The Queen Who Fights Back (by Lily Hastings) novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Apart from Maxwell and Hannah, a handful of other teenagers had gathered at the scene. The boys were undeniably handsome, their confident postures drawing attention, while the girls were strikingly beautiful, each radiating a unique charm. They all seemed to be roughly Nova’s age, yet none of them were familiar to her.

Curiously, Claire Woods—Hannah’s closest friend—was nowhere to be seen among the group. Nova hadn’t anticipated running into this particular crowd here. “Well, talk about luck,” she mused silently, raising an eyebrow with a hint of amusement.

Maxwell was the first to break the silence, slipping effortlessly into protective big brother mode—a blend of mild reprimand and genuine concern. “Hey, answer me,” he demanded, his voice firm yet edged with worry. “What’s going on? Weren’t you supposed to be heading home? You came to a place like this all alone? Do you even realize how dangerous this area can be?”

His handsome face tightened with worry, brows furrowed deeply as if the concern was etched permanently there. Nova wasn’t exactly his favorite sibling, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything bad to happen to her.

Still, Nova couldn’t have cared less about Maxwell’s worry. She was always fiercely independent, stubbornly doing things her own way and refusing to be swayed. Folding her arms with a casual slouch, she responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “What? You can come here, but I’m not allowed?”

Hannah’s heart skipped a beat the moment she spotted Nova standing there. But then, remembering what was about to unfold that night, a flicker of anxiety crossed her usually bright and lively face. She had never liked Nova, and seeing her here—knowing full well that Nova might ruin their carefully laid plans—only fueled her irritation.

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Hannah muttered under her breath, shooting Nova dirty looks and rolling her eyes repeatedly. Perhaps it was the weight of the impending event that kept Hannah from exploding at Nova as she normally would at home. Though irritated, she held back from yelling.

Nova, sharp as ever, immediately caught on to Hannah’s restraint but chose to remain silent, instead flashing a knowing smirk in her direction.

“Max, is this your sister who just got back home?” one of the guys nearby asked, interrupting the conversation between Maxwell, Hannah, and Nova.

He looked like he’d stepped right out of a classic scholar’s portrait—tall, slender, with sleek black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, giving off an unmistakably intellectual vibe. His name was Julian Hunt. Like Maxwell and Hannah, Julian attended Saint Laurel Royal Academy and was a member of the kickboxing club.

After posing his question, Julian didn’t wait for a response. His tone darkened, heavy with ominous intent. Leaning forward, he pulled a mock-scary face at Nova, trying to intimidate her. “Hey, you’re such a cutie—fresh-faced and dazzling,” he teased with a sly grin. “But you should know, things are about to get ugly here. Someone’s going to get hurt. There’ll be blood, maybe even some cracked heads.”

He added, “We don’t want to scare you off, so just listen to them and scoot before things get wild.”

Julian clearly saw Nova as just another ordinary girl who’d lose her nerve at the first hint of violence. He was playing the typical high school tough guy, hyping up the danger to spook her into backing down.

What they didn’t realize was that the girl standing before them was anything but ordinary. Nova wasn’t some fragile schoolgirl who trembled at the sight of blood. She was a warrior in her own right—a queen of the battlefield whose hands had spilled more blood than any horror story could capture.

Julian’s feeble attempt at intimidation failed to faze Nova in the slightest. With all eyes on her, she let a sly smile curl at her lips and said coolly, “Oh? Blood? That’s exactly the kind of action I’m sticking around to watch.”

Maxwell, Hannah, and Julian were left speechless, stunned by her calm demeanor. None of them had expected a girl like Nova to be so unfazed by the prospect of violence.

Rumors had already circulated around the school about Nova taking down Logan, the notorious campus bully. Even though Hannah had witnessed the incident herself during lunchtime, she still harbored doubts. She convinced herself that Nova must have pulled some sneaky trick while Logan wasn’t paying attention—there was no way Nova possessed any real fighting skills.

What truly shocked them, however, was Nova’s complete lack of fear at the mention of blood. Most girls would have panicked, but she appeared utterly unbothered.

