When Artoria answered the summons and seated herself at the office table, she was met with a leveled glare from Director Piggot. But instead of hostility, her eyes seemed to reflect a perplexing mix of emotions—exasperation, fatigue, irritation, and even an underlying thread of joy. It was a disconcerting blend, leaving Artoria uncertain about the message intended to convey.

Was she pleased? Angry? Or perhaps it was a strange mix of both.

Nevertheless, Artoria maintained her composure, meeting Piggot's gaze without flinching. An entire minute passed in silence, the tension in the room thickening until Piggot finally released a tired sigh, her posture sagging. "What am I to do with you…" she muttered.

A flash of anger surged through Artoria's heart at being spoken to as if she were some troublemaking child. But she quickly suppressed the feelings. "I understand that I broke protocol. I will accept the consequences."

She couldn't deny that her actions had gone against the chain of command. During her time as King, such disobedience could be akin to desertion, warranting a swift death for those caught, or at the very least, a lashing depending on the motive and circumstance.

While she had earned merit by disposing of the villains, the good did not erase the bad. Both reward and punishment had to be given separately, as one did not forgive the other.

Piggot scoffed in derision. "And be crucified like those poor ABB bastards? You say nice things, but the truth is I can't punish you without going down myself."

"Then what is it that you want?"

A good night's sleep and a day without stress," Piggot replied with a trace of bitterness. "But from you? I want you to curb your recklessness."

"My recklessness?"

"Yes! Your recklessness!" Piggot exclaimed with ire. "What else would you call following instructions from a fucking worm and walking into an obvious trap! You could've been killed, for goodness sake! You should've told us! You should've had backup! We didn't even know what the hell was going on until you leveled a dozen city blocks to rubble!"

"I left behind a letter."

"A letter that nobody noticed until Shadow Stalker woke up!"

Artoria winced, conceding to the point. "I understand your frustration," she admitted. "But I had little choice. I couldn't risk further bombings by not meeting their demands. While my actions may seem reckless, I can assure you that I never was in true danger."

"Overconfidence will get you killed. No matter what your power is, it's not going to save you when you fall headfirst into a trap."

"When there's an overwhelming disparity in power, traps become inconsequential. When the gap is too vast, no amount of trickery will bridge that divide," Artoria rebutted.

When she first arrived in this unfamiliar world, she had been cautious. But diligent research and firsthand experience led her to a stark conclusion. While the powers of a parahuman were diverse, the majority was simply not her match, even if they outnumbered her. While the most exceptional of them posed a threat, ultimately, she had absolute confidence that victory would be hers when it mattered.

Piggot stared at her, jaw agape and flustered. "You- God… you actually mean that, don't you... Artoria…" Piggot said, her voice softening with yet another sigh. "Thinking that you could fix everything by yourself is the height of arrogance. No matter how strong or smart you are, going down that path will only lead to failure. You have a team. Use it. You have resources. Employ them. You don't have to do everything by yourself."

Artoria's eyes widened at Piggot's rebuke, the weight of the words settling upon something uncomfortable.

While she may have claimed that she didn't need aid, the truth was that it never once struck her mind to request help. For so long, as King, she had borne every burden and responsibility, shouldering every failure and disaster as her own. She had lived a life where the weight of her Kingdom solely rested on her shoulders.

That path ultimately led to disaster.

Now, in this new world and her role as a hero, she had vowed to change. She had aspired to live a life different from the one she knew. But now she wondered. Had she truly changed? Or was she merely repeating history?

"I get you're strong," Piggot continued, her tone measured. "Honestly, you might be the strongest cape I know. But—"

"Enough!" Artoria snapped, her [Charisma] rising with the flare of her emotions. Piggot flinched, taken aback. The sight startled Artoria, and she swiftly regained her composure as feelings of guilt rose to her throat. "I apologize. That was unseemly of me. But I grasp your point. I will heed your words."

