110 Chapter 110: Medal of Honor (1/2)

”Thus, for your valor and courage in the face of extreme adversity, I award you the Medal of Violet Nebula.”

The president of the Federation, Thomas Whitmore, pinned the medal on my chest and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Actually, he was studying me, a proud smile on his weathered face. A war veteran, he had fought monsters and crushed Emergence events back when he was in the military before his retirement and subsequent election as the Federation's current president.

He was also someone I looked up to, but my hero will always be my dad.

”Good job, son,” Whitmore said as he patted my shoulder. ”You do all of us proud with your actions.” He lowered his head briefly. ”While it is regrettable that so many deaths have occurred, you saved even more lives and prevented the death toll from rising. You risked your own life and sustained grievous wounds in order to save your friends. That alone is admirable.”

I nodded slightly, but didn't say anything. The whole ceremony was making me uncomfortable. Honestly, I didn't want to be here. I preferred keeping a low profile and staying away from other people's attention, but right now I was the focus of so many cameras and a massive audience. To make matters worse, the award ceremony was televised and broadcasted to billions of households all over the Global Federation.

Unfortunately, when the president of the Global Federation personally asked you to attend an awards ceremony, there was no way you could say no. Dad also told me to go, explaining that it was the highest form of honor.

”Don't worry,” he assured me. ”If there's anybody in the Global Federation who can be trusted, it's Whitmore.”

Apparently they went some ways back. A few years ago, Dad had cooperated with Whitmore's military unit and they had fought alongside each other. As comrades who had saved each other's lives, they knew the other could be trusted.

”Your father must be proud of you,” Whitmore continued, as if he had read my mind. Smiling, he then turned toward the cameras for our pictures to be taken. I noticed subtly how rigid his posture was. Evidently, Whitmore was not used to this sort of events, just like me.

It made me relate to him more. A certain president from my previous timeline could learn a lot from him instead of opening his big mouth and spouting nonsense every time he was in front of a camera.

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Even though neither of us liked to be the center of attention, we put up with it for now. Apparently, it was necessary to maintain the morale of the citizens of the Federation. After suffering such an immense shock and trauma from the death of so many students at the hands of a high ranked monster near a city, the Federation government needed some sort of propaganda to help take the minds of the citizens off the devastating incident. To play my role up as a hero was to demonstrate how the Federation remained powerful. After all, a student at one of its combat academies was capable of destroying three rank B monsters. That was evidence that miracles could happen and heroes existed. The citizens could rest easy, knowing that there would always be someone to show up and save them if a high ranked monster did eventually appear in their midst.

That wasn't a lot of help to those parents or families who had lost their children to the Crastrate, but there was little I could do for them. Some of them appreciated my efforts and thanked me for avenging their children, while others resented me and blamed me for surviving while their children died at the hands of the monster. Obviously, it wasn't my fault, but…you know how some people were. Unfortunately, whether I knew the truth or not, it was depressing and spiritually crushing to receive abuse and insults from those people who had lost their kids to the Crastrate.

Getting blood or paint splattered over the road outside the barrier that surrounded my house, being yelled at by those parents who occasionally showed up on my route home, reading inflammatory remarks made about me online…over and over, over and over again, in the end I ended up believing that those parents were right, and that I deserved to die. Not their sons and daughters.

That was the product of psychological abuse. Whether you knew it to be false or not didn't matter. Getting told over and over again that you were a loser, that you should die, that you were the spawn of the devil, eventually you would come to believe it. I know some readers would dismiss that and claim that I was mentally weak, and that I should ”toughen up.”

But they underestimated the damage psychological abuse can cause. You don't tell a poor kid who was getting physically beaten up by bullies stronger than him that it was his fault for being weak, and that he should ”toughen up” and become stronger, or that he should ignore the bullies as they punch and kick him. So why is it the victim's fault and the obligation of the victim to ”mentally toughen up” instead of the bullies stopping their verbal abuse?

Verbal abuse was still bullying. Whether the wounds were visible or physical or not, it didn't matter. In fact, verbal and psychological abuse was more insidious precisely because you can't see the damage done to the victim. The mental injuries they suffer might accumulate and pile up, and eventually, when their self-esteem break down, when they couldn't withstand the punishing words the bullies constantly flame and lash out at them, they commit suicide or lose their minds.

And because it wasn't physical, the bullies get away with it. They wouldn't get punished in the same way as they would, if they were the ones who physically injured or murdered the victim.

Fortunately, either because of Dad, or because the Federation couldn't afford to allow the public to see one of their heroes being abused (after using this incident to build me up as some sort of teenage hero), the harassment eventually stopped. Those parents abusing me were either arrested on charges of vandalism or disrupting public order, and I never saw them again. I doubted the Federation would do anything as extreme or sinister as eliminating them, but I never bothered to find out. I mean, why would you care about what happened to someone who was bullying and hurling abuse at you everyday ever since you left the hospital?

And a few weeks after I fully recovered and resumed my training, the invitation from Whitmore came. That was how I ended up here today.

After enduring the publicity stuff, I gratefully left the stage and descended down the back before the news reporters and journalists could approach me. Using the skills Dad taught me, I disappeared from their sight and vanished into obscurity.

”Phew…”

”Good work,” Dad told me. I wasn't surprised at his sudden appearance. Dad was the one who taught me these stealth skills. Of course he would know a way around them. He chuckled as he patted my back. ”You did great out there.”

”He did indeed.” Now that was a surprise. Whitmore showed up as well, probably trying to escape the attention of those journalists. Though I should have expected that, what with him being a seasoned military veteran and all. He nodded toward me with a smile. ”I also find the news reporters annoying. They always ask me the stupidest questions, or try to lead you into saying something they want, so that they can publish a sensational headline.”

”It happens,” I agreed bitterly. Some of the lesser known tabloids – those not authorized by the Federation, particularly the online ones – were responsible for a good amount of the harassment I suffered, describing me as a villain who held back and waited for so many of my schoolmates to get slaughtered before I intervened. For what insane reason would I do that, and then end up intervening anyway, I had no idea. If I wanted to play the hero, it would have benefited me more to save everyone from the start.