“Max, your sister’s something else,” Julian chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s not scared of fighting or blood at all.”

He continued, “She didn’t grow up throwing punches with us, but honestly, her attitude’s a lot like yours. She’s got guts. I bet if you taught her kickboxing, she’d pick it up crazy fast.”

Like the rest of the group, Julian assumed Nova was just bluffing, playing around without any real intention. None of them took her seriously. In their minds, they thought, ‘No girl could be that calm the first time she sees blood. She’s just putting on a brave face, too embarrassed to admit she’s actually freaking out.’

Julian’s laughter finally died down. “Anyway…” he began, about to end the conversation.

But before he could finish, Maxwell interrupted sharply. “They’re here.”

At the entrance of Frostwave Bar, a group of street punks swaggered in, their ages hovering around early twenties—close to Nova’s age. They strolled in with hands buried deep in their pockets, legs bouncing with cocky confidence as if they owned the entire place.

The ringleader, the most arrogant of the bunch, bounced his leg impatiently, like he was itching for a fight. He shot Maxwell and the others a crooked smirk, then, without uttering a word, grabbed his weapon and charged at them, ready to ignite a brawl.

The whole scene looked like something straight out of a wild school drama. But for those in the know, it made perfect sense.

Some time ago, before Nova had even returned home, Hannah and Maxwell had entered a free combat tournament in Ravenport. Maxwell had emerged as the city champion, but Hannah hadn’t secured a spot. However, the runner-up became obsessed with Hannah.

That guy refused to accept rejection, and after Hannah shut him down cold, he held a grudge. From then on, he kept turning up, looking for trouble whenever he could.

Everyone in Maxwell and Hannah’s circle had grown up fighting. They weren’t strangers to settling disputes with fists.

After much posturing and trash talk, both sides agreed to settle things with a final showdown tonight at Frostwave Bar.

“Damn it! That bastard’s playing dirty—he didn’t even show up himself. Just sent a bunch of street thugs to handle us,” Julian snapped, his voice thick with anger.

The moment Julian noticed the gang barging through the bar doors, he cursed quietly under his breath.

“Hey, you on the right—yeah, you,” she continued, addressing a fighter swinging a chair clumsily. “You’re swinging all wrong. If you adjust thirty degrees to the left and triple your speed, you’ll knock him out for sure.”

“And you on the left,” she added, “your chokehold’s sloppy. Tilt it up and right by about two inches, and you’ll leave your guy gasping for air.”

Amid the flying fists and roaring crowd, a girl spoke up, cool as ice, as if the chaos didn’t affect her one bit.

Every fighter froze instantly, muscles locking as if someone had hit pause on the entire scene.

One by one, they turned stiffly toward the source of the voice, as if pulled by invisible strings.

There she was—Nova—lounging on a barstool at the front, looking utterly indifferent to the madness swirling around her.

She sat with one leg casually draped over the other, swirling a cocktail glass languidly in her hand, as if killing time rather than watching a brutal fight.

Her whole demeanor screamed nonchalance, as if she were not witnessing a violent brawl but simply enjoying a bunch of monkeys going wild for her amusement.

The realization hit everyone like a shockwave. They froze, utterly dumbfounded.

Especially Maxwell, Hannah, and Julian—they looked as if they’d been slapped.

They had honestly thought Nova was bluffing earlier, joking about not being scared and planning to stick around to watch the carnage.

After all, she wasn’t a trained fighter. Just a normal girl. How could she possibly remain so unfazed?

The place was a bloodbath—guys staggering with busted heads, faces drenched in so much red it was hard to tell who was who.

But Nova? Not scared in the slightest. If anything, she appeared bored, complaining that the brawl wasn’t thrilling enough for her tastes.

And the real kicker? She was giving on-the-spot pointers on how to turn things up a notch and make it a real bloodbath.

“Oh my… What is even happening right now? Is she really just some regular girl who’s never seen a crazy scene before? No freaking way,” everyone thought, utterly stunned.