"I-I see…" The Director stammered. Her face was slightly pale, but she quickly recovered.

"Would that be all?"

"There are still a few more things, unfortunately. So far, we've confirmed five deaths of the Slaughterhouse Nine, so you are entitled to their bounties. But there might be some legal trouble…"

"Should I have brought back their heads for confirmation?"

"What?! No!" Piggot blinked in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the suggestion. She paused, gazing at Artoria strangely before she continued. "What I meant is that your status as a Ward conflicts with your ability to receive the bounty."

"Keep it," Artoria scowled in disgust. "I have no wish for blood money." The concept of bounty hunters wasn't unfamiliar to her, and while she didn't begrudge others for taking such payments, she was a knight. Accepting payment for every deed would make her no better than a mercenary.

"… You are giving us permission to keep the money that will be paid to you?" Piggot hesitantly asked.

"I don't mind, but wouldn't others require it more?" She knew the costs of feeding and housing those who had lost their homes were never a small sum. Their misfortune was tragic, but it felt strangely fitting that the people who had suffered would be compensated by the lives of the perpetrators.

"Brockton Bay is the deathbed of the Nine," Piggot explained dismissively. "Donations should be pouring in once the news gets out. On the other hand, our branch has always been underfunded compared to the threats we have to deal with. The bounty will strengthen the PRT and help us keep order."

Artoria frowned at the Director's dismissive attitude. Her words had merit, but the whims of the people were fickle. It was neither safe nor prudent to rely on another's mercy for the safety of her—no, the city's people.

"I will wait. If your words come true and the victims want for nothing, I will forfeit the bounty. But until then, I'd prefer to keep it in case the donations are insufficient."

Piggot, though displeased, nodded in agreement. "All right. Now, one last thing. You'll most likely get visits from the Youth Guard. And for some reason, I have a feeling that you're going to hate it."

Artoria raised an eyebrow. "That is rather a dour outlook. Were they not supposed to aid and advise heroes? Why hold them in such low esteem?"

"Yes," Piggot admitted, though her voice was dry and cynical. "If you enjoy being smothered by their 'care', you'll have no trouble. But the truth is, they're nothing but a bunch of busybodies sticking their noses where they don't belong. They'll do the same to you. But remember this. No matter how annoying they are, you need to cooperate. We can't afford to have you put on leave at this time. Fortunately, you weren't injured, so it shouldn't be too hard to convince them that you're fine."

"Actually, I've lost a finger," Artoria interjected, raising her unarmored, injured hand

"You'll also have to convince them that you're mentally—WHAT?! Piggot shouted, her eyes nearly bulging at the sight of injury. "The report said you weren't hurt!"

"I suffered none against the fiends. This happened before. During the bombings."

"And you didn't tell us? For all this time?! You should've seen Panacea immediately!"

"It is nothing but a flesh wound," Artoria insisted dismissively. "There are others whose injuries are far more urgent. Besides, Panacea must be exhausted. I have no wish to add to her burdens with something so trivial."

"That is not just a flesh wound!" Piggot roared, slamming her desk with both palms as her face turned to a shade of red. "You're missing a finger! A goddamn finger!"

"The index finger is the least important of the five when bearing a sword," Artoria calmly explained. "Its loss will not hinder me in battle."

Despite her sound reasoning, Piggot stared at her in disbelief, her mouth agape. "… What kind of childhood did you live?" She asked, her voice filled with horror and pity.

Artoria's eyes narrowed at the question, suddenly feeling a familiar sensation similar to the one she had experienced when she misunderstood the meaning of white supremacists. "My childhood was fine," she reassured. It was her adulthood that had been marked by tragedy.

The Director shook her head, sighing as she slumped back down onto her seat. "After you're done today, go take a break. Nothing shorter than a week."

"You said that you required every personnel during this crisis," Artoria protested. "I can't, in good conscience, stand by and rest while the rest of the PRT and Protectorate act."

