"Please, listen to me—for the sake of the child in your arms, please reconsider. The rain outside is far too heavy. It's not safe to take off in this kind of weather."
"Sir, I mean no harm. I just want you to hear me out—sir?"
"Ladies, don't you have even the faintest premonition? That sense that something terrible is about to happen? If you really stop and feel, I believe you can sense it."
Bella was doing her best to persuade the surrounding passengers. The problem was, she had no solid proof to offer—just a sincere tone and a determined attitude.
As long as someone was willing to listen, she would patiently try to convince them to wait for the next flight. Her voice was genuine and earnest, and gradually, a few passengers did stop to listen.
But most were still skeptical, and a few had started openly mocking her.
"Idiot.""Psycho.""Delusional."
All sorts of labels were thrown at Bella.
"Miss! Either board now or leave. This airport doesn't tolerate disruptions!" A security guard, a hulking Black man, jabbed a finger toward the exit.
Bella suddenly realized her mistake—Why persuade individuals when I can demand an official inspection?
"Where's your supervisor? I demand immediate maintenance checks! This is our right as passengers!"
Her phrasing—perfectly American, dripping with democratic ethos—drew murmurs of support. Four or five backed her, including a white-bearded elder.
"I agree. The airport must prioritize safety. A full inspection is necessary."
From the student group emerged a tall, brunette girl, visibly sweating but resolute.
"Claire, you're joining this madness?"
"Of course—Crazy Claire. Always knew she was unhinged."
"Ms. Redfield! Return to the group now!" The teacher's voice cracked like a whip.
But Claire stood firm. "We can wait three hours for the next flight. Boarding now is reckless. I feel it too—that dread."
Despite her efforts, most dismissed it as absurd. Only Bella, Claire, two classmates, and a dozen others remained.
The airport manager arrived, his potbelly quivering with irritation. A dozen passengers refusing to board over premonitions? Media fallout would doom his career.
"Listen here," he glowered, "get out. And consider yourselves banned from Trans Global Airways."
Claire's friends gasped—they'd hoped to catch the later flight.
"You can't do that!"
"We'll sue for discrimination!"
The manager waved security forward. Good riddance.
Then—chaos erupted from the plane.
Two burly students dragged a scrawny boy off the aircraft, the teacher trailing helplessly. A flood of passengers followed.
"Let go! The plane's gonna blow! I'm not lying—let go, damn you!" The boy thrashed, drenched in sweat, his plaid shirt soaked through. His captors grimaced, treating him like a rabid animal.
Another voice shrieked—a dark-haired young man:
"Remember the bridge collapse? I survived that! God—I knew this felt familiar! Like something hijacked my mind at the gate! We're all gonna die!"
If only one person says it, maybe no one will believe it. But if two or three people say it, then the credibility of the story increases significantly.
Unlike the scenes in Bella's original memory, this time, around forty to fifty people suddenly came pouring off the plane with a whoosh. Many ran so fast they even lost their shoes, as if some ferocious beasts were chasing them. The departure hall instantly became a chaotic mess.
The pilot, a Black man, was so angry his face had turned pale. In all his years of flying, this was the first time he'd ever encountered something this absurd.
Counting the dozen or so people who had already remained in the hall, along with the forty or fifty who now fled the plane like it was life or death, a full third of the passengers were gone in an instant.
With the situation having escalated to this point, someone was bound to leak it to the media. For the airline to dispel the rumors, there was only one option left: take off as planned.
"Are you sure the plane will be okay?" The airport supervisor glanced nervously at the increasingly heavy rain outside and couldn't help but whisper the question to the Black pilot.
"Trust my professionalism. I promise you, nothing will go wrong!"
The Black pilot turned on his heel and boarded the plane, fuming.
Bella distanced herself from the passengers who had deplaned and sat alone in a corner, watching as the plane slowly taxied down the runway, her emotions a complete mess.
The rush of adrenaline had passed—and now fear crept in.
The more she knew, the more terrified she became.
She worried for the hundred-plus passengers still on board. But if nothing happened, if the plane landed safely—what would happen to her, the one who had started all of this? Was spreading false rumors punished with just 15 days of detention?
And if someone suspected that she had orchestrated the entire plane incident… would it start at 15 years behind bars?
Bella became increasingly anxious, her beautiful brows furrowed tightly. Her already pale complexion turned even whiter.
She looked over at the scrawny male student still struggling and shouting like a rabid dog, then at the young man with black hair. She felt a faint sense of comfort—at least there were two male leads who'd "shared the burden" with her! Since she had no actual connection with either of them, it wouldn't count as group conspiracy, right? If the three of them were judged individually, the punishment might be much lighter...
(End of Chapter)