“What do you mean I’m fired?” hissed Isabella.

“It means that you’re being fired,” said the principal, an old light-skinned woman who still thought cat eyeglasses were in and had the look of a teacher in the nineties: a shirt with a belt tightened around the waist, giving off the illusion of an hourglass figure coupled with her long skirt, “That’s the end of it.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a notice?” Isabella asked as she placed both hands on the table, “And a reason? What does ‘failed to teach her subject properly’ even mean? Ask the students. Any one of them. I did my best.”

“Yes, I understand, Miss Blair. But I’m afraid that it was insufficient for the standards of Neptune High,” said the principal and took off her glasses. She folded it and placed it on the table. Then the principal gave her the look, glaring at Isabella with the top of her eyes, “I’m sad to see you go.”

“It’s- It’s ridiculous,” she said, “I-”

That’s when it struck her.

Isabella didn’t attend the trial but she’d heard of its results.

There were cases where there was undeniable evidence that no one could overrule. Mr. Gibson, or rather, Edwin, as she’d come to know him, sent her an email detailing how Giselle’s expression soured the moment their defense attorney pulled out the big guns, that is to say, the voice recording that Isabella had captured.

On second thoughts, perhaps a video recording could have served her purpose better but it worked nonetheless.

“Fine,” growled Isabella and slammed her hand into the wall.

She was back outside the principal’s office, staring at its door just as she was before the meeting. It had a small, square window at the center, revealing whatever she was doing inside. The teachers’ room had one as well, which revealed whatever was happening inside.

Or whether anyone was present.

After investigating what triggered her abilities, Isabella found out that she could return at will. As long as she could manage to get hurt. It didn’t activate no matter how much she willed it, but if she wanted to loop back in time and was hurt or damaged in any manner, Isabella could instantly jump back in time.

The gunshots from before could have hit her, causing instant death, but it didn’t make sense. Unless all the shots hit her straight in the head, it was impossible for her to die instantly. Then if you added on the fact that she looped back the moment the goons grabbed her, it was glaringly obvious that it wasn’t death that caused it, but pain.

Even discomfort worked, if it was severe enough, such as having someone cover her mouth and try to drag her away.

It was a bad move to ambush her as she was leaving Josh’s place, though. Then again, it was a perfect move. In fact, there was absolutely no way for Isabella to escape that situation safely unless she managed to sneak past them and outrun them.

But Edwin was there, and he was a Super, which saved her skin.

It was good luck, but that showed her how easy it would be if she had someone with powers on her side —if she had an assistant of sorts. With her powers and just about any other Super under her command, they’d be invincible.

But that was an issue for another day.

There weren’t any students loitering around the hallway, courtesy of classes being in session. It was a good thing that they hadn’t overheard her outburst from before, even if that no longer existed.

She had an image to uphold, even if no one would remember it on the off chance that she didn’t jump back as far as she’d hoped to.

While what activated her powers was no longer a mystery, what dictated when she appeared after activating her powers was, and until Isabella figured that out, it was too risky to throw all care into the wind. After she learned how it operated and learned to abuse it, though, there’d be nothing stopping her from doing anything she wanted and then reverting those actions.

Instead of bursting into the room like before, Isabella knocked and got a stern, “Come in.”

Isabella fixed up her tie and entered the classroom, wearing the same leathery suit she’d worn when she visited Josh and consecutively threatened the duo. Due to that, it made her feel… powerful —like she was a Super.

Her eyes glowed for exactly ten seconds after she used her powers so that meant she couldn’t let anyone see her during that period, and closing her eyes for ten seconds was sufficient. Just to be sure, Isabella made sure to wait fifteen seconds, though.

“So I’ve been fired,” said Isabella after she closed the door behind her back. Rather than a scowl, she donned a smug expression on her face, “It’s Mr. Miller’s doing, no doubt.”

No matter how much she screwed up in the realities that ended up being erased, as long as she looked calm and more importantly, composed, like she knew everything, in the only one that remained, it was good enough.

And she intended this loop to be the second and last one.

“I assure you there was no outside intervention,” said the principal and placed her pen on the table, pausing whatever she’d been writing down.

“But I think there was,” said Isabella and paced toward the sofa that faced the principal’s desk. Between the desk and the sofa, there was a small glass table with a plate full of candies. Comfortably, Isabella took a seat and placed one leg over the other after grabbing a hard candy from the plate.

“Leave the office,” said the principal.

“I will, but I want an answer. An honest answer,” said Isabella and breathed out.