"You—" Piggot began, but her words were interrupted by another sigh. "Once things calm down, I'm putting you off duty for at least two weeks. And for the love of god, don't argue with me."

"Very well," Artoria reluctantly agreed, though she couldn't shake the feeling that the director had made a wrong assumption.

"Good. Then go."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Artoria stood and prepared to leave. But just as she was about to exit through the door, Piggot called out, her tone softening. "Artoria? Good work today."

….

The moment Artoria left the Director's office, her stomach protested, its hungry growl akin to a dragon's roar. As the stress and tension that had gripped her for so long slowly dissipated, her hunger became all the more pronounced.

An army marched on its stomach, but she had not eaten in two days.

Famished, she eagerly headed toward the cafeteria, the thought of partaking in the buffet-styled spread putting a small smile on her lips. But as she walked with an eager stride, she found her gaze drifting through the windows of the hall.

From the vantage point of the PRT's headquarters, Brockton Bay appeared peaceful and almost beautiful. But when she walked among those streets, the reality of her adopted home became all too apparent. Behind the façade of modernity, the city's decay was evident even before the Nine had inflicted havoc.

If the economy was the lifeblood of a city, then its infrastructure was the spine that held it upright. Loss of either would lead to the loss of the other and eventually collapse.

The Nine's attacks had caused significant damage to bridges, roads, and buildings, albeit in a small portion of the city. But even a single misplaced brick could be the first crack in a city's foundation. It would be a slow decline, but eventually, it would become a death sentence for the city.

She had been assured that the donations would suffice to care for the victims. But strangely, the Director had never once mentioned the costs of fixing the city's infrastructure, as if the thought had never crossed her mind.

It was as if she had resigned herself to the city's fate and had given up on fixing what had been broken. The thought deeply troubled Artoria. If the Director of the PRT had such a bleak outlook, what hope was there for the rest of the peasants?

But perhaps there was something she could do.

To even begin this endeavor, she not only needed vast wealth but also a network of contacts. She possessed the former, courtesy of her benefactor, but was sorely lacking in the latter.

However, there was one person she knew who might be able to assist her, though she had reservations about contacting him.

When the PRT had provided her with transportation to her supposed 'home,' waiting at the gates was a man who jovially introduced himself as her 'secretary.' Naturally, Artoria had been on guard. There were too many oddities and suspicions for her to trust him.

To begin with, it was strange he was waiting for her arrival, even though she herself had no prior knowledge of the mansion's existence.

When she had pressed him about who had instructed him, he claimed ignorance and only provided that he had been employed by an elderly gentleman with a cane, withholding the name. Artoria searched her memory but couldn't recall anyone who matched the description.

What was even more disconcerting was that he seemed to possess knowledge of certain aspects of her abilities—details she had never disclosed to anyone. After providing her with essentials, including IDs, bank cards, and records, he had left, leaving behind his offer of assistance whenever she required it.

Their initial meeting had also been their last, and she had never accepted his offer.

Until now.

Artoria hesitated for a moment before reaching for her phone, dialing the only contact that had been saved, though not by her own hand.

The call connected before the third ring, and a voice on the other end exclaimed, "Miss! What a welcome surprise! I thought you'd never call me."

"Alfred," she greeted with forced politeness. "Yes, it's been a while. How have you been?"

"Oh, it was most dreadful! My entire job is to assist you, but you never once asked for help! I've had nothing to do for almost a month! And the bombings! Don't even get me started on that. Luckily, I was unharmed, but some hooligans stole my bloody car! When I get my hands on those suckers, I'll—'cough.' Anyways, I'm getting carried away. How may I help you?"

The man's voice sounded almost genuine. So much so that Artoria almost believed that he meant what he said. But the way he talked was theatrical as if he were performing on a stage and reciting a script rather than engaging in a genuine conversation.

If the intent was to lower her guard, he had failed. Her suspicion only deepened with every word he—

Was she being too paranoid?

