CHAPTER 196: CHAPTER 195: SHAMELESSNESS OF PEOPLE

Of course, Rex didn’t blame them.

It wasn’t really their fault.

In a moment like that—when everything exploded in the span of a heartbeat—it was impossible for anyone to react in time.

He barely had.

What he did hadn’t come from training or planning.

It had been instinct. Pure and reckless.

Looking at the little girl—still here, still breathing—Rex felt something settle in his chest.

Yeah, it had been reckless. Stupid, even.

But worth it.

Every inch of it.

If the end was well... then maybe, just maybe, all was well.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of everything still pressing against his ribs like a too-tight belt. The image of what could’ve been lingered just behind his eyes: shattered glass, broken bones, a limp body where a child had stood.

But it hadn’t happened.

Because he had moved.

Because instinct had taken over when thought might’ve failed.

The crowd was growing. More people were gathering by the second — drawn in by flashing hazard lights, twisted metal, and the scent of drama.

The murmurs rose in volume. Phones were out. Fingers pointed. Faces leaned in, curious and unthinking.

"Did you see that spin?"

"Is that the guy who—?"

"Unreal... he just cut across like—"

Whispers, speculation, awe — shallow reactions from people too detached to grasp the weight of what had nearly occurred. They gawked and muttered like it was entertainment, oblivious to the breath of death that had passed just inches from a child. None of them knowing, or perhaps caring, how close it had come.

The little girl looked up at the sea of strangers. So many eyes. So many voices. She stiffened.

Her lip trembled. She shrank in on herself, clutching the bear tighter—then suddenly pressed into Rex’s chest, her tiny body shaking as tears finally came.

Soft at first. Then louder. Raw and frightened.

She cried not just because of what had happened, but because the shock was finally starting to wear off. The numbness that had wrapped around her like a blanket was peeling away, leaving behind raw confusion and fear.

The world had started moving again—and with it came everything she’d been too frozen to feel. It was all too loud, too big, too fast. And she didn’t know how to process it — because in the end, she was just a little kid, maybe four or five. Too young to understand the full weight of what had happened, too small to grasp how close everything had come to disaster. All she knew was that something big and scary had happened,

He wrapped his arms around her, steady and sure. Her sobs soaked through the fabric of his shirt, muffled against his chest, but he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care that people were watching.

Rex’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath his cheek as he looked up and scanned the crowd.

They weren’t trying to help. They weren’t concerned.

They were watching. Whispering.

Like it was a show.

Entertainment with no admission fee. Just someone else’s pain served on a platter— their curiosity shameless, their gazes unflinching. Some had their phones out, recording with gleaming eyes like they were front-row at a spectacle. No empathy. No shame. Just empty fascination.

A few even laughed, pointing, nudging their companions, whispering assumptions like they knew the story.

But they didn’t. They didn’t care about the child crying in his arms, or whether she was frightened.

They didn’t understand the weight of the near-miss — the breath between tragedy and miracle balanced on instinct and inches — and worse, they didn’t seem to want to.

To them, it was content. A moment. Something to brag about later. Nothing more.

His frown deepened. The discomfort in his chest spread — not fear, not anymore. Disgust. A slow-burning rage at their thoughtlessness.

Rex’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to shout at them — to drag their eyes away from their screens and make them see the crying child, make them understand the fear etched into her tiny frame. This wasn’t a highlight reel. This was a moment that could’ve ended in death.

But he controlled himself, looked down at the tiny child still trembling in his arms—though calmer now—and then slowly turned his head, glancing over his shoulder toward the crowd. He caught Kaelan and Victor’s eyes and gave a subtle nod.

They understood instantly.

Victor moved first, stepping into the edge of the group with sharp authority.

"Back up. Give them space."

His voice cut clean through the noise — not loud, but firm enough to make people pause.

Kaelan followed, tall and unsmiling, his presence alone pushing the crowd back a few steps. He didn’t say anything — he didn’t have to. His glare was enough.

Together, they started to clear the area — not with aggression, but with an unspoken weight that moved people like a slow tide. They didn’t bark orders. They didn’t shove. They just... stood. Watched. A glance here. A word there. And Stepped forward.

And most people, under that kind of gaze, stepped back.

Of course, many people were reluctant to move, rooted in place by morbid curiosity. But under Victor and Kaelan’s sharp gaze and mountain-like presence, they had little choice but to back up. Still, even as they retreated, many didn’t fully leave — instead they hovered just far enough to keep filming, whispering behind screens and continuing to gawk from a safer distance, shameless in their obsession for drama.

A few even muttered in annoyance, as if being denied their front-row view was the real injustice here.

Victor gave a sharp look that silenced one particularly persistent man. Kaelan stepped in the path of a woman trying to film over someone’s shoulder, and with a single step forward — his massive frame casting a shadow, one hand subtly tracing the holster at his side — he didn’t have to say a word. The silent warning in his eyes said enough.

The woman froze, blinked, then turned and left without another glance. Others nearby, catching the shift in atmosphere and noticing Kaalan’s hand near his weapon, exchanged uneasy glances and began backing off as well.

More than a few people backed off, embarrassed or cowed. A few lingered longer, still trying to get one more picture or snippet of drama, fully showcasing the shamelessness of people even in the most distressing situations.

But Kaalan made sure their lingering didn’t last. With a steady, unblinking gaze and a slow shift of his weight forward—just enough to remind them he wasn’t a man to test—he quietly made it clear that their show was over. The silent pressure of his presence was like a wall: unyielding, immovable, undeniable. Even the most persistent onlookers finally broke eye contact and backed off, muttering under their breath as if the injustice was theirs. But under Kaalan’s stare, not one dared to stay.

It wasn’t force. It was the suggestion of force — and it was more than enough.

Bit by bit, the noise dimmed. The space cleared. And the air, at last, began to breathe again.

Finally, the voices faded. The space grew quieter.

Rex looked down at the girl in his arms.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, holding her a little closer.

"You’re okay. They won’t come near. Nobody will hurt you. It’s okay. See? They’re leaving."

She didn’t respond with words. Just gripped his shirt with tiny, trembling fingers and nodded into his chest.

And Rex held her tighter, shielding her with his body from the last of the curious eyes.

(End of Chapter)