Walter glanced down at his reports when neither Moira nor Thea spoke up.
"Based on the company's current profits," he said carefully, "we can rehire at most three hundred of the laid-off workers. Any more would put a serious strain on our budget."
Three hundred? That number was far too low.
Thea's goal was to resolve the issue for at least half of the fifteen hundred affected workers; the rest could be covered with basic welfare and phased out gradually.
Moira wasn't satisfied either.
"That few positions will only make things worse," she said, frowning. "What if we transfer them to positions in our out-of-town branches?"
Walter did some quick calculations.
"At most two hundred," he admitted. "Beyond that, local staff would start protesting. We can't overstep the regional hiring limits."
Thea sighed inwardly. So much for the "land of freedom."
People often thought only in China did locals hate leaving their hometowns—but Americans weren't that different. The country might span 9.6 million square kilometers, but most folks still spent their entire lives in the same town where they were born.
Generations lived and died in the same place.
It was exactly that kind of isolation that birthed half the horror movies out there—some cult in the woods doing evil for twenty years, and no one noticed until some pretty city kids showed up for a road trip.
Because of that small-town mentality, both Queen Consolidated and Wayne Enterprises had unwritten rules about staffing: local branches were to be run by locals. Outsiders were rarely welcome.
Then, suddenly, inspiration struck Thea.
She remembered an old quote from a certain great leader:
"What do you think about building a railway connecting multiple cities?"
That was it.
America's transcontinental railways had existed for over a century, but most were falling apart—partly from age, partly from endless terrorist attacks, explosions, and "supervillain incidents."
Rebuilding even one major rail line would require tons of steel.
Thea's eyes lit up.
If they restarted the company's steel production line under the banner of national infrastructure development, not only could they rehire most of those workers, but they'd also spark a new economic boom in Star City.
That, in turn, would be perfect ammunition for her mother's future election campaign.
"That's brilliant!" Moira said at once, clearly seeing the political potential.
She wasn't thinking like a businesswoman now—she was thinking like a politician. If I make the promise, I can use it as a slogan. If I win, we'll continue the project. If I lose, no harm done.
Railway construction could take years, even decades.
Voters wouldn't blame her for not finishing it in a few months—but they'd certainly remember who promised it.
Every speech from now on could open with that vision.
And the funding? Easy enough to crowdsource among her wealthy friends.
The more she thought about it, the better it sounded.
Walter didn't share their enthusiasm.
He simply shrugged. If they wanted to spend their own money on it, fine. He wasn't going to interfere.
Thea reminded her mother to have Derrick sign his agreement quickly, then left the rest in Moira's hands.
Her mother had already begun preparing for her mayoral campaign, even though she hadn't formally filed yet.
She was quietly gathering a team of strategists and consultants from every field—people who could handle networking, media, and negotiations.
With that in motion, Thea finally found herself… free.
Her lazy days returned once again.
She rewatched the footage of her fight with Batman and Catwoman three times, studying every frame.
Batman's fighting style was all brute strength and precision—too heavy for her frame.
Catwoman's, on the other hand, was fluid and unpredictable, based on speed, balance, and street instincts.
It suited Thea perfectly.
How does she even move like that in high heels?
Thea had to admit, the woman's balance was unbelievable.
She decided that if she wanted to become a true heroine, she couldn't always wear flat shoes to galas.
Learning to fight in heels would be an essential skill.
Starting small, she slipped on a pair of thick-heeled boots instead of stilettos. Walking was fine—but when she tried a high kick—
"Thud—ahh!"
She rubbed her head, groaning on the floor. Whoever invented these things deserved to be shot—preferably several times.
Wearing heels was like equipping herself with a permanent "-50% movement speed" debuff.
How did Catwoman or Harley Quinn manage to fight like this and look good doing it?
It defied all logic.
She'd have to ask someone who actually knew.
The next morning, at her "elementary-to-middle" level training session, she approached Lady Shiva with her question.
"Teacher, how does Catwoman keep her balance so perfectly?"
Shiva arched an eyebrow.
"Catwoman? Hmph. My defeated student."
Then she gestured.
"Stand straight. Let me see."
Thea obeyed, a little nervous.
Shiva circled her slowly, observing, occasionally poking or patting her body—shoulder, waist, back, then lower.
When her hand lingered just below Thea's waist, the girl nearly jumped.
Seriously?! What kind of lesson is this?!
Then—smack!
A sharp slap landed square on her backside.
"Ow!"
Thea spun around, red-faced, glaring. If you don't explain that right now, I swear—!
Shiva remained calm.
"Your balance isn't bad," she said. "But your muscle coordination is inefficient. You're not channeling power through your entire body correctly."
She tapped Thea's hip again.
"Here. This is your body's power hub. Every motion—your legs, your upper body, even your strikes—should flow from this point. You've never properly learned how to generate power."
No kidding, Thea thought. My old teacher never went around slapping people to explain it.
Shiva continued her lecture seriously, while Thea tried very hard to ignore her burning cheeks.
"As for your question—how Catwoman does it—it's simple. Once you can control these muscles properly…"
She tapped several spots around Thea's thighs and hips.
"You could fight balanced on stilts if you wanted. Just don't overdo it. This kind of motion puts strain on your calves and Achilles tendons. Let me show you."
She removed her coat and guided Thea's hands to her legs.
"Feel the muscle tension and rhythm."
Thea's first thought: Cold.
Her skin was smooth and cool—so different from her own. The subtle pulsing under the surface revealed absolute control, every fiber perfectly coordinated.
It was… mesmerizing.
She forced herself to focus on the sensation, studying the subtle shifts of muscle as Shiva demonstrated.
When Thea tried to mimic it, she realized something surprising—it was actually much easier to do than to understand.
A small adjustment here, a bit of pressure there—and suddenly, her stance felt steadier than ever.
Still, she could feel how draining it was. The technique consumed both physical and mental stamina rapidly.
No wonder Catwoman had run out of gas after only two fights.
At the time, Thea had wondered how a professional thief could tire faster than she did.
Now she understood.
The secret to elegance—and exhaustion—was all in the hips.