D. Romanov

Welcome to Whumptober 2025 — The Eighth Year!

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Two Reds Make White: Masterlist

[Summary] She wasn’t supposed to exist. They weren’t supposed to care. But somewhere between chaos magic and combat training, a family starts to form.

[Warnings/Content] hydra/abuse themes | reader has a name (pretty much OC) | vision bashing, kinda | slooooow burn | teen!oc

Chapter One: Mission Possible

Chapter Two: Genesis Project

Chapter Three: Subject 00-113

Chapter Four: Genetic Input

Chapter Five: W.M.002 & N.R.A001

Chapter Six: I Can't Feel You

Chapter Seven: Child Care 101

Chapter Eight: Nurture vs. Technology

Chapter Nine: ????

Extras:

Spotify Playlist

One-Shots:

Drabbles/HC:

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑Summary: Natasha tries to get you to eat, while caring for you with all her being.

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑๋Setting: trailer in norway. post-civil war.

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑Content warning: Eating disorder, Anorexia, maternal care and support, mentions of the Red Room.

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑Word count: 850

The trailer was silent, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. The sunset filtered through the windows, casting a warm light that contrasted with the cold shadow still weighing on you. Sitting on the couch, hugging your knees, you felt a disconnect between your body and what Natasha was asking of you: to eat. Fear loomed over you, the kind you had known all too well, the kind you had learned in the cold and brutal darkness of the Red Room.

You didn’t care what Natasha said; your hands kept gripping your knees, your stomach twisting with each thought trying to convince you that you couldn’t. No, you couldn’t eat.

But then you heard Natasha’s soft footsteps approaching from the kitchen. You knew what she had before you even saw it: her ability to cook something delicious and nutritious that always seemed to comfort you, even if you weren’t willing to admit it. This time, she brought a bowl of hot soup. It wasn’t just any soup; it was her special chicken noodle soup recipe, the one that always seemed to comfort you when you felt like the world was falling apart.

She sat next to you, the tray on her lap. There were no words at first. Natasha knew you couldn’t say anything without feeling embarrassed, and she had no intention of pressing you with questions. Her gaze rested gently on you, not with reproach, but with that patience she alone knew how to offer. She knew what you had been through in the Red Room, what that experience had done to you. She knew it wasn’t easy.

“I know,” Natasha whispered, her voice low but firm. “I know it’s hard. You don’t have to explain it to me. But this, this is not the Red Room, do you understand?”

The cold of the memory washed over you like a wave. The Red Room. Where they trained you to be something more, something less human, something that didn’t feel hunger or pain. For you, eating had stopped being a need, it became a form of control. Something you could master, something you could reject. But all of that was part of what they made you, of what they wanted you to be.

Natasha placed the bowl of soup in front of you, unhurried, but with a firmness that only an adoptive mother could understand. “It’s just food,” she said softly, her tone warm, without judgment. “It’s not what they made you do. It’s just food, and I’m here with you.”

You stared at the soup with empty eyes. The image of the Red Room was still burned in your mind: the cold walls, the whispers of the trainers, the orders that never stopped. The feeling that your body wasn’t yours, that every movement, every action, was under someone else’s control. You had learned not to feel hunger there, because hunger only made you weaker, more vulnerable. You had learned to reject it, to ignore it, to erase it.

“Eating won’t control you,” Natasha continued, as if reading your thoughts. “Eating is just taking care of yourself. It’s your choice.”

It was hard to believe her. But in that moment, looking at her, you knew she was sincere. That she wanted the best for you, that she did it because she saw you, not as an experiment, but as someone valuable, someone who deserved to be cared for.

“I want you to listen to me,” she said calmly. “I know your body is screaming at you not to do it, that the fear feels bigger than the hunger. But fear doesn’t have to win. I’m here, and you’re not alone.”

Her fingers took a spoon and, with unrelenting softness, brought it to your lips. “Just one bite,” she whispered, her voice as soft as a mother comforting her child. “Just one.”

The fear coursed through you again, but something in Natasha’s tone, something in her presence, made you relax just enough to let the first bite touch your lips. It was slow, hesitant, but you took it. The taste was comforting, warm, like an embrace wrapping around your body, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something like peace.

