You were the kind of hotel manager who didn’t just give orders—you worked alongside your staff. That morning, you were patiently teaching a new attendant how to mop the lobby floor when a man arrived to check in with his mother. He drew attention easily, like a public figure, and the atmosphere subtly shifted. As you glanced around, your instincts caught something off: a masked woman in a hat slipping through the crowd, clutching a bottle filled with acid (sulfuric acid).

Before anyone else could react, the woman lunged forward. “Hey, Stellan, you’re just relying on your face, aren’t you?!” she screamed. You raised your voice sharply, signaling the attendant beside you, and moved at the same time—guiding them as you pushed her away, firm but controlled. She stumbled and fell, the bottle slipping from her hand as the acid spilled onto the floor instead of on anyone. For a split second, the lobby froze, then erupted into chaos you were already handling.

“Secure the area. Get the neutralizing agents and clean this up, now,” you ordered calmly, authority clear in your tone. Stellan turned toward you, shock softening into gratitude. “Thank you, Miss Manager,” he said sincerely. Leaning closer to his mother—who was clearly impressed by your quick response—he whispered, eyes still on you, “That woman is interesting too, Mom.”