Screens across the world flickered at the same time.
Shops. Homes. Offices. Streets.
Every channel showed the same headline.
"S-Rank Villain Kunter Eliminated."
Footage replayed endlessly—ruins, smoke, lightning scars carved into the earth. Analysts spoke of hero casualties. Reporters spoke of sacrifice. Civilians whispered the name of Tema's headquarters with awe and fear.
The world had already decided.
Kunter was dead.
Tema was the first to regain consciousness.
Pain greeted her immediately—sharp, heavy, overwhelming. Her body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together poorly. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar.
Ambulance lights.
Her heart skipped.
She forced herself upright, ignoring the protests of her body, and staggered out of the room.
Outside, chaos moved with grim efficiency.
Ambulances lined the streets. Stretchers rolled past one after another. Firefighters doused the last smoldering remains of what used to be her headquarters.
And her heroes—
Her children—
Being carried away.
"Wait—!" Tema tried to move forward, but her legs gave way.
A nurse caught her just in time.
"You can't move like this," the nurse said firmly. "You were caught in the blast too."
Tema grabbed her sleeve. "My kids. Where are they?"
The nurse hesitated, then softened.
"They're alive," she said. "All of them. Injured—but alive."
Tema's breath finally broke.
"Please," Tema whispered. "Let me see them. You can recover me later."
Nurse explained her softly.
"Your injuries are not too deep. You will be able to recover in few days, trust me, the hospital will take care of your children."
Tema in no condition to understand anything, gave up and fainted.
Days passed.
Slowly, painfully, Tema regained enough strength to walk on her own. The moment she was allowed out of bed, she went straight to the recovery wing.
Bear lay unconscious, his body wrapped in bandages, machines humming beside him. His condition was serious—but stable.
Tuka was awake, teeth clenched as doctors spoke of fractured bones and torn muscles. He listened in silence, anger burning behind his eyes.
Chiki's room was quieter. Severe skull trauma. Internal injuries. Months of recovery ahead.
Bandy's door remained closed.
Emergency only.
"No visitors," the doctor said gently. "He's not in a state to speak."
Chitki was recovering too—her suit's malfunction had sent electricity tearing through her body. She was alive, but shaken.
The rest of the heroes were scattered across rooms—bruised, broken, exhausted.
Tema stood in the hallway, hands clenched.
She blamed herself.
Every injury. Every scream. Every pain.
She just couldn't believe what had happened and started blaming herself for everyone's injury.
While she was still blaming herself, a voice from behind interrupted her.
"None of this is your fault."
Tema turned.
A man stood behind her—well-dressed, calm, guarded by presence alone.
The mayor.
The man straightened his coat and spoke calmly, choosing his words carefully.
"What happened here didn't just shake this city," he said. "It shook the world."
Tema remained silent.
"You fought an S-rank villain with a headquarters that barely had governmental backing," the mayor continued. "No official funding. No long-term support. No administrative protection."
He looked around the hospital corridor.
"And yet, your heroes stood their ground."
He took a step closer.
"I'm offering you full support," he said. "Rebuilding your headquarters from scratch. Modern infrastructure. Medical facilities. Training grounds. Equipment upgrades."
Tema finally took his words serious.
"No bills," he added. "No hidden costs. The city will cover everything—maintenance, repairs, utilities, logistics."
Her eyes narrowed. "And in return?"
The mayor smiled, not unkindly.
"Visibility," he said. "Association. Trust."
He gestured vaguely, as if pointing at the entire world.
"Right now, Tema Headquarters is being talked about everywhere. News channels. Social media. Schools. Children idolize your heroes."
He met her gaze.
"If I stand beside you publicly—if the city officially backs you—my administration becomes the one that supported the next generation of heroes."
He paused.
"And you," he said, "get the resources your children should have had from the start."
Silence followed.
Then Tema spoke, quietly but firmly.
"I think I might be needing two to three days to think about it."
The mayor nodded. "I'll wait."
As he left, Tema remained standing.
Thinking.