Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system

Sophia aimed her rifle at the door while the leader stomped the blockade open—frightened screams erupted in response.

A small group of five people huddled together, shivering in fear amidst the chaos. The leader's frown deepened as she carefully scanned each of them.

Three men, two women, and a child—diverse in race and appearance. A surprising find. Among them, one couple held hands tightly.

Perhaps having vented their initial fear, the group began to speak up.

"No, please!"

"Let us go!"

"Please don't. I still have—"

"Have mercy!"

"Stay calm. We are not here to harm you," Sophia said, using an international language.

As an Interpol agent, she was better suited to communicate without giving away too much.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"We have no reason to lie," Sophia replied, though a slight impatience crept into her tone.

She exchanged a glance with her partner. The leader mirrored her look. Both had reached a silent, mutual conclusion.

Something didn't feel right—especially about the couple and the child.

The man and woman kept glancing at the child, clearly worried for his safety. But the child… the child wasn't being held by them. He was in another man's arms.

The unease that tickled the edge of their instincts now made sense.

Despite the child's crying and sniffling, it became clear—the couple and the child shared physical similarities.

But the man holding him did not. Not even a hint.

Silence hung for several seconds. Both Sophia and the leader had pinpointed what was wrong.

Their eyes narrowed.

One of these civilians—possibly more—wasn't who they claimed to be.

This wasn't just a frightened group of survivors. This was a hostage scenario.

Suddenly, red outlines flashed across the visor display—the man holding the child. The datalink had confirmed it.

Without hesitation, the leader snapped into action and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed like thunder in the small room. The round punched through the man's left eye and blasted out the back of his skull, splattering blood across the wall.

The man stiffened and collapsed, falling onto his butt. Only the bloodied wall supported his lifeless body.

The group screamed in horror—but the couple immediately rushed to the child, pulling him into their arms with tears of relief.

Sophia stood stunned. The leader, by contrast, remained expressionless.

She had full trust in Athena's system.

The visor had marked the man as hostile. That alone was enough.

And her instincts had warned her several times even before that—

The couple's protective posture, the physical dissimilarities, the subtle reactions from the rest of the group—

All of it pointed to the same truth.

The dead man never expected to be executed so decisively.

He thought he had blended in well enough.

If he hadn't gotten cut off and lost, he would never have resorted to such a despicable disguise.

"What are you doing?!" Sophia exclaimed, still in shock.

"What must be done," the leader replied flatly, unaffected by the outburst.

Veterans didn't argue with recruits. She understood Sophia's hesitation—

The gap between blind trust and battlefield instincts, between intel and conscience.

"You can't just judge someone like… like—"

Sophia faltered, her voice caught between protest and realization.

She saw it too—the couple's reactions, the truth revealed after the shot.

"When you start working with us, learn to trust," the leader said calmly, flashing a brief smile.

"Check his body and move on."

Sophia nodded, albeit reluctantly. Now wasn't the time for debate.

She turned to comfort the civilians while quickly investigating the corpse.

Reality matched their earlier suspicions.

No further threats were present. With the area secure, the two rejoined their unit.

Yet even as she regrouped, Sophia couldn't help but reflect on the technology and intelligence—the powerful weapons Spirit Fox wielded so effortlessly.

She had long realized Ling Qingyu's group was anything but ordinary.

And after reaping the benefits of that strength firsthand, Sophia had stopped considering leaving.

Even if Ling Qingyu drove her away, Sophia wouldn't hesitate to kneel and beg. There was no way she'd ever separate from this incredible team.

Of course, Ling Qingyu wouldn't push away a warrioress—a rare existence in this world—without a good reason. Besides, Sophia was easy on the eyes and made excellent eye candy.

In fact, long before the leader sensed someone preparing to hide after spotting a weapon on the ground, Athena had already tracked the terrorist using every possible camera feed.

Combined with information gathered through hacking, she had already compiled full profiles—biographies, photos, everything—of the participants.

She didn't inform the leader immediately, seeing that the latter had begun to realize the truth on her own, and only confirmed the ID at the last moment.

Despite her capabilities, Athena rarely intervened directly, allowing operators to make decisions for themselves.

Though the datalink greatly enhanced the speed and coordination of an operation, Athena was cautious—it shouldn't dull their independent thinking.

The datalink's core purpose was to show teammate positions and enemy silhouettes as seen through allied equipment. Even this seemingly simple function had already granted the team an unimaginable edge.

The difference between fighting with and without real-time intelligence could mean life or death in those split-second, brain-burning moments.

Team One regrouped and pushed forward, repelling the terrorists. By now, their relentless aggression had shaken the black-ops force.

High-low corner battles. Hallway dominance. No matter the terrain, the enemy couldn't hold.

