From Sneers to Cheers: Anthea’s Ascent (Anthea )

Nanson was in a panic.

Taking a beating was no big deal for him; with his resilient body, he'd bounce back in, at most, three days. But Anthea was a different story. She was delicate and petite, and it could ruin her life forever if she ended up scarred or worse.

And to make matters worse, his headstrong niece had the brains of a block of cheese. Amid all this chaos, she was acting like she owned the place.

They were doomed, completely done for.

Suddenly, the screech of tires pierced the still night.

It was Daniel coming in hot.

From a distance, he'd seen the commotion.

A bunch of brutes picking on a young girl? That was the lowest of the low.

He couldn't just stand by. It was time to step in and be the hero.

He said, "Sherman, you stay put. I'll go check this out."

It was like a scene straight out of a romance novel, like the damsel in distress, her knight in shining armor, swooped in to save the day, and she fell head over heels in gratitude.

The thought had Daniel's adrenaline spiking, and he rolled up his sleeves, ready for action.

In the backseat, Sherman placed his book of quotes upside down on his lap and peered out the window, his brow furrowed.

He could only see a silhouette, a willowy waist, and long, straight legs.

Even without seeing her face, there was something oddly familiar about her.

Sherman clasped his pendant, his face unreadable.

Daniel opened the car door and stepped out.

At that moment, Anthea let out a 'tsk' from her perfect lips, crisp and light.

Her left hand cracked her right knuckles with a series of sharp pops.

In a blur of motion, no one could quite follow.

Thud!

Simultaneously, Click!

Daniel swung the car door open, and as he took in the scene before him, he froze, his throat suddenly dry.

The so-called damsel was gripping a tattooed thug by the neck with one hand and delivered a series of sharp slaps to his face with the other. In no time, his cheek bloomed with the stark prints of her hand.

"You think you can mess with me and walk away? You must be sick of living the high life!"

That was so much for the fragile damsel. Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

Since when could a fragile damsel lift a man off his feet with one hand? Since when could she turn a face into a bruised mess?

Daniel watched, feeling the secondhand pain, a hint of sympathy for the tattooed thug.

Nanson was dumbstruck, his eyes as wide as saucers.

What the heck? Nanson thought he was seeing things. Was this his niece?

At that moment, a thug on the ground glanced at his buddy.

The accomplice nodded, clutching a switchblade tightly. He sprang up, aiming the knife at Anthea's heart.

The blade's tip reflected a chilling light under the streetlamp.

In the split second of action, before Daniel could even shoot, "Look out!"

"Wham!"

The attacker was already on the ground, courtesy of Anthea's swift kick.

Daniel was shocked.

Holy cow! She was incredible.

Nanson quickly snapped out of his daze, straddling the thug and hitting him with fierce punches. "This is for the sneak attack! For being cocky! For messing with my niece! I'll beat the life out of you!"

The thug on the receiving end of the punches was dazed, rapidly apologizing. "I'm sorry, sir, ma'am. We'll never dare again."

The other thugs were quick to follow suit with their apologies.

Unhurried, Anthea let go of her captive.

The tattooed youth hit the ground with a 'thump,' begging for mercy. "Ma'am, we didn't know who we were dealing with. Please, have mercy on us."

"Get lost." said Anthea.

Relieved, the tattooed youth and his gang scrambled away as fast as they could.

"Stop right there," Anthea said as if remembering something important.

The fleeing thugs skidded to a halt with their faces etched with terror.