“You did well,” Natasha said, smiling faintly. “Now, another one.”

“I... can’t,” you whispered, struggling against the words you didn’t want to say. “I don’t want to lose control.”

Natasha said nothing. Instead, she lifted the spoon and brought it to you once more. “Eating is not losing control. Eating is being okay. It’s taking care of yourself, your body, your mind.”

Your eyes filled with tears, not because you were sad, but because for the first time in a long while, you felt someone was fighting for you. You weren’t alone. And even though the fear still lingered, Natasha was willing to help you face it, step by step, bite by bite.

ᯓ★Summary: Sometimes what you need most isn’t answers, but a refuge.

ᯓ★Content warning:Trauma, anxiety, references to HYDRA.

ᯓ★Word count: 1,099

It was a quiet afternoon at the Avengers Tower—or at least it seemed that way. Inside the meeting room, the murmurs of the heroes’ debate rose like echoes, resonating with the weight of decisions that would change the world forever. The Civil War had reached its peak. The Superhuman Registration Act would change everything.

The debate was intense, every word thrown like an arrow, and in the middle of it all, Natasha Romanoff sat in silence, observing. It was hard to see a solution when the conflict was so deeply rooted in the emotions of everyone present. Tony and Steve were clashing again, as always, each defending what they believed was right. But Natasha… she just wanted to stop them from destroying what they had fought so hard to build.

Then suddenly, the vibrating sound of her phone pulled her out of her thoughts. It was a brief buzz, but it had the power to disconnect her from everything happening around her. The notification on the screen was clear: “Red Mist Code – Personal Level.”

Only she knew what that meant. This wasn’t a regular security protocol. That code had only been used once before, years ago, when rescuing a lost girl from a HYDRA base had become her most important mission. A mission that marked her in ways few people ever knew.

She didn’t hesitate. Without looking back, she stood quickly, ignoring the curious looks directed her way.

“I have to go,” she said, without offering any explanations. “It’s urgent.”

No one argued. They knew that when Natasha Romanoff said it was urgent, there was no time to waste.

—

You found yourself alone, like always. The room was silent—too silent. The heavy air wrapped around you like an invisible layer. You were crouched down, your hands pressed tightly to your chest, breathing with difficulty, as if the air itself was slipping away. You couldn’t think clearly. Your mind had gone foggy, and the memories of that place… that base… returned to you like shadows, like ghosts that never leave.

Your body trembled. You couldn’t stop remembering what they did to you, what happened, everything you lived through there, everything you had to endure. How do you escape that? How do you forget that you were a HYDRA experiment, just a number, a weapon in their hands?

Fear took hold of you once again, rushing through every corner of your being. You felt like you were back in that nightmare.

You heard the door open, but you didn’t look up. The sound of soft footsteps echoed in the room, and then a familiar voice broke the stillness.

“Look at me—look at me,” Natasha said, with a firmness that made you lift your head, though your eyes wouldn’t fully obey. You knew she was there, you could feel it, but you couldn’t find a way to stop feeling trapped. Her gaze, her presence—always so calm, so powerful. But you couldn’t find calm.

Your eyes met hers, and for a second, you felt like the world wasn’t falling apart as much as you thought. You were still there—with her. But the panic was still pounding in your chest.

“I’m not there…” you mumbled, your voice cracking, but the images kept flooding in—the shadows chasing you, the screams, the voices in your ears. Your mind tried to block it all, but the fear flooded in like a raging river.

Natasha came closer, her hands gently but firmly taking your face. She was the only one who knew how to quiet the chaos inside you.

“No. You’re not,” she said, her tone warm, almost maternal, even though all you wanted was for everything to stop. She looked at you deeply, as if she could see beyond the storm surrounding you. Her fingers brushed your skin, like she could anchor you to this moment, to this reality just by touching you.

“You’re in your room, at the Tower. You’re safe.”

Your breathing began to slow—just a little—but you felt the weight of Natasha’s words wrap around your mind. You were safe. Not in that base. Not under HYDRA’s control. Here and now, there was something keeping you grounded. Something in her.

