The Hot-Tempered Sister: Fists for Thugs, Feet for the Rich
They told me Id suffered all these years.
As I watched the translucent comments float past my eyes:
Suffered? She beat a gang of thugs into calling her Big Sis just yesterday!
I felt nothing. In fact, I was tempted to ask if they needed a resident enforcer.
That is, until the comments flooded my vision: The fake heiress is being cornered and bullied in the school bathroom by the campus kingpin! Shes crying so hard she can barely breathe!
I yanked the car door open. Lets go. Were going home now.
It wasnt that I wanted a family reunion.
It was that my fists were starting to itch.
1
The broom whistled past the back of my head as my mom's roar shook the cheap plaster of the surrounding buildings. "You little brat! If I don't skin you alive today, I'll take your last name!"
I dodged with practiced ease.
The air was filled with the jeers of our neighbors and the crunch of cheap snacks.
Just then, a sleek black car, its sharp lines screaming a price tag that could buy our entire block, glided to a silent stop at the end of the alley. It was like a panther stalking into the heart of the slums.
The doors opened, and a man and a woman stepped out. He was in a tailored suit, radiating a quiet authority. She was draped in jewels, her eyes red-rimmed.
Their gazes locked onto me with an unnerving precision, filled with a strange mix of excitement and guilt?
My mom froze, broom still in hand. She looked at the car, then at the couple, her own formidable presence shrinking by half. "You damn girl," she muttered under her breath, "what kind of trouble did you get into now? Who are these people?"
I ignored her, squinting at the couple. I didn't recognize them, but there was a strange familiarity?
The wealthy woman rushed forward, grabbing my dirt-stained hand as tears welled up instantly. "My child my poor, long-lost child"
I yanked my hand back, my face a blank mask. Nice acting, I thought.
And in that exact moment, a few lines of semi-transparent text drifted past my eyes like ghosts:
Poor?? She single-handedly took down three guys trying to collect protection money last week!
Old Man Hemlock's psycho goose now flattens itself against the wall when it sees her coming!
The only ones suffering on this block are the local delinquents!
Me: "..."
Right. So I had an invisible live commentary crew.
The man in the suit, my biological father, Richard Hawthorne, stepped forward, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"Zoe, we're your real parents. There was a mix-up at the hospital seventeen years ago. We've come to take you home."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over our crumbling tenement and the broom in my mom's hand, before adding, "There's another daughter at home. Your sister. She's frail and timid, and we thought it best she stay with us. Don't worry, we'll treat you both equally."
The comments exploded:
Whoa! Here comes the classic trope! The real heiress has arrived, clear the way!
Catfight with the fake heiress! Hair-pulling! Let's go, I live for this!
What catfight? You guys don't know? The fake heiress has a stutter. She's too scared to even talk back when she's bullied.
A stutter? A timid crybaby?
I wasn't afraid of anything, and my fists were solid as rocks, but I couldn't stand two things:
One, people who stuttered and couldn't get a damn word out.
Two, people who burst into tears at the drop of a hat.
Both scenarios made me antsy, irritable, and my knuckles ache.
"No thanks." I turned on my heel and headed for our crooked front door. "It's fine here. I'm free. You can go back to wherever you came from."
Aww, too bad. If the MC goes back, she'll end up at the same school as the fake heiress, Blackwood Prep.
I heard the fake heiress gets bullied all the time because of her stutter. The rich kids there love to make fun of her.
Didn't they lock her in a bathroom last time? Cried her eyes out, and no one helped.
Someone even made her kneel and bark like a dog
A stutter? Cornered in a bathroom? Kneel and bark like a dog?
My eyelid twitched violently.
My capacity for empathy was basically zero, but I had two fatal flaws: I couldn't stand watching people who couldn't fight, and I couldn't stand watching people who did fightthe wrong way. The first made me impatient, the second made my hands itch.
Especially since every thug on my block already called me "Big Sis." There was no challenge left.
"Let's go." I spun around, yanked open the door of the luxury car, and slid inside. "Now. Immediately."
Richard and Eleanor Hawthorne were clearly not expecting such a rapid change of heart. They stared for a second, then their faces lit up with joy.
Richard quickly retrieved a briefcase from the trunk and tried to shove it into my adoptive parents' hands. There was no polite back-and-forth. I just rolled down the window. "Any more delays and I'm getting out."
My adoptive parents instantly let go of the case.
As the car pulled away from the slums, Richard and Eleanor tried to make awkward small talk.
"Zoe, what do you like to do? Movies? Shopping?" Eleanor asked tentatively.
"Fighting," I said, closing my eyes.
The car fell silent. The comments were a stream ofHAHAHAHA.
2
The car entered a neighborhood of unsettling quiet, pulling up before a mansion that looked like a European castle.
A butler bowed as we entered.
