For a mont, the room froze. Forks hovered mid-air. Plates rattled softly against the table.
The won stared at him, their eyes wide in shock.
"Wait... what?" one of them whispered, uncertain if she had heard him correctly.
"Did... did he just say he’s going to save them?" another asked, her voice trembling.
Ross simply nodded, his expression unreadable.
There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice, just quiet certainty.
The won’s hearts skipped a beat—they had expected safety, maybe guidance, but not this.
Not a direct plan to march into danger, to rescue the people they had thought were beyond saving.
Confusion, disbelief, and a flicker of hope mingled in their minds, leaving them silent, staring at Ross as he leaned back in his chair, calm, composed, and ready for what would co next.
In Ross’s case, there was going to be absolutely no downside to what he was about to do.
Not a single negative consequence would reach him.
His real identity as Ross Oakley—Parkland City’s infamous one-man superstar—was safely hidden behind a flawless disguise.
With the heart stone buff, he had gained epic features into the face of the most impossibly handso man alive, a face so breathtaking that even the most beautiful won found themselves speechless when they looked at him.
There was no risk of being recognized. No trail. No proof.
And beyond all that, Ross didn’t need to stand in the spotlight to make things happen.
If he wished, he could command armies from behind the scenes, guiding events from the shadows like a puppeteer.
He could raze a city and people would still argue over whether he had ever even been there.
Compared to that, sneaking out to have a little fun without the won in Aegis knowing was effortless.
Aegis itself was comfortable—luxurious even—with enough soft beds, warm als, and affectionate company to make any man retire early.
But the truth was simple: the "selection" inside Aegis had grown small.
Most of the won living within its walls were already his wives, loyal, fierce, and utterly devoted to him.
Their affection ward him, but it also ant that whenever he wanted to feel the thrill of sothing new, he had to step outside his fortress.
The group of won he had just rescued—or rather, stumbled upon by chance—stared at him with wide eyes as he spoke.
They were all beautiful in their own ways, so delicate, so fiery, so bearing the signs of hardship from the world outside.
Their faces were a mix of awe, disbelief, and a fragile kind of hope that had been nearly extinguished before Ross appeared in their lives.
To Ross, their stunned reactions were amusing.
He smiled, the expression slow and confident, the kind that made hearts skip without permission.
"You heard right," Ross said, his voice deep and steady.
"I can’t stand aside and do nothing when I see people suffering. Not when I have the strength to change it."
A hush fell over the room. Even the sound of the wind outside seed to pause.
"In one hour," Ross continued, "we’re heading out. I’m going to liberate your friends from those toxic maggots who’ve been tornting them."
The statent hit them like a bolt of lightning.
Gasps. Soft whispers.
Hands covering trembling lips. So of the won even looked as if their knees were about to give out.
Their friends—taken, abused, trapped under the rule of scum who used cruelty as currency.
They had prayed for a miracle, but none expected their miracle to arrive in the form of a man so handso it felt unreal.
Not a single one of them objected. Why would they?
Their hearts were burning with a desire for vengeance, for justice, for the chance to reclaim pieces of themselves they feared were already lost.
And if anyone could make the impossible possible, it was Ross—this mysterious, overwhelmingly powerful stranger who had appeared like fate itself.
But even as excitent surged, a silent question hung in the minds of every woman present:
How?
How was one man—no matter how strong, how handso, or how confident—supposed to take on an entire camp of dangerous scum?
How could he hope to free their friends without losing his life?
Ross felt all those questions hanging in the air. He could practically taste their uncertainty.
And yet, the smile on his face only widened.
Because Ross Oakley already had the answer.
And when he acted... the world itself trembled.
More than that, Ross knew that he was going to have his fun.
***
An hour later, preparations were complete.
The sun hung low, casting long orange beams across the cracked pavent as everyone gathered around the large van Ross had chosen.
It was an old, heavy-duty model—military-grade in its pri—its tal fra reinforced and its interior surprisingly spacious.
Ten people could fit inside comfortably, and today it carried five anxious won who had lived through more horror than most could imagine.
They sat clustered together, stealing glances toward the front where Ross sat behind the wheel.
His posture was relaxed, one arm draped over the driver’s seat, fingers drumming rhythmically.
He looked like a man about to take a simple evening drive, not soone preparing to storm a dangerous camp overflowing with criminals and monsters.
But outside the vehicle, tension simred.
Miku and Ace stood beside the sliding door, their faces inches apart, locked in a heated argunt that had been building for the past ten minutes.
"I really don’t think we should go, Miku. This is dangerous," Ace whispered harshly, fear twisting her words.
She kept glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting a zombie to erge from behind a rusted car at any mont.
Miku crossed her arms, her stance stiff and unyielding.
"I want to go, Ace. This is important. You heard what those won said—what those monsters did. I can’t stay behind knowing that."
"You’re not thinking clearly!" Ace shot back, her voice cracking.
"What can you even do out there? We don’t have powers like Ross. We’re just regular people with no abilities whatsoever!"
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