While the circumstances were suspicious, Alfred himself had never acted against her interests.

"I had a question. And a favor," Artoria finally said, deciding to cut to the point. "Tell me, how much would it cost to repair this city's infrastructure?"

Alfred paused briefly. "Are you referring to the damages caused by the bombings? That would cost a pretty—"

"No," Artoria interrupted. "I mean all of it."

Silence fell on the other line. "Miss... While I understand your generosity, the city isn't your responsibility."

"Can I afford it or not?"

Alfred let out a sigh, followed by a dry chuckle. "Miss… What you're asking for is… Even if you sold all your stocks from Z-Industries, you would still fall short."

Artoria's frown deepened. When she first saw the numbers in the bank account, she was shocked. However, it seemed that she had either underestimated the costs or overestimated her wealth. But more importantly, Z-Industries? It was a name she had heard in passing, both from word of mouth and through broadcasts. But she knew little about it other than that it was a company that sold technology.

"But Miss…" Alfred continued. "While I have no authority to dictate your financial decisions, I must advise caution. Reckless spending will put you out on the streets in about… a few hundred years. And from what I've been told, you will live quite a bit longer than that."

"Who told you about that!" Artoria snarled angrily at the casual mention of a secret she had closely guarded to herself. "Just what do you know!"

"A lot less than you might assume. Everything I know about you, I've already told you." He hurriedly reassured, sounding panicked. "I never lied to you. Promise. It might sound strange, but I really don't know who hired me. I've no idea how he may have come by this information. I always assumed that he was your guardian or relative."

"I see… I apologize for the outburst," she conceded softly as she tried to relax the agitation within her heart. She didn't know if he was telling the truth, but interrogating him was unlikely to bear fruit. "Even if my own funds are sufficient, I will do what I can. Send me the contacts of those I need to speak to for this project."

"I can do that. But my job is to make your life as comfortable as possible. If you truly wish to proceed with your… exceedingly generous philanthropy, I will speak to them myself and make the arrangements. But I must warn you, Brockton Bay is too unstable to be a good investment. Even if you fix every brick and cranny, the city will probably be uninhabitable in a few decades at the rate it's going."

Compared to Fuyuki, Brockton Bay was a crumbling ruin. But was the city's reality truly that dire? For a moment, Artoria was reminded of her own Kingdom, destined to fall regardless of her struggles.

For the second time on this day, she wondered if she was merely repeating history. But what else could she do? If his words were to be believed, Brockton Bay would collapse in a mere decade. Could she truly do nothing while the city she resided in came apart in pieces?

She knew the answer before the question even flashed within her mind.

Brockton Bay was unstable. With the numerous bandits and fiends roaming the city, even a fool could see its problems. But it was still her home.

If the city required funding, she would provide it. If wretches threatened its safety, then she would remove them.

"No matter the future, my decision will be unchanged. Just because the future is grim does not mean it is not worth fighting for," Artoria stated resolutely.

In a way, her second life would be easier. Brocton Bay's destruction was not preordained by fate, meaning there was a chance to save it.

"Well said," Alfred praised. "Can't say I agree with the details, but definitely with the sentiment. However, as I said, my job is to prioritize your comfort. I can hardly do that if you sleep in a fridge, can I? I'll speak to the Mayor and see how much he can cough up. It'll be unfair for you to shoulder all the costs."

"Will he cooperate?" Artoria inquired. The answer should've been a definite yes. But seeing how the man had allowed the city to deteriorate, she wasn't certain.

"The city is his responsibility, "Alfred mused. "But if he doesn't, the next mayoral campaign in a few months. It won't be difficult to replace him if word gets out that he's a cheap little bastard. Which he is, by the way. I'll also see what the other fat pigs can give."

Artoria grimaced in distaste at the political maneuvering. It reminded her too much of the machinations of her old court. But despite her reservations, she chose not to argue. Any leader who would not seize a better opportunity for his people when it presented itself upon a silver platter was not worthy of his seat. "Do as you must," she permitted. "I will speak with the others if they prove hesitant."