Stepping into a grand hall with floors so polished they reflected our images, the crystal chandelier nearly blinded me. Before I could fully survey my "new map," a soft sobbing sound drifted from the staircase.
I looked up.
A girl in a white dress, her eyes swollen like ripe peaches, stood trembling on the landing. She looked like a terrified fawn. The sight of us made her flinch, and the tears fell even faster. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but only broken, airy sounds came out. "I'm I'm s-s-sorry I I"
It was her. The fake heiress from the comments, Lila Hawthorne.
Her pathetic, stammering state was like a direct assault on my last nerve.
The simmering frustration I'd accumulated from sheer boredom, mixed with my natural revulsion for bullying, instantly ignited.
I strode over to her, my brows furrowed in pure impatience. "Who did it?"
She flinched back, stumbling a step, fat tears splattering on the marble floor as she broke down completely.
Richard and Eleanor were clueless. "Zoe, who did what?"
I pointed at Lila, who was on the verge of hyperventilating. "Her! At school! Who bullied her into this state? Give me a name!"
Lila's head snapped up. She stared at me through her tears, her expression one of utter shock.
The comments went insane:
DAMN, sis is on FIRE!
Straight to the point! I love it!
Ask her! Quick, tell her it was that bastard Marcus!
Pinned by my glare, Lila shrank back, sobbing out a broken sentence. "It it was M-Marcus Th-they b-bathroom"
"Enough. Your stuttering is giving me a headache," I cut her off, turning to Richard. "Get me transferred. Now. To her school."
Richard and Eleanor exchanged a look, as if they wanted to object.
My eyes hardened. "Or I can just tear this living room apart right now. Your call."
They believed me.
3
The next day, I stood at the gates of Blackwood Prepan academy reeking of money and hypocrisy. I wore an ill-fitting, brand-new uniform, my backpack completely empty.
The comments dutifully served as my GPS and spoiler source:
Warning! High-energy zone ahead! Grade 11, Class 3, home base of campus kingpin Marcus Thorne and his cronies!
The fake heiress is in Class 2 next door. She's currently being harassed by Marcus's lackeys.
Go get 'em, Big Sis! For justice (and the sheer thrill of the beatdown)!
I walked straight to the back door of Class 3.
Inside, a guy with a few obnoxious blond streaks in his hair had his foot propped on a chair, flicking rubber bands at the back of a smaller boy's head, much to the amusement of his posse. This had to be Marcus.
I knocked on the open doorframe, a dull, heavy sound.
The classroom fell silent. All eyes turned to the new face.
Marcus turned his head lazily, looking me up and down with a contemptuous smirk. "Newbie? What do you want?"
I ignored him, my gaze fixed first on the boy who was being pelted with rubber bands, then sweeping over the obvious lackeys.
"You lot," my voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence, "yesterday, who was involved in cornering a girl in the bathroom and making her kneel and bark like a dog?"
The smirk on Marcus's face froze, then darkened. "Who the hell are you? None of your business."
A short, stout crony next to him snickered. "Where'd this hick come from, trying to stick up for that little stutterer?"
I nodded, confirming my targets.
Good.
The next second, before anyone could react, I lunged forward. I grabbed the stout crony by his collar and, to the gasps of the entire class, single-handedly slammed his nearly 180-pound body against the wall.
With a sickening thud, the whole room seemed to vibrate.
The crony didn't even grunt. He just slid down the wall in a boneless heap, completely stunned.
I released him, cracked my knuckles, and turned to face the now-pale Marcus and the other participants, my eyes like chips of ice.
"So, it was you."
The classroom was dead silent.
Marcus shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His face was a mask of fury and shock. "You're fucking dead!"
A corner of my mouth lifted, a smile devoid of warmth, filled only with a cold, almost cruel excitement.
"No. You are."
Before the words had even faded, I was moving, an arrow released from a bow.
Marcus's fist came at me, whistling through the air. He had the posture of someone who'd taken a few flashy taekwondo classes.
Pathetic. Too slow. Too many openings.
I didn't even bother to dodge. Just as his knuckles were about to connect with my nose, my right hand shot out like lightning, clamping onto his wrist. With a sharp twist and a pull
Crack.
A soft, sickening crunch was followed by a pig-like squeal from Marcus. I used his own momentum to pull him off balance, sending him stumbling forward. I gave him no time to recover. My left knee shot up
"Urk!"
The knee strike landed squarely in his stomach. His scream died in his throat, replaced by a painful, retching gasp. His face turned a deep shade of purple as tears and snot streamed uncontrollably. I let go of his wrist and, as his body went limp, I grabbed his stupid blond hair and slammed his head down.
THWACK!
His face met the hard terrazzo floor with a sound that made teeth ache.
The world went quiet.
