Whispers of Beauty

Venturing outside felt like stepping onto a fresh canvas—blue sky, fluffy clouds—it was as if the world had put on its Sunday best. A friendly breeze tousled my hair, and I took it as nature's way of saying, "Welcome."

Walking down the street, I found myself swept into the rhythm of life—people bustling about, phones glued to hands, as if the world was one big choreographed dance. And amidst it all, I was the unexpected guest of honor, catching more attention than I ever bargained for.

Words floated through the air:

"Did you see her? Stunning, isn't she?"

"Is she a model or something?"

"Wow, talk about a head-turner."

I couldn't help but smile to myself, thinking, "Ara ara, of course they're gasping. Can you blame them?" After all, it wasn't every day that a work of art like me walked the streets.

But then, like a shift in the soundtrack, things changed. Up ahead, panic rippled through the crowd. I joined the growing cluster of onlookers to see what drama was unfolding.

Turns out, a villain was the center of attention—a slime villain, like some cosmic accident in progress. And caught in its slimy clutches, struggling but going nowhere, was none other than Bakugo. Yeah, the guy with the temper as fiery as his explosions.

A grin tugged at my lips. Poor Bakugo, stuck like a bug in syrup. It was almost comical, if I weren't in the same boat not too long ago.

Without missing a beat, I stepped forward, channeling my inner Kurumi. "Ara ara, what do we have here?" I greeted with a playful edge. It was my way of saying, "Time to clean up."

As I got closer to the action, a voice, dripping with mockery, pierced the air. "Well, well, aren't we a pretty little distraction? Don't worry, I'll play with you once I'm done with this one:. So just you wait there little girl."

My fingers twitched at my sides, but I held my ground. This villain clearly needed a lesson in manners, and I was here to deliver.

With a flourish, I summoned my power, the power to control time.

With all the authority I could muster, I shouted, "Zaphkiel!"

In an instant, a radiant golden clock appeared behind me, its intricate gears turning with an almost hypnotic rhythm. My appearance transformed, my form taking on my spirit identity, complete with a unique costume that marked my new identity. My dress, predominantly orange, flowed with an air of elegance, adorned with intricate clockwork patterns. The eye patch over my left eye vanished, revealing the eye that had been concealed—a bright yellow eye that shined with an otherworldly brilliance.

But as I transformed, a subtle transformation of my own took place. It was more than just appearances—it was a shift in the very essence of my being. The world around me held its breath, captivated by the change they were witnessing.

With determination in my heart, I skillfully maneuvered my way past a couple of pro heroes who had attempted to stop me from getting close to the villain. One hero, a speedster, looked baffled as I elegantly sidestepped his hasty lunge. Another hero, clad in a metal suit, reached out with a mechanical arm, only for me to gracefully evade his grasp.

As I took my stance, the crowd fell into a hushed awe, their whispers a backdrop to my emergence. "Are you seeing that costume?"

"Look at her eye—it's like something out of a fantasy!"

"The way she moves is like a pro hero's!."

In a world of heroes and quirks, I was a spectacle they hadn't anticipated—a force not to be reckoned with.