She’d shouted enough on her previous try, which was enough to pent up all the frustration. At least the visible kind. The rest was aimed inward and that took the shape of a constant source of irritation, which she was suppressing to the best of her abilities.

Still, keeping herself from growling was difficult.

“That was not a request. You are no longer employed so there’s no reason for you to remain within the school building,” said the principal.

“Oh, since I’m no longer employed, I guess you have no authority over me,” said Isabella.

There was no camera or recording device in the principal’s room. Even if there was, she was acting like any distressed employee that figured out that they were fired earlier in the morning would. Probably far calmer than most, though.

Nothing incriminating.

“I’ll call security,” threatened the principal.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The only one on duty today was Mr. Green and he was most definitely not in the mood to mess with Isabella now, hopefully.

That was quite a threat on Saturday, after all.

“Then how about we go and ask the students? To get their opinion on how good of a teacher I am,” asked Isabella and raised an eyebrow, “If the majority of them agree, it means that you wrongfully fired me and I can legally sue Neptune High. You’re rich, yes. You can pay whatever sum that the court decides is passable, but it’d give the school a bad image. I don’t want that. I just want to know why I was fired. The real reason.”

The principal pressed a button on her computer and spoke into the microphone.

“Security, would you please escort Miss Blair out of the premises?” she asked.

The guards were on the first floor and they were currently on the third one. It wouldn’t take long for them to come up. Give or take, three minutes at most and at least a minute or so on the lesser end.

“Mrs. Principal. You’re a teacher as well. No, rather, you’re an employee as well,” said Isabella and paused for a bit, “You understand the frustration. Just as you’d be frustrated if you were fired from your cozy position as a principal. What if their cause was a completely unjust one? Like saying that you failed in your duties? It’s ambiguous at best and completely wrong at worst.”

Using sympathy was the tested and proven method in situations where violence wasn’t the answer, as simple as it would be if violence solved everything.

“Just tell me, please. I just want an answer,” added Isabella as she sat up and held both of her hands against each other, and as if in prayer, folded her hands.

After staring at Isabella like a hawk for a few seconds, the principal pressed on a button and spoke into the microphone, “It was a false alarm. She has agreed to leave by herself.”

The principal closed her eyes and tapped on the table with a pen of hers.

“Your phone, please,” said the principal.

Isabella almost snorted but refrained from that. She pulled out her phone from her inside pocket, turned it to the principal, and pressed on the power button long enough until it shut down.

“Excuse my paranoia, but I didn’t want to risk it. Knowing your record,” said the older woman and put her glasses back on after rubbing her eyes for a few seconds, “You were correct.”

“So it’s him,” said Isabella and breathed out through her nostrils. Took another deep breath and stood up, “That’s all I needed to know.”

“What are you planning on doing now? You’ve angered a very dangerous man,” said the principal, as calm as a cucumber, “You sent his daughter to prison. You and Mr. Gibson both. I’m afraid that he’ll have to be expelled as well. For his own safety.”

“What do you expect, Mrs. Principal? For me to go on a legal vendetta against him, trying to get him into prison as well?” asked Isabella and shook her head with a chuckle, “Real-life isn’t a movie. I’ll… run away, I guess. Leave the state or country, or something along those lines. Or is that what you wanted to hear from the start?”

After thinking about it for a while, she turned around.

“For purely educational purposes, how dangerous are we talking?” asked Isabella.

She knew that Giselle’s father was one of those underworld crime bosses the moment the two goons, including Mr. Green, were sent after her. Rather, she had an inkling but no concrete proof before. Everyone was scared of the brat, including the teachers and the principal.

The school felt like a playground for that brat.

Isabella had no regrets.

“He has a Super or two on his payroll or so I hear. Some corrupt cops as well. Not many judges or attorneys in the town can go against him,” said the principal and audibly sighed, “I’d rather have you stay, but… you understand, don’t you?”

“The Piper, you mean?” asked Isabella and turned around, her head slightly tilted to the side, a small smirk on her face, “Is this Piper person Mr. Miller? Just tell me that and I’ll be on my merry way.”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that,” said the principal, “For your own safety.”

“Yes or no, Mrs. Principal,” said Isabella and walked around the sofa and made her way to her desk, “I just want to know. As I said, for purely educational purposes.”

The Principal nodded her head reluctantly.

“Thank you,” said Isabella and sharply turned around. This time, she didn’t loop back to the past.

There was no need. She liked the results. The principal knew that she gave Isabella the information, probably only because she touched her heart this time.