Under Spirit Fox's pressure, the firefights gradually converged toward the terminal entrance—where the initial attack had erupted.

Localized skirmishes soon merged. Some operators moved upstairs to assist defenders, clearing threats from above.

Although some confusion occurred due to their unannounced intervention, higher authorities quickly coordinated and smoothed things out.

Airport security leaders—those who were still alive—welcomed Spirit Fox's arrival with visible relief.

Near the terminal entrance, elevators connected the upstairs and downstairs gates—departure and arrival areas.

Glass walls meant to serve as dividers had shattered under intense crossfire.

Sharp shards littered the floor, blood painting the scene with cruel artistry.

Among the corpses lay those who twitched or groaned. Anyone who screamed had been shot—noise drew attention and attention meant death.

The terrorists were in retreat. Dust and cracks exploded near their fleeing silhouettes as bullets chased them.

From above and below, Spirit Fox covered every route, gunning down all exposed enemies who failed to find cover in time.

Karma had come. As an old soldier once said: if you have the guts to kill, be prepared to die the same way.

What you bring to others will always come back to you.

Spirit Fox annihilated them on the ground floor. A small detachment broke off from Team One to assist Lin Fan and his group.

The double-pronged attack forced the enemy out of the terminal in short order.

Bang! Bang!

Thud!

The loud rhythm of automatic gunfire merged with the flash of muzzles and the thuds of collapsing bodies.

Yes—the terrorists were utterly defeated. Even if Lin Fan's team alone couldn't threaten them, the addition of Spirit Fox had shifted the wind and turned the tide.

However, despite thinning numbers and constant retreat, the enemy remained organized.

They fell back with precision, leaving a few behind to delay the advance while others retreated in stages—one group holding the line as another pulled back, then switching roles.

Lin Fan and the others couldn't stop cussing as they discovered the terrorists' discipline and skill.

In contrast to their chaotic earlier actions, this structured withdrawal revealed the truth.

These weren't just elites. These terrorists were highly trained, far beyond standard expectations.

Otherwise, how could even veteran and elite-tier fighters on their own side feel this much pressure?

The methodical retreat reached the exterior of the terminal, erupting into battles across wreckage and burning vehicles.

Terrorist figures crouched behind cover, especially areas shielded by engine blocks or reinforced structures, and fired back indiscriminately—completely unconcerned about where their bullets landed.

On the other hand, the protagonist's party and Spirit Fox couldn't respond the same way. Morality and mission restrained them—to defend, to protect, to save.

But one advantage flipped the predicament: Spirit Fox's girls were faster and more accurate. That alone made up for the limitation.

Regardless of their restraint, Spirit Fox and the rest refused to be outdone.

The girls peeked out from behind pillars and opened fire. Their stances varied—standing, kneeling, even prone on their side for angled shots.

The battlefield became a chaotic exchange of rounds between those outside and the defenders holding the terminal's interior.

Suddenly, a van screeched to a stop behind the terrorists.

Its side door swung open—and a terrifying muzzle burst into flames.

A machine gun sprayed nonstop, bullets tearing into the terminal interior without pause, even as its barrel glowed red-hot from sustained fire.

The entire front area of the terminal was bombarded.

Gunfire hailed in from the van, pinning everyone down or forcing them to scramble for cover.

The horizontal sweep of the PKM forced bodies flat against the cold floor, like they were trying to melt into it.

Lin Fan's group was in trouble—pinned, shaken, helpless under the sudden onslaught.

But not Spirit Fox.

Even under surprise suppression, the operators remained calm.

They had long grown used to bullets whizzing by and understood the rhythm of their trajectories.

The moment the PKM's muzzle shifted away from their direction, Spirit Fox operators popped up—fast and fierce—returning fire without hesitation.

Some emptied entire magazines in one go, their retaliation fierce enough to scorch the air. Their counteraction forced a brief pause—just long enough for everyone to exploit.

The suppression faltered before it could even properly begin.

From the distance, Spirit Fox's SAW gunner went on a rampage, pouring relentless fire into the van, riddling its skin with uncountable holes.

Boom!

The van erupted in flames, the explosion rocking the wreckage-strewn battlefield. Fire surged up, licking the shattered frame as smoke billowed into the air.

The FN Evolys had struck true—rounds chewed into the side panel before one lucky hit punctured the fuel tank. That was all it took.

Flames slowly engulfed the lower deck, swallowing whatever was left inside. Shortly afterward, a sharp impact struck her in the chest.

The SAW gunner tumbled backward with a heavy crunch.

"No!" someone cried out—but it definitely wasn't one of her sisters.

Instead, Spirit Fox operators were snickering, amused at someone's bad luck. Somebody must be prepared to bleed to host a dinner.