I Won't Fall, Even If I Die
"Ajusshi, could you maybe help me out a bit?"
"With what?"
Playing dumb, I asked, and Spica pulled out her phone to show me a text message.
"Honestly, it's kinda weird for a hero to ask a villain for help like this, but please. In return, if we run into each other later, I'll pretend I didn't see you."
"I don't really care if you pretend or not."
"Ugh... well, that's true, but..."
Her reaction was so fun to tease—I wanted to drag it out more—but neither of us had the luxury of time, so I cut the joking short.
"Fine, whatever. Truth be told, some hero named Marie or whatever isn't my problem, but if the Alliance is involved, I can't just walk away."
"Ajusshi, you got some grudge against the Alliance or something?"
"Don't ask. I'm not telling."
"Whatever."
I played it off like I had no connection to Marie while naturally steering things toward helping her anyway—with a little lie. The news had painted me as Alliance-affiliated, but Spica, who'd been on-site, knew better. Every enemy I'd fought so far had been Alliance goons, so claiming a grudge against them was convenient all around. Convincing people a werewolf was on the side of justice protecting civilians? Tough sell. But if it was just hating the Alliance enough to step up? That created mutual interests we could align on.
And just like that, Spica and I formed a temporary alliance. We headed to their hideout to rescue Marie.
Arriving at the hideout, Spica called Marie's phone. Predictably, a villain picked up.
She let him know she'd arrived, and soon villains poured out, surrounding her. Surrounded, Spica entered the hideout, eyes darting around as she mentally mapped enemy numbers and escape routes while they led her deeper.
Eventually, they reached an underground room. There, behind iron bars, was Marie—restrained.
"Marie unnie!"
It'd only been hours since they'd parted, but Spica shouted joyfully anyway. Marie didn't stir, unconscious or worse.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down. We haven't killed her yet."
"So, what's the point? Kidnapping Marie unnie to lure me here—what's your goal?"
Seeing Marie slumped over sent a surge of rage through Spica, but she forced herself to stay cool. To save Marie, she had to think straight. One rash move driven by emotion, and Marie could be done for. Sure enough, a villain loomed right by her, ready to strike.
"You want to save Marie? Simple: 30 minutes. Survive our attacks for 30 minutes, and we let her go. No powers, so don't worry."
Spica's eyes narrowed fiercely as she scanned the villains encircling her. A camera sat in one corner—not surveillance, but one set up to film whatever happened here.
Seeing it clicked for her: bait her with Marie as hostage, film a hero getting beaten helpless, leak it online. Sleazy and pathetic, but the impact? Massive. She was the hero in the spotlight lately, non-consensually. Footage of her getting mobbed would shock everyone—perfect for them.
They claimed no powers, but even baseline, ability users had superhuman physiques compared to normals. Taking punches from that crew for 30 minutes? Survival odds near zero. And even if she lasted, no way they'd honor the deal.
But with Marie hostage, she had no choice.
"Resorting to hostage threats 'cause you can't win fair and square? Kinda pathetic."
"Guilty. We're ugly like that. That's why we're villains, right?"
She prodded their egos on purpose, but it bounced right off. Sighing, Spica accepted.
"Fine. I'll play along for 30 minutes special."
"That's the spirit. We don't want to kill you anyway—let's see how long you last."
"Jeez. If you're gonna lie, at least put some spit on it."
"Wonder how long that cockiness lasts?"
With that, a villain's fist slammed her gut. Spica gasped, crumpling to the floor.
Another kicked her head as she fell, sending her rolling with a groan.
"Urk..."
"Only two hits and you're done? Lame."
Her head spun, brain rattled, body limp and dizzy—but staggering, Spica forced herself up.
"You guys need more gym time. Felt like a mosquito bite."
"Oh yeah? Still got sass, huh."
The situation sucked, but Spica wasn't just taking it blindly. She just needed to buy more time. Couldn't drop here.
She endured wave after wave of attacks without a single scream, standing tall each time. Legs shaking, coughing blood, ignoring the agony everywhere—she rose, even flashing a grin.
Twenty minutes in, the villains who'd been gleefully pounding her started looking unnerved. Her face swollen, legs limping, yet she kept rising. It was eerie now, making them shrink back.
They wanted her begging for mercy, broken. Not this unbreakable defiance. Far from shocking people, it'd just glorify her resolve and enrage folks at the villains.
Killing her now was easy—she was at her limit—but that wouldn't give them their desired scene.
"Damn, you're tough. Getting tired of this yet? Ready to quit?"
"...You messed up. If you wanted me broken from the start, you should've grabbed me. With my teammate hostage, how could I fall? I won't—even if it kills me."
They'd targeted Spica not just for her fame, but her image: unbreakable will, strong convictions. Unlike flashy modern heroes chasing YouTube and fame, she was old-school—saving people quietly. Almost universally liked.
Breaking her would've been perfect. Instead, it backfired.
Frustrated, the leader pivoted.
Tch. Time for torture. Beating her raw won't break her.
No one withstands torture forever—physical or mental. That's what made it torture. Rip out nails, lop off limbs? Anyone crumbles. They never planned to let her walk anyway. Torture might backfire with backlash, but better than a failed plan.
As they moved to drag her to the torture room, sudden noises echoed from the hideout above—big and small crashes.
-Boom. Thud.
"What the hell? Why's it so noisy up top?"
"Something wrong?"
Spica could barely move anyway, so the leader-type grabbed his radio to check.
"Hey, top side's getting rowdy—what's the problem?"
"What? Joker? That werewolf?"
The sudden report of Joker raiding the hideout—now—spread shock among the villains. How'd he find it? And at this exact moment?
The voice cut to a scream, then silence. Radios dead, villains froze—then panicked, milling about cluelessly.
Spica, who'd been biding her time, seized the distraction. She lunged toward Marie.