Chapter 200: Falling Out

Chapter 200: Falling OutBy the time the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting its fading glow, Lyra had already led her squad of thirty-one back to their original formation.

She checked the time, then turned to face the disgruntled faces staring her down.

The group was clearly over it—frustration practically radiated off of them.

"Alright, you’re free to go. Don’t forget to show up on time tomorrow," Lyra said coolly, though there was a playful bite to her words.

The group collectively rolled their eyes, mentally drafting excuses to get out of it. As expected, Rubens was the first to pop off. He let out an exaggerated scoff, stomping forward with all the grace of a toddler mid-tantrum.

"The hell I’m showing up again tomorrow!" he barked, voice dripping with irritation. Then, with a dramatic huff, he stormed off, seething.

Lyra’s eyes followed their retreating backs, her lips curling into a slight, satisfied smirk. The way these guys puffed themselves up amused her. They thought they could intimidate her, but Lyra was no fool. She’d already gotten in their heads.

A beep from her opticomputer broke Lyra’s focus. She answered the call, Morrison’s voice buzzing through the speaker. "Boss, media’s eating it up. Just like you said—it’s trending."

"Perfect. Keep the ball rolling," Lyra replied, saving the data to her files with a quick tap.

The last rays of sunlight filtered through the Aegis Shield’s protective field, casting a faint blue glow over the city.

Lyra’s eyes gleamed with ambition. Her desire to succeed burned so fiercely that it rivaled the fading light. Anyone who thought they could stop her now? Yeah, they’d need her permission first.

Her phone rang again, this time with Kritt’s name flashing across the screen. He was checking in, as usual. "So, how’s life in the Reserved Corps?"

Lyra’s response was breezy, casual. "I think I’m doing just fine."

Kritt, sitting in his own quarters, scrolled through the latest headlines on his tablet. Her short answer didn’t fool him for a second. There was something else simmering underneath that casual tone.

"As long as you’re doing fine," he said, pausing before tossing out his next question. "What’s next on your agenda?"

Kritt wasn’t buying into the idea that Lyra was stirring up all this media attention for kicks. The sudden spike in online debates about noble privilege, public opinion, and the effectiveness of the Special Operations Squad? All signs pointed back to her.

"Oh, nothing major," Lyra replied, playing it cool. "Just tagging along with the patrols."

But there was an unmistakable spark in her voice, a glimmer that hinted she was holding her cards close, waiting for the right moment to play.

...

The following morning, Lyra arrived early—earlier than usual. To her surprise, Norman, the laziest in the bunch, was already there, waiting.

"Good morning, Ensign. Can I have a word in my office?" he called out as soon as she stepped into view.

Inside, Norman sat behind his desk with a tray of egg tarts and a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. His expression was a mix of contemplation and discomfort, as though he was wrestling with something unspoken.

Just the day before, his father—who rarely had a good word to say—had actually praised him. "Getting Lyra to wrangle those undisciplined brats was your best move yet," he’d said.

After years of trying to impress his father, Norman knew why this sudden approval had surfaced. Thanks to Lyra, public opinion of the nobles had ticked upward, even if only slightly.

"Is something wrong, Squad Leader?" Lyra asked, breaking the silence.

Norman broke into a grin. "No, no. Everything’s good. I just wanted to say you did great yesterday."

He gestured to the food in front of him. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I’ve already eaten, but thank you, sir," Lyra replied, offering him a polite salute before heading for the door.

As soon as she left, Norman exhaled in relief, dragging his hands over his face. Good grief. How was anyone supposed to relax with someone as intense as her around?

Just as Lyra exited the office, she nearly collided with Rubens—the very same guy who’d proudly declared the day before that "the hell I’m going to show up again."

The look on his face? Absolutely priceless. The awkwardness radiated off him in waves, and the other team members, who had also been wary of facing Lyra, found a bit of comfort in seeing Rubens’ humiliation.

Despite all their big talk yesterday, they were all here. Any applications for leave they’d carefully prepared had been unceremoniously ripped apart by their families. Their fathers and grandfathers had ensured they reported for duty.

And why? Simple. They needed those military titles and honors to spruce up their family names, to keep their noble status intact.

Without them, the power these families held would slip through their fingers, their privileges snatched away, and their influence slowly but surely erased from the military ranks.

