"Thus, for your valor and courage in the face of extreme adversity, I award you the Medal of Violet Nebula."
The president of the Federation, Thomas Whitmore, pinned the medal on my chest and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Actually, he was studying me, a proud smile on his weathered face. A war veteran, he had fought monsters and crushed Emergence events back when he was in the military before his retirement and subsequent election as the Federation's current president.
He was also someone I looked up to, but my hero will always be my dad.
"Good job, son," Whitmore said as he patted my shoulder. "You do all of us proud with your actions." He lowered his head briefly. "While it is regrettable that so many deaths have occurred, you saved even more lives and prevented the death toll from rising. You risked your own life and sustained grievous wounds in order to save your friends. That alone is admirable."
I nodded slightly, but didn't say anything. The whole ceremony was making me uncomfortable. Honestly, I didn't want to be here. I preferred keeping a low profile and staying away from other people's attention, but right now I was the focus of so many cameras and a massive audience. To make matters worse, the award ceremony was televised and broadcasted to billions of households all over the Global Federation.
Unfortunately, when the president of the Global Federation personally asked you to attend an awards ceremony, there was no way you could say no. Dad also told me to go, explaining that it was the highest form of honor.
"Don't worry," he assured me. "If there's anybody in the Global Federation who can be trusted, it's Whitmore."
Apparently they went some ways back. A few years ago, Dad had cooperated with Whitmore's military unit and they had fought alongside each other. As comrades who had saved each other's lives, they knew the other could be trusted.
"Your father must be proud of you," Whitmore continued, as if he had read my mind. Smiling, he then turned toward the cameras for our pictures to be taken. I noticed subtly how rigid his posture was. Evidently, Whitmore was not used to this sort of events, just like me.
It made me relate to him more. A certain president from my previous timeline could learn a lot from him instead of opening his big mouth and spouting nonsense every time he was in front of a camera.
Even though neither of us liked to be the center of attention, we put up with it for now. Apparently, it was necessary to maintain the morale of the citizens of the Federation. After suffering such an immense shock and trauma from the death of so many students at the hands of a high ranked monster near a city, the Federation government needed some sort of propaganda to help take the minds of the citizens off the devastating incident. To play my role up as a hero was to demonstrate how the Federation remained powerful. After all, a student at one of its combat academies was capable of destroying three rank B monsters. That was evidence that miracles could happen and heroes existed. The citizens could rest easy, knowing that there would always be someone to show up and save them if a high ranked monster did eventually appear in their midst.
That wasn't a lot of help to those parents or families who had lost their children to the Crastrate, but there was little I could do for them. Some of them appreciated my efforts and thanked me for avenging their children, while others resented me and blamed me for surviving while their children died at the hands of the monster. Obviously, it wasn't my fault, but…you know how some people were. Unfortunately, whether I knew the truth or not, it was depressing and spiritually crushing to receive abuse and insults from those people who had lost their kids to the Crastrate.
Getting blood or paint splattered over the road outside the barrier that surrounded my house, being yelled at by those parents who occasionally showed up on my route home, reading inflammatory remarks made about me online…over and over, over and over again, in the end I ended up believing that those parents were right, and that I deserved to die. Not their sons and daughters.
That was the product of psychological abuse. Whether you knew it to be false or not didn't matter. Getting told over and over again that you were a loser, that you should die, that you were the spawn of the devil, eventually you would come to believe it. I know some readers would dismiss that and claim that I was mentally weak, and that I should "toughen up."
But they underestimated the damage psychological abuse can cause. You don't tell a poor kid who was getting physically beaten up by bullies stronger than him that it was his fault for being weak, and that he should "toughen up" and become stronger, or that he should ignore the bullies as they punch and kick him. So why is it the victim's fault and the obligation of the victim to "mentally toughen up" instead of the bullies stopping their verbal abuse?
Verbal abuse was still bullying. Whether the wounds were visible or physical or not, it didn't matter. In fact, verbal and psychological abuse was more insidious precisely because you can't see the damage done to the victim. The mental injuries they suffer might accumulate and pile up, and eventually, when their self-esteem break down, when they couldn't withstand the punishing words the bullies constantly flame and lash out at them, they commit suicide or lose their minds.
And because it wasn't physical, the bullies get away with it. They wouldn't get punished in the same way as they would, if they were the ones who physically injured or murdered the victim.
Fortunately, either because of Dad, or because the Federation couldn't afford to allow the public to see one of their heroes being abused (after using this incident to build me up as some sort of teenage hero), the harassment eventually stopped. Those parents abusing me were either arrested on charges of vandalism or disrupting public order, and I never saw them again. I doubted the Federation would do anything as extreme or sinister as eliminating them, but I never bothered to find out. I mean, why would you care about what happened to someone who was bullying and hurling abuse at you everyday ever since you left the hospital?
And a few weeks after I fully recovered and resumed my training, the invitation from Whitmore came. That was how I ended up here today.
After enduring the publicity stuff, I gratefully left the stage and descended down the back before the news reporters and journalists could approach me. Using the skills Dad taught me, I disappeared from their sight and vanished into obscurity.
"Phew…"
"Good work," Dad told me. I wasn't surprised at his sudden appearance. Dad was the one who taught me these stealth skills. Of course he would know a way around them. He chuckled as he patted my back. "You did great out there."