“I can’t…” you whispered, tears forming, trembling. The panic was still there, but you clung to Natasha’s words like a lifeline.

“I know. But I’ve got you. And you’re not going to lose control. I’m here, do you hear me? You’re not going to lose it. Not while I’m with you.”

Finally, you managed to take a breath. It took effort, but you did it. The storm inside you began to calm, slowly, even though you knew the battle wasn’t over. The fear was still there, lurking—but for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were going to fall. Because Natasha was there. And that meant you weren’t alone.

“Are you going to stay?” you asked in a whisper, your voice still shaking.

She smiled gently, wiping your tears away with her fingers, brushing your cheek.

“I’m going to stay as long as you need me. No matter what’s happening outside. Right now, you are the only thing that matters.”

ᯓ★summary: when the nightmares return, you're not alone. not this time.

ᯓ★setting: trailer in norway. post-civil war.

ᯓ★warnings: trauma from HYDRA, nightmares, comfort, Natasha being protective

ᯓ★words: 1,306

---

The nightmare started like always: with the cold.

Blinding white light. Distant voices, distorted, coming from every direction. The hum of machines. The metal chair, the smell of disinfectant, the restraints locking you in place, as if you ever had a chance to run. But deep down, you knew you didn’t.

The sound of your own breath—rapid, shaky—echoed in the cold room. Sweat dripped down your neck as the voice inside your head repeated commands you didn’t want to follow. “Ready for reset,” they said. And each time, you felt your mind slipping away.

“Name.”

The order came like a whip.

“Name.”

“I… I don’t know.” You whispered, barely audible, already forgetting who you were.

The pain hit fast, like memories being shredded apart from the inside. You were losing pieces of yourself, memories erased one by one. Natasha’s face blurred. You didn’t know what was more terrifying: not remembering what they'd done to you—or not remembering her.

---

You woke up with a choked cry, chest rising and falling too fast, your skin clammy and cold but your face wet from hot tears.

You sat up abruptly, hands trembling, panic still clutching your body like chains. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You just needed to get out.

The trailer door creaked open.

Natasha stepped in, sharp-eyed and alert like always. She didn’t need to ask. She could see it in your face.

“What happened?” she asked, voice firm and straight to the point.

“I— I don’t get it, I just— I can’t—” you stammered, trying to breathe, trying to explain something that felt like drowning.

She crossed the room without hesitation. She crouched in front of you, steady, grounding. She didn’t speak yet. Just watched you with those sharp green eyes, letting you find your words.

“They were erasing me again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t remember anything. Not even you. I was trying to hold on, but everything was gone.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched—just for a moment. A flicker of fury passed through her expression, but she didn’t let it show. Not fully. That wasn’t for you to carry.

She gently placed her hands on your face, thumbs brushing away the tears. Her voice was low, serious, grounded.

“Listen to me. That’s not going to happen again. I promise you.”

You leaned forward, needing the contact, needing to feel something real. She held you tight—arms wrapped strong and certain around your shoulders. And finally, you let yourself fall into the safety of her hold.

“Natasha…” you whispered through tears. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Her voice softened, still carrying that unshakeable strength. “You’re not going to lose me. Not in your dreams. Not in real life. You have me.”

“How do you know it won’t happen again?” Your voice cracked, still shaken by fear.

“Because you’re not alone,” she said simply, directly. “Not anymore.”

That answer landed deeper than anything else. And it was true. You weren’t alone. Not with her.

Natasha didn’t pull away. She stayed close, right next to you on the floor. She let the silence sit between you for a moment. Her presence was enough to calm the air around you.

“Fear doesn’t win,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “You don’t let it.”

You nodded, breathing just a little easier now.

“And if those bastards ever try coming back,” she added, her tone darker now, colder, “they’ll regret it.”

You gave a weak, tired laugh. “You sound so sure.”

“I am sure,” Natasha said without missing a beat. “About them. And about you.”

She looked at you then with that spark in her eyes—the one that said she saw everything about you. The good, the broken, the brave. All of it.

“They had no idea who they were dealing with,” she continued. “They didn’t know how strong you are.”

You looked up, blinking. “Do you?”

