Joan scanned over the anonymous boy's figure. He was tall, and from the subtle curves and outline of his muscle showing beneath his hoodie, she could tell he was muscular. He hid his face behind a black face mask, revealing only a pair of dark green, nearly brown, eyes.
She narrowed her eyes, confident that this boy had some connection with the gangs. Why else would he be dressed so suspiciously and have such an abnormally well-built body for a high school boy.
"Who are you?" Damien asked.
Damien's eyes narrowed as his eyes flickered up and down over the girl. Her midnight dark hair and rigid features momentarily reminded him of the rumored Jack of M High School.
After the previous Jack of M High School, Mad Dog, fell, rumors of the terrifying fighter had been running around. 'Black Lion,' they'd called her: midnight hair, cold eyes, baritone voice, and frigid personality.
But Damien brushed the thought off as soon as it came. This girl was much too pretty to be the Jack of M High School. In his mind, Black Lion was a wild girl whose clothes were forever stained with the stench of tobacco.
However, when Damien inhaled, he failed to notice the distinctive scent. And her clean appearance left a goody-two-shoes impression on Damien.
"I asked you first," she insisted. Her unique baritone voice stirred Damien's lascivious personality, and he excitedly licked his lips, desperate to hear more of her alluring voice.
"Look," Damien chuckled and shook his head incredulously. The previous fear he'd felt when he first saw her had faded entirely. "I don't have time. Run back to your class. You're not the girl I'm looking for."
"Hm, is that so?" Joan cocked her head to the side. "Then, who's the girl you're looking for?"
Damien gritted his teeth. He had no incentive to answer her nosy questions, but he found himself automatically opening his mouth. "Amarya Owenby. You know her?"
Joan raised a brow in surprise. Why would he be looking for Amarya? She'd never thought that high-energy, childish girl would be associated with someone from the gangs.
"What do you need her for?" Joan frowned.
Damien gnawed at his lower lip. "Again with the nosy question!" he thought to himself. But no matter how strong the desire to tell her off was, the answer slipped right from his mouth. "I have to talk to her."
After spending years in the military, Joan had naturally developed an authoritative voice. Upon hearing her voice, people were automatically drawn to follow her lead.
Joan sighed, unsatisfied with the vague answer.
"What about?" she continued to pry, desperate to find out what was going on.
Damien lowered his eyes. Softly, he mumbled, "Nothing."
An unsettling feeling found its way into Damien's heart, and he struggled to find out why he felt so uncomfortable around a meek-looking girl.
In a blur of pale skin, Joan knocked off Damien's black cap and grasped a handful of short, brown hair.
Damien widened his eyes. He hadn't even had time to process what she was doing. Before he knew it, Joan had already grasped him by the back of his hands and was yanking at his scalp.
Damien roared in pain and clutched her hand, begging her to let go.
"Spit it out," Joan said monotonously.
"No way," Damien murmured. The pieces began to slip together in his head, and he regretted misjudging her earlier. "Are you-" Damien trailed off.
"Am I what?"
"Black Lion..." Damien looked at her incredulously before humorlessly chuckling to himself. Mixed in with his laugh was raw fear and anger. "I wasn't expecting to find you so quick. But it looks like you came to me."
Damien struggled to stop the tremble in his legs and waver in his voice. The fear he felt was undeniable, but he refused to lose to a mere girl.
"I don't usually hit girls," Damien continued. "But you're an exception."
Using as much momentum as he could gather, Damien sent an intestine-curling punch to Joan's stomach. He was one of the strongest if not the strongest in the district, so he'd expected his hand to collide with soft flesh and send Joan flying back. But his fist unexpectedly hit with an iron wall.
Hidden beneath Joan's school uniform was a solid six-pack, woven with the blood, sweat, and tears of endless superhuman training.
Damien's fist collided with her stomach, but Joan didn't budge. No air was knocked from her lungs, and her grip on the back of his head was as strong as ever.
"What the fuck?" Damien whispered to himself.
He'd come here to talk to Amarya, but it appeared he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
"Don't be annoying," Joan chided as she raised Damien off the ground by his hair.
He groaned as a searing pain ripped through his scalp, and his feet dangled helplessly inches off the ground.
To the passerby, the image was rather odd. A slender girl was holding a fully-grown teenage boy inches off the ground by his hair. It was just as strange as a rabbit preying on a tiger.
"Why do you need to talk to Amarya?" Joan repeated.
"Fuck!" Damien choked. He trashed helplessly in her grip, but he couldn't squeeze himself out of her teeth. "She broke up with me," Damien admitted.
"And how do you know her?"
Damien sighed in annoyance.
"You think you're annoyed?" Joan cast him a predatory gaze, and he reeled back in fear.
"We're both in the Eagles." Damien's bottom lip trembled as he begged, "Let go now. Let go, let go."
Much to Damien's relief, Joan let go. His feet shakily planted themselves on the floor, and he stumbled around, trying to regain his balance.
Shame filled him as he realized how embarrassing his situation was. To be beaten by a girl? Oh, that was simply horrifying. What worse reality there?
A furious blush reddened his cheeks into a tomato, but his black mask masked the bright red.
He angrily looked up at Joan, the green of his eyes red with rage. Damien vowed never to forget this moment, to never forget the shame of being seen in public like this.