"Great! But before I go, there's one more thing I need to mention. I know it took a while, but I've readied your household staff."

"My what?" Artoria asked in surprise at the sudden change in topic.

"Your staff! You can't possibly maintain a mansion of that size without help! You have a freaking waterfall!" Alfred pointed out.

The aforementioned construct was purely artificial, but she understood his point. She intended to employ a few servants to clean and maintain her home in the future, but she hadn't expected the man to take the initiative.

Accepting his offer would have been more convenient. But could she trust him? How could she be certain that the servants he sent wouldn't be spies?

"I appreciate your work, but a permanent staff would be dangerous for my… 'secret identity,'" she explained.

But Alfred seemed undeterred and even amused by her explanation. "Ah, you see, that's the beauty of it. Even if they do notice that you have superpowers, they'll never tell a soul! None of them speak English. In fact, they all speak different languages, all of which are rare in America. But that won't be a problem for you. Furthermore, they've got no friends or family here. You won't have to worry about any secrets getting out."

Artoria almost recoiled in disgust. The way he laughed at his own seeming cunning was nauseating, and the way he so eagerly exploited another's vulnerabilities was sickening. So much so that she ignored the fact that he had revealed another piece of information secret to her.

"Send them back!" She snarled.

"Uh… Is there a problem?" Alfred asked, genuinely confused by her anger.

The fact that he failed to see the immorality of his actions only angered her further.

"There is none. I simply have no need of them," she coldly stated.

"I… err… Well, this is going to be awkward…" Alfred said, his laughter now tinged with nervousness.

"What's the problem?" Artoria asked, her wariness growing.

The man's jovial tone suddenly turned serious as he explained. "Don't take this as a threat… But I basically imported them from out-of-seas with promises of a visa and an eventual green card. Their stay here hinges on their employment with you. If you don't take them, they'll lose everything, and I'll have to send them back. And their native countries are… well… let's just say there's a reason why they took a suspicious offer from an even more suspicious stranger."

Left aghast at the inhumanity of his actions, Artoria fell silent. She felt a strong urge to sever all ties with this vile man, but… if those people were truly that desperate… so much so that they left their homes with a stranger who could have been a slaver…

Could she really turn them away?

"Uh… Miss? Are you still there?"

"… Bring them in," she reluctantly accepted after a period of silence. She was still worried that they could be spies, but it wasn't like she had many secrets she cared for. She would just have to be more cautious in the future.

"Great, great, great! Glad it all worked out! I'll ship them over in a few days! In the meantime, let me know if you need—"

"Alfred," Artoria interrupted.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Don't ever do something like this again," she warned and ended the call.

As she hung up, Artoria sighed deeply, feeling the weight of stress building once more. The temptation to sever all relations with this man was still strong, but he was her only lead to the truth behind her presence in this world. Losing him would leave her with nothing.

While she had her own suspicions about those potentially involved, her teacher remained at the top of the list. However, the power required to transverse worlds was immense, and her teacher, while a powerful Magus, was no Magician. He could not have done this alone. Not without help.

Artoria trusted him enough to accept his generosity, but she wasn't so naïve as to believe there wouldn't be a price to pay for such a favor from a stranger.

But these were all worries for another day. For now, her immediate concern was satiating her hunger, having missed two of each breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Without further hesitation, she continued her journey and hastened her steps. She was now only a hundred steps away from her haven, filled with the rich and pleasant aroma of food and drink that would soon be where they all belonged.

Her belly.

Artoria sighed in bliss. Already, the stress was melting away like snow in late spring. She could already taste the—

"Saber," a stern voice called out from behind her.

Artoria paused, annoyance and indignation welling up within her. "Armsmaster," she greeted with forced politeness and gritted teeth. "I am a little busy at this moment. May I—"

"Fight me."

But my food…