She smirked faintly. “Yeah. I do.”

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself lean into her side. She put her arm around your back, fingers tracing slow, grounding patterns.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever,” she said quietly. “And I’ll be here, every time the nightmares come. We’ll fight them together.”

You looked at her—your mother, your protector—and finally felt a little safer. A little more you again.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Natasha brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re mine, kid. That’s what we do—we show up. Always.”

You curled up closer to her side. “I don’t want to forget who I am.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “Because I’ll remind you, every time. Every single time if I have to.”

Summary:A quiet evening at an outdoor restaurant

Content warning:Allusion to past trauma and HYDRA-related themes.

Word count:528

---

Night fell over the small open-air restaurant, a secluded corner that seemed lost in time. The plastic tables were lit by dim lights that flickered in the wind, creating an intimate atmosphere. Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova shared beers, laughter, and memories, while you, a teenager rescued from HYDRA, remained close to them. Natasha had taken care of you since S.H.I.E.L.D. took you from one of the organization's bases, where you had suffered terrible experiments. Although you didn't talk much about your past, the bond between you and her was strong and silent.

You got up in search of an apple juice, leaving the table behind. The night breeze caressed your face as you walked away, and Natasha and Yelena's voices grew more distant.

"Did you ever want children?" Yelena suddenly asked, looking at Natasha with a curious expression.

Natasha didn't respond immediately, her gaze lost in the memories of the "Red Room," where her chance to be a mother had been taken away from her. The memories weren't easy to face, but as she looked at you, something in her chest softened. She had cared for you since you were just a child, and she had learned to feel something deep for you, something she had never expected. Although she couldn't be a mother in a traditional way, over time she realized that things could be different with you. She had seen in you more than just a rescued child; she had come to see you as a daughter, and that made her feel something new, something that had been lost for a long time.

"I want a dog," Yelena said, breaking the seriousness of the moment with a light laugh.

Natasha gave a soft laugh, grateful for the change in tone. The conversation had shifted from a painful topic to something lighter, and she felt more relaxed. But as she returned her gaze to you, something in her chest remained warm. You weren't just a child she had rescued; You had become someone she loved and protected as if you were part of her family.

At that moment, you approached the table again, apple juice in hand. As you approached, Yelena looked up and, with her signature teasing smile, began her teasing.

"So, how about it? Would you like a dog too? Because you know, you can't just keep apple juice forever, it's time for a change!" Yelena said, smiling mischievously.

You looked at her, raising your eyebrows. "A dog? Of course, because what I want most is another being destroying my room and forcing me to go for walks in the rain," you replied sarcastically, though a slight smile appeared on your face. The sound of Yelena's laughter was contagious, but something in your eyes betrayed that there were still memories keeping you thoughtful.

"This is how it all starts! A dog and then an army of unruly puppies," Yelena said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

You laughed a little, trying to push aside the memories that came flooding back at times like this. "Sure, an army of dogs... just what I need to keep me busy," you said, though your tone held a hint of melancholy.

Natasha glanced at you, noticing the small shadow of your smile. While you knew how to make jokes and divert attention, Natasha saw beyond that. She saw you as a young woman still dealing with the scars of a past she couldn't forget, but who, at least in moments like these, managed to find some levity.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect," Natasha added with a soft smile, tapping you on the shoulder in support. "Maybe the next thing you need is a pair of rain boots. Just in case you start loving the idea too much."

You laughed a little more, but a part of you was still restless. It was a relief to be there with them, but there were times when the past kept returning, like a shadow that faded only to return just as you thought you'd finally found some peace.

Yelena, watching you laugh, seemed not to notice the melancholy creeping across your face. "You're going to need more than a dog to survive in this world," she said, joking with her irreverent tone. "I suggest you start by mastering the bad jokes first."

And you, smiling wider than before, replied, "I've mastered them, you see? My jokes are unique."