Lyra’s actions the previous day may have flown under the radar of the general public, but the nobles saw through it with crystal clarity.

Her strategy was obvious—she was aligning herself with the noble class, stirring up attention to make her next move against the senior officers in the military who had been gunning for her.

For the nobles, this was a turning point, a clear signal that it was time for them to step in.

Rubens, of course, had thrown a fit, vowing to do anything to avoid being stuck in her squad. But his father had shut that down with an iron resolve, saying, "Even if you’re nothing but a corpse, you’ll be placed in her unit!" Now, face-to-face with Lyra, Rubens saw the gleam in her eyes—a look that seemed to say, ’Good boy.’

And it wasn’t just Rubens. Even the ones who had been passed over the day before started coming forward, nervously shuffling their feet. "Ensign, can we join the Special Operations Squad?" they asked, voices shaky but determined.

Lyra’s gaze was as cold as ever, but her response was brief and to the point. "Of course." The more, the better—it only made things more interesting for her.

Once the patrol routes were secured, Lyra didn’t waste any time. This wasn’t going to be another day of wandering around aimlessly.

She hopped into the driver’s seat of a prison transport van and made a direct beeline to one of Central City’s upscale establishments.

Reporters were already lurking nearby, and Lyra spotted one giving her a subtle signal. She nodded back, then turned to her squad, who looked thoroughly confused by this detour.

"Guard the area. No one gets in or out until I’m back," she ordered.

With her mission recorder activated, Lyra marched into the building, fully aware of what was waiting inside.

Upstairs, a shady deal was going down, but the moment they saw her, panic set in.

They fought back, guns blazing and superpowers flying, but Lyra’s energy shield deflected every attack effortlessly.

As the leaders of both sides scrambled to escape, she unleashed her own abilities, binding them in place with ease.

In just five minutes, the entire operation was dismantled.

Down below, the reporters filmed the entire bust, their fingers already typing out flashy headlines.

Before the dust had even settled, news blasted across the media: "Breaking: Lyra leads Special Ops in bust of Broken Blades’ smuggling ring—arrests reveal shocking identities!"

Rubens and the rest of the squad watched in stunned silence as Lyra dragged out high-profile criminals, one after another. They were speechless. ’Can we ever pull off something like that?’

But Lyra wasn’t done. After tossing the criminals into the van like yesterday’s trash, she turned to her team, who still hadn’t recovered from the shock. "Let’s go. We have another target."

Another one?

The squad followed her to an inconspicuous building, which at first glance seemed unremarkable.

But upon entering, they discovered a dark secret—it was a brothel, filled with women who had been forced into prostitution, many of them trafficked.

Without missing a beat, Lyra apprehended the manager, quickly digging out the identity of the operation’s mastermind and taking him down, too.

By midday, Lyra had taken down not one, but TWO major criminal operations. Her team, who had expected a routine day of patrol, were left reeling.

The van was packed with criminals and victims, and the sheer scale of what had just unfolded was almost too much to process.

When they finally returned to the patrol headquarters, the Director looked as if he might pass out from the stress. His eyes widened as he stared at the number of arrests. ’Did she seriously just bring in all these people?’

"Do you even know who these people are?!" he cried, his voice shaking with disbelief.

Lyra, completely unfazed by his panic, responded calmly. "Given their special status, I’ll need you to detain them for now. I’ll submit the evidence to the court this afternoon."

The Director, clearly unsettled by the dark glares the prisoners were giving him, swallowed nervously. "Technically, we’re supposed to handle this type of case..."

"No need." Lyra’s smile was thin but knowing. "I’m afraid your familiarity with these individuals might complicate things."

True to her word, Lyra didn’t waste time. By that afternoon, she had submitted all the evidence to the military court, dropping a political bombshell on the upper brass.

When the chief justice reviewed the details of the case, even he—a man who had seen more than his fair share of scandals—felt a shiver run down his spine.

Among the criminals were none other than the relative of Admiral Dale, who had been caught selling stolen military weapons to space pirates, and Admiral Vince’ nephew, deeply involved in human trafficking, illegal detainment, and the abuse of young women.

These were the very admirals who had publicly declared that Lyra didn’t belong in the military, who had tried to squash her career at every turn.

Now, with their own family members implicated in serious crimes, the tables were turning.

Their reckoning had arrived, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.