All that remained was the sound of Marcus, curled on the floor, groaning in agony, blood pouring from his nose to form a sickening red puddle.
The entire exchange took less than five seconds.
4
The classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The previously arrogant cronies were frozen like statues, their faces ashen, legs trembling. They stared at me not as a person, but as some man-eating monster.
The comments had gone completely berserk, a dense wall of text obscuring my vision:
HOLY S***! A total takedown! That was a genuine instant kill!
Is that level of skill even real? Street fighter vs. rich-boy martial arts! Total ownage!
I heard that face-plant! OUCH!
BIG SIS IS A GODDESS! (Voice crack)
Did the rest of them wet their pants? LOL!
I hereby declare myself a loyal simp for Big Sis!
A new queen is born! The reign of Blackwood Prep is about to change!
I shook out my wrist, as if I'd just swatted a fly. My gaze swept over the petrified lackeys. My voice was flat, but it carried an undeniable weight. "You guys. You can either go squat in the corner yourselves, or I can help you."
They flinched as if zapped by electricity, then scrambled and stumbled to the corner of the room, hands over their heads, squatting in a perfectly aligned row. More disciplined than a military drill.
I paid them no more mind. Bending down, I grabbed Marcus by the back of his collar and started dragging him out of the classroom like a sack of garbage. He struggled feebly, muffled whimpers escaping his lips, but he couldn't budge me an inch.
The hallway was already packed with students drawn by the commotion. They watched in horror as I dragged their former "kingpin" past them. A wave of whispers rose and fell, dying instantly whenever my gaze passed over them. I was the focal point of a hundred shocked, fearful, and curious stares.
I ignored them all, dragging Marcus straight towardsthe girls' bathroom.
Yes, the very same one where they'd tormented Lila yesterday.
CRASH! I kicked the door open. A few girls inside screamed and fled.
I dragged Marcus to the last stall, the "crime scene" according to the comments, and let him go.
He collapsed in a heap, a bruised, bloody, pathetic mess.
I looked down at him, my voice as cold as the damp floor. "Yesterday. Right here. You made her kneel?"
Marcus stared up at me in terror, his lips trembling, unable to speak.
"Bark like a dog?" I asked again, my tone flat, chilling him to the bone.
He shook his head violently, a sob in his voice. "I I was wrong Big Sis please let me go"
"Kneel," I commanded.
It was almost a reflex. Wincing in pain, Marcus scrambled to his knees on the cold, wet tiles, his body shaking uncontrollably.
"Bark," I said.
Marcus's face was completely drained of color, a mask of humiliation and terror. But under my unblinking stare, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced out a few weak, distorted sounds from his throat. "Woof woof"
"Didn't you have breakfast?" I scowled. "Louder! Where's all that energy you had yesterday?"
He flinched. Tears of shame mixed with the blood running down his face as he finally shouted, his voice cracking, "WOOF! WOOF WOOF!"
The sound echoed in the empty bathroom, grotesquely comical and tragic.
5
The students crowded in the hallway gasped, but no one dared come closer.
An eye for an eye! So satisfying!
Public humiliation for the kingpin! I could watch this on loop for a year!
A little cruel, but damn, she's good!
You can't go easy on scum like that!
Just then, a timid, tear-choked voice came from the bathroom entrance. "S-sister"
I turned.
Lila was standing there, pale as a ghost, her hands gripping the doorframe. She was staring at the kneeling, barking Marcus, her eyes wide with disbelief and a flicker of vindication?
But mostly, she was afraid. She looked at me as if I were something far more terrifying than him.
"What is it?" I asked, my tone still cool.
She sniffled, her voice barely a whisper. "The the teachers from the D-Dean's office they're they're coming a lot of them"
I glanced in the direction she indicated. Down the hall, a group of stern-faced administrators in suits, flanked by security guards, was marching towards us.
Ah, the cavalry had arrived.
My gaze returned to Marcus, who, upon hearing the teachers were coming, had a renewed spark of hope in his eyes.
I crouched down, leaning in close, and said in a voice only he could hear, "Today was just the appetizer. From now on, in this school, Lila Hawthorne is under my protection."
I patted his swollen cheek, not gently.
"You, or any of your little friends, ever touch a single hair on her head, or make her shed a single tear"
I paused, letting a humorless smile spread across my face.
"I'll break one of your legs. I keep my promises."
The hope in Marcus's eyes died, replaced by pure, abject terror. He started shaking even harder.
I stood up, ignoring the approaching shouts and commotion. I straightened the non-existent wrinkles on my uniform and walked calmly towards the door.
Passing by Lila, I paused, frowning at her still-frightened expression.
"What are you scared of?" I said. "Let's go."
Then, under the stunned gazes of the entire student body and the rapidly approaching Dean of Students, I took the trembling Lila's hand and walked straight towards the posse of adults who had come to "dispense justice."
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