Yelena smiled, raising her beer as if toasting your new "talent." "I like that, you're part of the team now."

masterlist

summary: after a mission gone wrong, you and Natasha are forced to lay low in a small safehouse somewhere in the countryside of England. It’s small, uncomfortable, and you’ve never been able to really connect with Natasha during your time on the team. what happens when you and Natasha are basically forced to connect?

pairing: Natasha x teen reader

warnings: none

genre: fluff

words: 1645

a/n: I would like a standing applause for the fact that I am posting another fic in the span of a month. it has happened. the apocalypse has struck 

also, have I written this trope before? yes, yes I have. will I be writing this trope again? yes, yes I will

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

The silence is unbearable. It’s not like you were against the quiet, on the contrary. You liked  a calm, quiet environment to work and relax. No, it was the quiet with Natasha that you couldn’t bear. 

You and Natasha never were the best team, mainly because it seemed Natasha just didn’t want anything to do with you. 

You didn’t blame her, truly, you didn’t. You weren’t afraid to admit you were a pretty odd kid. You liked stuffed animals, cartoons, and sometimes, when you were certain no one was watching, you’d open your drawer and take out your dolls. 

It wasn’t like you got to have any fun things when you were a child, and something as simple as a doll would have been harder to acquire than literal gold. 

You weren’t shy about admitting you had a fucked up childhood, and you weren’t shy to be watching Winx Club in the living room of the Avengers compound. It was funny, really, how at first Sam made fun of you, yet slowly started to get more and more invested to the point he would ask you when you were going to start the next episode. 

He was a total Winx Club fan now. 

The rest of the team seemed to pretty much ignore your childish side. Not in a rude manner, but rather in an uninterested manner. They didn’t think you were weird, and you liked it that way. 

Natasha, however, wasn’t at all holding back when she saw you watching a cartoon or coloring at the table.

It wasn’t like she’d get angry, but she would walk away, or give you a look like you were vermin. 

You never quite understood where her disdain for you came from. She was your favourite superhero, yet she treated you like dirt under her shoe. She wasn’t gentle when making her comments, either. 

Sometimes, when you were drawing, she’d make a comment about how you were far too old for such things, and while you were watching a cartoon she’d scoff like you were insane. 

It was a literal cartoon, not the end of the world. 

You had gotten pretty good at ignoring her antics over the past year, but you couldn’t deny that they still stung. Why did she despise you breathing so much?

At the moment, Natasha was caught up in writing her mission report while you were curled up on the couch, which doubled as the bench for the table and the bed you would be sleeping in. 

Tony was fucking loaded. Why the hell was this safehouse a literal trailer?

You were reading Rainbow Magic; Ruby, the Red Fairy. Occasionally, you’d glance up from your book, and you’d catch a glimpse of Natasha’s disapproving stare before she’d continue working. 

Okay, fine, maybe bringing the Rainbow Magic series wasn’t the most strategic plan with such a fairytale hater, but who could blame you? Those fairy books were actually very enjoyable. 

You ignored Natasha’s judgement, finishing your book before you got up, walking to the small cupboard and pulling open the doors.

Expecting for some form of entertainment in this trailer was clearly too much to ask. 

The cupboard didn’t hold much, safe for a few spiders and a bucket of cleaning supplies that looked to be at least two-hundred years past their expiration date. 

And then, at the far top shelf, you could see a chessboard peeking out amongst the shelves.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to reach it, but you got it. 

By now, Natasha had finished her mission report and was studying your every move. Of course, you caught up to her staring almost immediately, and you turned to face her while holding up the chess board. 

“Do you play?” 

Natasha frowned, before sighing and giving you a singular nod. Well, more excitement was clearly too much to ask. 

Natasha leaned forward, clearing the table of her papers and reaching for your book. She half expected her to just throw it on top of your bag in the corner, and you were more than surprised when she picked it up gently and handled it with much more care than you thought her to be capable of. 

When the table was cleared, you put the chess board down, handing Natasha the box that the white pieces were stuffed in. 

“I’m always black,” Natasha said while frowning at the colour of the pieces in the box. 

“Sure.” You passed the box with the black pieces to Natasha while arranging the white pieces on your own playing field. 

Once all the pieces were put in place, Natasha made the first move, to which you immediately responded by putting her piece back in its place. 

“White starts,” you mention as you make your own move.

Natasha huffs but doesn’t protest, instead moving her own pieces to defend against your attack. 

