Chapter 25: Gratitude must be repaid

  She smelled it before she saw it.

  Stale fear.

  Sweat.

  Flour scattered wrong.

  The bakery came into view.

  The first one.

  The one with the back door.

  The one with discarded bread and a turned-away gaze.

  The door hung crooked.

  Inside, chaos.

  Three men.

  One shouting.

  One laughing.

  One already stuffing bread into a sack, careless, greedy.

  The owner was on the floor.

  Alive.

  Shaken.

  Breathing.

  Chronicle reacted instantly.

  “Distance advised. Three targets. Unarmed. Unknown intent.”

  She didn’t stop walking.

  Her grip tightened around the stick.

  “Probability of injury: high. Are you certain?”

  She stepped inside.

  Without a word, just a passion burned inn her eyes.

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  Her tattered boots pressed into flour.

  The sound was soft.

  Enough.

  All three men turned.

  Silence fell.

  She raised the stick.

  Not threatening.

  Not wild.

  Correct posture.

  Feet planted.

  Range measured.

  Chronicle said silently.

  “Debt acknowledged?”

  She didn’t look back.

  “Yes.”

  One of the men snorted.

  “Beat it, girl.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Her eyes went to the owner instead.

  He saw her.

  Recognition flickered shock first, then something quieter. Something heavy.

  She turned back to the men.

  “Leave the bread.”

  They laughed.

  Wrong response.

  She didn’t charge.

  She moved sideways.

  Just enough.

  Forcing one man to block another.

  The stick snapped against a wrist.

  "UGH!?"

  Not enough to break bone.

  Just enough.

  Fingers opened.

  The sack hit the floor.

  A kick inelegant, practical sent flour into eyes.

  "Argh! My eyes!?"

  Shouts.

  Cursing.

  Chronicle stayed silent now.

  She knew.

  One man rushed.

  She didn’t meet strength with strength.

  She usse it at her advantage.

  Step inside herself.

  And then jump.

  "Oof!!!"

  She met knees with his abdomen.

  Air left him in a sound that wasn’t a scream.

  After regaining his vision. The third man froze.

  Calculating.

  His first bro clutch his waist, Another one rollled on the floor.

  She stepped forward once.

  Just once.

  That was enough.

  He ran.

  The second followed.

  The first crawled backward, swearing, promising things he wouldn’t dare return to fulfill.

  She let him go.

  She lowered the stick.

  Her hands shook.

  Not from fear.

  From release.

  The owner pushed himself up slowly.

  Looked at the wrecked shelves.

  The spilled flour.

  Then at her.

  “…Why?”

  She answered simply.

  “I owed you bread.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then the man laughed weak, breathless, disbelieving.

  “You don’t owe me anything anymore.”

  She shook her head.

  Once.

  "Gratitude must be repaid, Debt must be returned."

  “We’re even now.”

  Chronicle recorded it.

  Not as violence.

  Not as heroism.

  Debt repaid.

  Balance restored.

  The bakery stood.

  And so did she.