit the floor again with a grunt and hissed in pain after being tripped by a furniture standing in the way. This time, he didn't dare utter a word. His lips clamped shut like a locked case.

Watching from the hallway, his ex-wife let out a long, deep sigh of relief.

She wasn't sure if the operator's "bullying" was calculated—but it certainly felt like justice.

If not for the presence of the other officers, she might have applauded.

The operator once again signaled for privacy, gesturing that she wanted to be alone with the suspect. She led him down the staircase, away from the apartment.

By now, a sizable crowd of neighbors had gathered near the building entrance. Fortunately, enough officers had been dispatched to keep the situation under control.

Once the operator reached a floor where there were no civilians—only a few officers trailing behind to monitor her actions—she grabbed the man by the neck and leaned in close.

"Don't think I don't know what's going on in that rotten mind of yours," she whispered.

"You disgusting piece of scum. You really thought you could exploit morality and hide behind your status as an ex-husband? Playing on that poor woman's trauma and psychology… Not a bad plan. Too bad it failed."

She sneered coldly. "Frightening her, manipulating her until she was too scared to report you… and planning to slip away when no one was watching. You really thought the court would go easy on you, didn't you?"

The man remained silent, but the flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes said enough. He knew she was right.

The operator tightened her grip on the back of his neck. "Listen closely. The law may be limited—but prison? That's a different game entirely. People like you? There's a special kind of hell waiting."

She leaned in further. "You know who we are, right? Spirit Fox. That means you should also know—we know people. Especially in prison. Especially… gangs."

Her tone turned oddly nostalgic. "Speaking of which, there's this one gang leader. Dangerous guy, sure, but he had principles. Organized crime, but he hated scum like you. He's got his own ways of 'correcting' inmates. I think he'd be happy to help."

"You…" The man muttered, horror dawning on his face.

The operator let out a low, amused hum, enjoying the fear in his darting eyes. She chuckled darkly.

The officers behind her said nothing. Just stood in awkward silence.

"Enjoy your time in prison. Reform yourself—if you can. And don't even think about doing something stupid once you're out. We have ways to make sure you never get out. Maybe I can't do it directly, but I guarantee—if you go in upright, you'll come out horizontal."

"Officers! Help! She's breaking the law!" the man suddenly screamed, his panic bubbling over. "You can't do this—it's illegal! Mmmph—"

The operator calmly pressed a mute pressure point. His words died in his throat, leaving only muffled sounds and wild, pleading gestures.

The officers nearby exchanged weary glances. Spirit Fox's reputation wasn't just hearsay. They really did speak openly about crossing the line.

Of course, maybe she was just bluffing. Maybe it was just to scare him straight.

But in truth, they were wrong.

If the man showed no signs of remorse—or worse, hinted at future retaliation—Spirit Fox wouldn't hesitate. They would be merciless.

And with Athena, their AI partner and massive database always watching, they had the time and precision to track every small detail. Even if the operators forgot, Athena wouldn't. She'd quietly send reminders—clean, untraceable—and ensure that all loose ends were dealt with.

No hands would point back. No trails would lead home.

And if justice by law failed, special justice would step in.

Yang Qingyue had long worked with Ling Qingyu to scrub such misconduct from their records. But sometimes, darkness knew how to hide—and how to survive.

After all, evil couldn't exist without good. And where there was light, there would always be shadow.

Soon, the operator escorted the man into the prison van. The effect of the acupuncture pressure points would wear off shortly, and he'd be able to speak again.

Meanwhile, the mother and daughter were gently guided into the ambulance, their heads covered with blankets to shield them from unwarranted cameras.

Sometimes, the sharpest knives came not from weapons, but from the mouths of people who vented their frustrations on society—gossiping, speculating, condemning.

Technically, Athena could intervene and disrupt the flow of such information. But too much interference could backfire, drawing even more unwanted attention.

It was better to let things unfold naturally—at least on the surface. After all, if the situation spiraled out of control, Athena would react accordingly.

No matter the level of concealment, the neighbors would eventually piece things together and rumors would spread. It was smarter for the police to issue official statements early—better them than some reckless netizen.

Waving goodbye to the mother and child with a sweet smile, the operator watched as the ambulance drove off, followed closely by another police vehicle.

Now came the less glamorous part of the job—reporting everything they'd seen and done. The paperwork was tedious, but necessary.

Fortunately, Spirit Fox's reporting system was streamlined by Athena. It saved both energy and time.

A/N: The event really did happen. The woman didn't report it until three days later. While the police did eventually arrest the suspect, what still infuriates me is how public opinion reacted at the time—around three years ago. People didn't seem to care. In fact, many treated it as a joke, dismissing it as just another "family dispute" because the perpetrator was her ex-husband. Some even blamed the woman for not calling the police sooner.

Victims of abuse often face layered trauma: not just from the act itself, but from the societal reaction that follows. When someone like this woman finally gathers the strength to report, only to be met with mockery or blame, it's an injustice that compounds the original one. It tells victims: "Even if you survive, we won't protect your dignity."

Three days is nothing in trauma time. Shock, dissociation, fear of retaliation, and especially societal shame can delay action. Add in gendered stigma, and the delay becomes almost inevitable. Expecting immediate reporting in such conditions is deeply ignorant of psychological reality.

Who can report something like that sincerely and clearly while still in shock? Most victims are confused and terrified in the immediate aftermath. It takes time just to process what happened, let alone take action—especially in societies where public judgment is harsh, norms are conservative (arguably), and blame is often placed on women instead of the abuser.

In conservative societies, especially those that emphasize female silence, obedience, or honor, women are discouraged from speaking out—not because they're weak, but because they know the moment they do, they become targets again, not just from the abuser, but from the community. And that fear is real.