The game continued far into the night, and after playing for nearly three hours, you finally made your last move, trapping Natasha in a check-mate. 

“I let you do that,” Natasha says before rearranging her own pieces. 

“Sure you did,” you respond before placing your own pieces back on the board. 

“Don’t you have to go to bed? It’s far past your bedtime,” Natasha asks, glancing at the clock on the whole. 

“I don’t have a bedtime,” you remark, making your move with the chess piece. 

“You act like a child, yet you don’t go to bed on time?” 

To your surprise, you didn’t hear any judgement in Natasha’s tone. Just pure confusion. A genuine question not meant to insult you. You didn’t expect that. 

You look up at her, frowning before shrugging. 

“Can’t sleep. Nightmares,” you say, counteracting Natasha’s move by blocking her piece. “And even if I wanted to, we’re sitting on my bed.”

As if the evening wasn’t surprising enough, Natasha lets out a huff of amusement. 

“We can share the big bed. It’ll help with the nightmares,” she suggests. 

“Why?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the game in the hopes of preventing awkward eye contact. 

Natasha shrugs. “I dunno know. Another presence helps with preventing nightmares or something. There’s a study on it.”

“No, I mean why are you so nice? Why offer to share your bed with me when you normally can’t even stand to share the same room?”

At that, Natasha looks up, a hint of guilt mixed into her usual calm facial expression. 

“It’s not personal,” she says, moving her chess piece. 

“Then what is it? You’ve barely shared one conversation with me since I joined a year ago.”

“You’re a child,” Natasha suddenly says after a moment of silence. There’s venom in her voice, yet you can feel it isn’t directed at you. 

“You should be able to play with your dolls without having to feel the need to hide, and you should be able to go to school and make friends and stupid decisions. You shouldn’t live in a compound with superheroes and fight super villains weekly. You are a child, and you should be able to be one.” 

You fall silent for a moment, shocked at her revelation of knowing about your dolls, and shocked at the amount of emotion hidden under her confession. 

“You don’t hate me?”

Natasha’s head shoots up, tears glistening in her eyes. 

“Hate you? What ever gave you the impression that I hate you?”

You shook your head. “You avoid me, you scoff wherever I’m drawing or watching something in the common room. It feels like you judge me, daily.”

At that, Natasha’s facial expression softens, and her expression turns glum.

“I never meant for you to feel like you were in the wrong, and I am so sorry for that. I wasn’t judging you, I was judging the situation you’re in.” Natasha inhaled a sharp breath, turning back to the chess board and making another move. 

“Fury gave you a choice. Either prison, or joining the Avengers. You never even did anything wrong. You were just a child, graced with powers that no one understood and everyone feared. You didn’t deserve prison, and you didn’t deserve the threat of prison. You deserved a family.”

You sighed. 

“And in a way, I got a family. The Avengers are nice-”

“They’re not your family, they’re your team. There’s a difference. Sure, they care about you, but if they were your family, they’d want you to live a life, rather than become a superhero.”

Natasha fell silent, and at her words, so did you. 

Was she right? If the Avengers were your family, would they want you to live a normal, domestic life somewhere else, rather than the superhero life you were living right now?

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, it’s not like I hate my life. Just the paperwork,” you remark, moving your queen to once again trap Natasha in a check-mate. 

“I want to work something out, if you’ll let me,” Natasha then said, pouting when you took her king. 

“Like what?” you ask.

Natasha shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Something that’ll put you off missions, at least until you’re twenty-one or something. Maybe older. Something legal. I mean, you’re not even allowed to drink in the United States. Why the hell are you allowed, or better said, forced, to risk your life daily?”

At that, you snort.

“You make a good point.” 

“We’ll figure something out, I promise,” Natasha states, helping you clear the chessboard and standing up from the bench. 

“Now, it is time for bed. Tomorrow we’ll see if there’s a bakery or something in this god forsaken place.”

You snicker, taking Natasha’s hand and allowing her to lead you. Maybe she doesn’t hate you as much as you thought she did. 

Bonus a/n: rainbow magic; Ruby the Red Fairy is the first ever book I read in English.

“Her training will protect her.”