"He did indeed." Now that was a surprise. Whitmore showed up as well, probably trying to escape the attention of those journalists. Though I should have expected that, what with him being a seasoned military veteran and all. He nodded toward me with a smile. "I also find the news reporters annoying. They always ask me the stupidest questions, or try to lead you into saying something they want, so that they can publish a sensational headline."
"It happens," I agreed bitterly. Some of the lesser known tabloids – those not authorized by the Federation, particularly the online ones – were responsible for a good amount of the harassment I suffered, describing me as a villain who held back and waited for so many of my schoolmates to get slaughtered before I intervened. For what insane reason would I do that, and then end up intervening anyway, I had no idea. If I wanted to play the hero, it would have benefited me more to save everyone from the start.
But you know…some people love to create conspiracy theories. Particularly irresponsible journalists who hoped to draw attention to their websites by writing controversial articles. The worst thing was that there were people on the Internet stupid enough to believe them. And those idiots added to the online harassment and abuse, despite having their lack of logic pointed out by some of the more rational participants in social media. It reminded me of the morons who loved to blame everything, even the most unpolitical things or trivial matters, on the government, and the 70% who voted for them (Singapore reference). I mean, seriously, if a neighbor littered on your corridor, what did that have to do with the ruling party or the citizens who voted for them?
No matter the period, idiots existed everywhere. They were just more visible and noticeable in the present because the Internet made it much easier for them to post their inane views and harass people online without needing to be physically in front of the victim. They could bully people from the comfort of their own home.
The literal keyboard warriors.
"Anyway, I'm glad you are all right now. I heard that you were pretty banged up."
"He was just a micrometer away from death," Dad said grimly with a shake of his head. "Yet I can't tell him not to do it because…"
"…you would have done the exact same thing if you were him," Whitmore finished and grimaced. "Yeah."
"And his girlfriend's being telling him that for me, anyway, so me saying it would be excessive."
"She's not my girlfriend," I muttered. At least not yet. With all that was going on, we hadn't actually made our relationship official or discuss on how to go forward with it. Partly it was my fault for being obsessed with training and growing stronger, but while I was rehabilitating and recovering, I just couldn't find a moment to approach Alicia about it. Worse, not when so many of our schoolmates were dead.
Right now, an atmosphere of grief and mourning hung over Jing Tian Academy. It wasn't appropriate to talk about romance at the moment. Perhaps when everyone recovered mentally and spiritually. There were so many empty desks where our schoolmates once sat at. The student population was visibly diminished.
Eventually we would have to move on, but…not so soon. Not right now.
"Now that Richard's fully healed, I guess it's time for me to hunt down the culprits responsible." Dad turned to me, his expression serious. "You can handle yourself just fine now, right, Richard?"
It had been a few weeks, and I had recuperated completely, reaching back to 100% of my strength. A miracle, considered that my entire skeleton had been shattered, my internal organs had been ruptured, and my flesh and nerves suffered from severe third degree burns. But magic could do almost everything. While there was no spell that could resurrect the dead and bring those who had died back to life, the most advanced healing spells could restore a person and bring him back from the brink of death to full health.
I was a living example of that miraculous healing spell. Of course, not all healers could pull that off. It was only because Teacher Cure had reached an extremely advanced level in her healing magic that she could restore me back to my prime.
Otherwise I would still be lying in the hospital for another few months, needing organ transplants, skin grafts, and covered in casts. And I would need another year for rehabilitation.
"Yeah, I'm counting on you." Whitmore looked just as grim. "Whoever these people are, they are the enemies of our Global Federation. I can't imagine allowing these guys to rampage freely with these devices. If they set them off in the middle of a major city and summon a high ranked monster, then we would be fucked. The amount of damage suffered would be catastrophic. And hundreds will die." He glanced at me sympathetically. "I know about ninety-eight students died in the attack, but that would be nothing compared to what happens if the owners of these Transdimensional Keys trigger them in the middle of a densely populated urban area.
"Indeed." Dad nodded. As for me, I didn't protest. Considering there were about five hundred students who participated in the party, we lost relatively few. Don't get me wrong, losing about twenty percent of the students present was still a massive blow. But I was glad that we didn't suffer any more casualties than that.
"I have already ordered the Global Intelligence Agency to track these bastards down." Whitmore sighed. "But we don't have much luck so far. Hopefully your unorthodox methods will uncover them."
Dad made a face. "Unorthodox? Me?"
"…dude." Whitmore rolled his eyes. "Do you know how your operation procedures deviate from any training manual or standard operating procedures we have for our military?"
"What makes you think I even have operation procedures to begin with?" Dad countered.
Whitmore spread his hands helplessly. "I rest my case. But one thing I do know is that you will get results." He nodded. "As I said, we'll be counting on you."
"Yeah." Dad narrowed his eyes. "Whoever these bastards are, I'll uncover them, flush them out and annihilate them. They are fools if they can get away with massacring so many students."
Not for the first time, I felt a chill when I sensed the murderous aura in his eyes. I couldn't help but feel sorry for whoever was responsible for this incident.
There would be hell to pay the moment Dad located them. And make no mistake…he will find them. And he will kill them.