The Miraculous should have prevented recognition. Always. It bent the minds of friends, family, even enemies so no one could ever put the pieces together. Yet she looked straight at me and with no hesitation, no doubt.
Admitted to knowing my secret identity.
For the briefest second, my expression slipped. My jaw tightened, eyes narrowing just enough to betray me. A micro-expression, it was both tiny, and fleeting. But her robotic eyes caught it.
Her smirk deepened like a predator that had just confirmed the scent. "Relax. The magic works on humans. But it sjmply due to the AI inside that contributes to my sight. it isn't affected by illusions or cognitive tricks. It sees what's really there. Reads every bit of detail. Even the ones you try not to show."
I let out a slow breath and rolled my shoulders, easing back into the calm demeaner I wore better than any costume. "Guess that makes sense." My smirk returned, casual. "Still, if you're going to talk to me, call me Viperion. Easier that way."
Even though I've yet to receive my offical heroe name from Alya Viperion was always still an option.
"Well, Viperiom. Your coordination was very helpful."
"Viperion," Sparrow repeated, landing beside us with an almost machine precision voice carring a wondering tone," Not bad for someone I've never seen before," Sparrow said, her breathing steadying.
Then her lips curved into a small smile. "My people have a saying, every warrior fights with the strength of those beside them. You moved like you knew that truth already."
She crossed her arms, a grin tugging at her lips. "Not bad for a first impression. If you ever want a training partner, I wouldn't mind seeing what else you can do."
I chuckled softly, giving her that lopsided grin people seemed to like. "Careful now. Keep talking like that, and I'll think something else."
She scoffed a bit taken aback, though her faint blush betrayed her. "Don't flatter yourself to much. I'm just saying you can fight."
I leaned closer, lowering my voice just enough that it felt personal. "Then maybe we should test that. See if you can keep up when the battlefield isn't stacked in your favor."
The hue deepened, but she didn't look away. Accepting the challenge.
I gave them my number and waved goodbye before my time ran out.
All was going well despite the blunder of my identity being partially leaked. What I came here for was Influence. A stage big enough to pull the world's eyes toward me in support.
America was the place for this known mainly for there influential heroes and culture surroundi g them. And I had just the plan for that.
The next few days blurred into illegal search, payments, and encrypted calls. My money wasn't infinite, but with the low end of tens of thousands tucked away, it stretched further than I expected. Besides a single call could refill this amount.
Hire the right people, and suddenly doors opened everywhere. Actors willing to risk bruises for a check. Tech guys who could rig blanks and squibs with precision. Even a few stuntmen with experience selling fear.
All it took was typing in the right forums, dangling the right numbers. People always came running when money was on the table.
Rigged Crisis. That's what I named it.
A staged disaster. Controlled, safe, but terrifying enough to fool anyone watching through a camera lens. If I was going to build trust, I needed proof. Proof that I wasn't just another costumed pretender. Proof that I could save people when it mattered most.
And the centerpiece? A hostage.
Not some random extra. No—this had to mean something. I picked a face millions already knew that was still possible to access without much trouble. A popular influencer from America, her following stretching across YouTube, TikTok, streams. The kind of person people cried for when they thought she was in danger. If she screamed, the world would listen.
I set it all up. Paid actors as gunmen, squibs in their vests, even police scanners tipped off for background noise. The influencer was in on it, of course. Agreeing faster than I expected when I simply made up a number I wouldnt actually be giving her. But she did not understand her assignment entirely, fear had a way of blurring the line between play-acting and real danger.
That fear would sell it.
I set the stage, The most well known plaza downtown, actors in masks sitting in a van, guns loaded with blanks and squibs rigged to explode convincingly. Camera angles mapped out, drones on standby.
Every detail accounted for. Every second planned basically identically to the real deal.
Now all it needed was the final ingredient.
Me.
I checked the time on my phone. The stage was ready, the players in place.
And with that, I pushed myself up from a roof fastening the Snake bracelet a little tighter on my wrist, transforming immediately.
"Second Chance," I whispered, just in case.
The world reset itself to my control.
I stepped into the night, The city was about to witness their new savior.
Influencer POV—
This was it. The moment.
I adjusted my phone's angle, making sure the livestream caught everything—the bustling plaza, the golden-hour sunlight, the perfect backdrop for my biggest stunt yet.
Sure, the money was nice, but that wasn't why I agreed. This was content. A staged kidnapping, a heroic rescue—viral potential off the charts. My followers would eat it up. And when the mysterious new hero "saved" me? Boom. Clout explosion.
The white van screeched to a halt right on cue. Men in masks poured out, guns raised. Perfect. I bit my lip, forcing my breath to hitch—gotta sell it.
One of them grabbed me, his grip way too tight.
"Ow—hey, ease up!" I hissed under my breath, jerking my arm. My phone clattered to the ground, the livestream still rolling.
The masked man didn't loosen his hold. Instead, he whipped the gun up—and fired.
BANG.
The shot cracked through the air, deafening. Real. Too real.
My heart stopped.
"Shut your damn mouth," he snarled, shoving the barrel against my ribs.
This wasn't part of the script.
The crowd's screams turned frantic, genuine. Was, was this staged panic? Was everyone just better actors than myself. But seeing it—this was raw terror. My breath came in short, sharp gasps. They weren't blanks. They weren't actors.
The masked man shoved me forward, cold steel digging against my temple. My breath caught, vision swimming from the sheer panic. I knew it was staged. I knew the gun wasn't loaded. B-but was it. Every instinct screamed that this was real.
"Stay still, or she dies!" the actor roared, his voice echoing off the plaza walls. Swarms of similary dress men came and stormed behind me and that when it hit me that we where standing directly infront of a bank.
The crowd's screams felt deafening. Cameras flashed. Phones rose like a forest of desperate witnesses.
I was about to break down onto my well moisturized knees, but terrified of the potential relatiation I stayed, vulnerable and trembling.
And then, he came.
Cutting through like a blade. Bullets flew real bullets, but he moved like the air itself bent around him. Effortless. Unstoppable.
When he reached me in almost a blink, his grip was firm, protecting, pulling me behind cover like I was something precious. For the first time in my life, I forgot about the livestream.
Thank god, I was saved. And now, all I saw was him.
---
Luka POV —
Her wide eyed stare was perfectly angled so genuine you'd sound dumb to deny. That mix of terror and awe couldn't be faked.
Exactly what I needed.
Hours later, I was back in my apartment, screens glowing with every captured angle—the helicopter shots, the shaky livestreams, the influencer's own terrified vlog after the fact. I edited them into a clean package. A flawless showcase of heroism.
I leaned back, satisfied, as I hit "send" to Max along with some raw footage.
The first brick of Rigged Crisis was in place.
And the world was about to start paying attention to the kindest most bravest heroe around.
——
Mb for the late chapter arrival, moving into my dorm! Another chpt this monday :D