"That's right. I came."
Martin gave Nathaniel a cool, indifferent glance. Nathaniel returned it just as flatly.
"You shouldn't have come!"
Well, that whole exchange was pure nonsense.
When Martin saw the kid charging toward the film crew, he immediately shouted to the production team, "Keep running forward! Don't stop! I'll hold him off. You guys—stay safe!"
Since he'd decided to play the hero, of course he wanted everyone to know he was about to save them. Otherwise, in their panic, these terrified folks probably wouldn't even realize someone had gone missing from the group.
A flood of intense emotion—gratitude, awe, and desperate hope—surged toward Martin.
These feelings were far stronger than the faint trickle of emotion from moviegoers in a theater.
Truly, people feel most deeply in two situations: when staring death in the face... and during a climax.
Maybe he should just pack up and head to Africa, become a warlord, and become the dark terror looming over all those black-suited mercs. Would that get him more desire points faster?
A fleeting thought passed through his mind.
Martin smirked to himself.
He patted Elizabeth's pale, worried face. "Don't be afraid. I'll protect you."
Elizabeth shook her head and clutched tightly at his shirt. On the verge of tears, she said, "No! Don't go! Let's just run! He can't catch us!"
Martin shook his head and pointed at the stumbling crowd ahead. "Look—they're all too scared to run properly. Relax. I'll be fine. Trust me."
Martin's clear blue eyes met Elizabeth's.
The girl involuntarily let go. The words in her heart—You're not a cop, and he's got a gun!—were swallowed back down as she watched Martin charge toward the armed teenager.
Elizabeth turned her head and, in the end, stayed where she was.
"Dad, Broly, stop! Stop!"
"Damn it, Penny, don't pull me! Do you wanna die?"
"No! Look at Martin—he went back!"
"Yeah, that idiot wants to play hero. If he dies, I'll lay a nice bouquet on his grave—but only if I survive first."
"Frack, you coward. Give me the camera—I'm going back!"
"Frack, are you out of your mind?"
"I'm not. But I do know that if I film all this, it'll sell for a damn good price."
"Damn it! I must be insane—fine! I'll die with you, you lunatic!"
In the end, Broly hoisted the camera and ran back with Penny.
When Nathaniel saw Martin charging straight at him, he was stunned.
"Has this big movie star gone insane? Did I scare him stupid?"
But he quickly stopped caring about the lunatic actor.
Because the girl he had feelings for was standing right in front of him, not moving, staring straight at him.
"She... is she waiting for me?"
Nathaniel's face twisted in disbelief as he raised his gun, intending to get rid of this bothersome actor first.
At that same moment, Martin, sensing Nathaniel's intent, was filled with a cold fury.
That little bastard was targeting Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, seeing the boy raising his gun from afar, couldn't help but scream, "Ah! Watch out—!"
Director Penny's eyes went wide. She clutched her chest, heart about to leap out.
"We're doomed," muttered Broly the cameraman.
He knew Martin had serious moves—everyone did—but the guy had a gun.
Sure, Martin had taken on armed robbers before—but that was under specific conditions.
Now they were in an open training field. No cover. Nowhere to hide!
In one of the teaching buildings nearby—
A student looking out the window pointed toward the field in panic. "Holy crap, look!"
Nathaniel's finger was on the trigger.
But just then, Martin's body flickered.
A gunshot rang out—but it hit the ground.
The next moment, Martin leapt high into the air, spinning 360 degrees. In full view of everyone's stunned eyes, his right leg lashed out in a beautiful Tail Whip and slammed into Nathaniel's head.
Nathaniel felt like a sledgehammer had crushed his skull. His vision went black, and he collapsed, unconscious.
Broly, reacting on instinct, swung his camera to follow Martin, not stopping even after he landed.
"That was goddamn amazing!"
Of course Martin had done it on purpose. First, he used magic to slightly mess with Nathaniel's mind—safety first, after all, as Incubus doesn't like dying. Then, he carefully crafted the most badass takedown move possible.
Because he could sense the camera filming him from behind.
Martin would do anything to harvest desire.
And "showing off" was one of his favorite tricks.
Just look at all the emotion flooding in now from behind him and from that classroom window—perfection.
By this time, the police had set up a perimeter around the school.
Outside the cordon, reporters and frantic parents were crammed together—excited media folks on one side, panicked families on the other, the contrast striking.
"I'm Vince Cranston, executive of Takacs High! My kid is in there! Why haven't you cops gone in yet?"
His outburst sparked a chorus of angry shouts from other parents.
"Yeah! Why haven't you rescued them?"
"What kind of cops are you? What are you waiting for? Our kids are in danger!"
"Goddammit, we pay your salaries—what good are you if you don't act when it matters?"
A police official stepped forward with a megaphone and shouted:
"We're waiting for the SWAT team."
"If your shouting triggers the attackers and causes more casualties, you will bear the responsibility."
"And by the way, our regular officers are here for patrol and investigation—not assault missions."
This officer wasn't wrong. According to the U.S. School Police Handbook, the number-one rule is: every officer's first priority is to ensure their own safety; number two: don't interfere in matters outside your jurisdiction.
Fifteen more minutes passed.
The SWAT team finally strolled in.
When they entered the school, they were shocked to find the campus... totally calm.
On the training field stood a bizarre mix of people. Some looked like students—wearing uniforms and cheerleader outfits. Others looked like a film crew—holding boom mics, carrying cameras.
Even weirder, next to the group on the ground lay a man, hands and feet bound, unconscious.
Then the SWAT officers spotted a corpse on the field, which immediately put them on high alert.
"Hands up! Don't move! Drop your weapons!"
"Whoa, whoa, easy there, officers! We're a film crew shooting a movie here! We've got no weapons. i'm holding a microphone. That guy's got a camera. And that guy on the ground—he's the one who caused this whole mess. He's already been subdued."