Isabella wanted this to be the reality, so it would be.

After she lightly closed the door, as she usually did, Isabella pulled out her phone and turned it on. Glancing at the time was becoming a habit —one that she had no intention of fixing. Rather, she wanted it to become a reflex rather than a habit.

It was only 11 o’clock and that meant the entire day was free.

“I need a bodyguard,” said Isabella.

It was the best she could dress up the word ‘minion’, which was the closest term that she could find.

That sense of authority from before —it made her smile. It made her giddy, and she wanted more of it. Much, much more of it. She wanted to be like the Piper, whose mere name made people fire their employees because they feared his wrath. Terrifying enough that no lawyer in town could raise their voice against him.

The lawyer…

Where did Mr. Gibson even find that braveheart? Wherever he did, he’d been looking at the right place. Probably from outside the city or even state if they didn’t know of the Piper.

Still, one or two Supers on his payroll with a high likelihood of being a Super himself, and there were what? Only five hundred of them in the entire world? Then again, most of them were in the state and it wasn’t unrealistic for them to band together as some sort of gang.

And here she was, all alone.

With or without her ability, there was no way for her to harm anyone that couldn’t be hurt by a gun. If this Piper could scare everyone, then either he or one of his henchmen couldn’t be taken down by gunfire, including the assault rifles circulating around the black market.

Or maybe she was just overthinking.

But overthinking was better than not thinking at all, so she’d do just that.

Overkills were better than not going far enough. It was better safer than sorry, and overkilling would most definitely prevent the ‘sorry’ scenario —that meant it was the superior option.

***

Teaching at Neptune High was decent. The salary was enough and the school provided for everything that the class required, which was an infinite supply of paper and printer ink in Isabella’s case. There were a dozen private schools in Eastmouth but none of them were as prestigious, and that meant none of them would pay her as much as they did.

Looking for a job with decent pay was depressing.

But she had to make ends meet.

After surfing the internet for almost an hour, Isabella promptly shut her laptop and slumped back into the sofa. Her computer was on a portable stand that she used whenever she wasn’t in the mood to sit behind her desk, and today was most certainly not one of those days.

Next to her sat a large pack of vanilla ice cream —the kind that had enough for a month, but with the pace at which she was going, it couldn’t even last two days.

The television showed the news channel. It was doing a report on a battle in Japantown. It was a somewhat sizable neighborhood that was near the center of the city, which was near Isabella’s home.

“…the culprit is still at large, but witnesses report that he wore armor resembling a samurai and had a height of at least two and a half meters,” said the reporter, and near him, to the upper left, several pictures were shown.

Isabella placed the portable stand aside and walked up to the TV. It wasn’t the best, only a 32-inch, but for a bachelor like her who spent most of her time at work or on her computer, it was enough.

The pictures depicted walls that seemed to have been eaten up by some sort of acid straight out of the movies. What it could do to a person horrified Isabella if a concrete wall got a car-sized hole in it.

Supers…

Supers!

That was right. She was a Super and most likely, Supers would be after her. Especially after the fright she gave the Piper’s men. It was implied that she was some sort of upstart crime lord with a Super on her payroll, which was a complete lie. But if the Piper expected that and wanted her dead, it was clear that they’d send a dangerous one her way.

So Isabella needed to find an actual bodyguard.

Preferably one that she didn’t need to pay, as she understood that paying even a normal bodyguard was expensive. And Isabella was most definitely not rich, unless…

Gambling.

She could gamble and she’d never lose.

Casino…

Yep, that was her next stop.

“Oh, my god,” said Isabella and smiled. She chuckled for a good minute after that, which turned into a full-on cackle until it subsided, “I’m a genius.”

But that would mean she couldn’t have her eyes be seen by anyone, and that meant one thing: shades. Good ones. The kind that would let anyone see the light even if she had her eyes open.

Or maybe… that was suspicious.

She could just keep her eyes closed for ten seconds after using it. She didn’t even have to use it too many times either. And the perfect game for her foresight to work its magic was- she didn’t know, but she would in a few minutes.

It’d just seem like she was lucky.

Well, if anyone won ten times in a row with pure luck, which meant she had to research the rules and learn to play it safe. Like she wasn’t just winning it outright.

“Well, time for research, then,” said Isabella and slunk back to her seat again. This time, she didn’t use the portable stand and instead put it on her lap.

Playing the casino by losing only small amounts and making a bullshit amount of it would be acceptable rather than always winning, she supposed.

And that’s what she’d do.