The reason for shopping, of course, was to celebrate Natasha's mother and stepfather finally getting divorced. A joyous occasion like that absolutely had to be commemorated with a shopping spree.
And for women, shopping could be just as intense as fighting the Reaper.
Against ordinary people, Bella could easily crush them even barefaced. But against little beauty Natasha? She had to take it seriously.
She spent a full hour on her makeup, did her hair properly for once, then rummaged through her old clothes until she found a grayish-purple T-shirt. She deliberately tugged the neckline wide so it slipped off her left shoulder. Paired with patterned shorts and flat boat shoes, the outfit perfectly showed off her long legs.
Her advantage was simple: tall, long legs—textbook model proportions.
Natasha, of course, refused to be overshadowed and quietly dressed up as well. Her style leaned into curves. A slightly tight knit top clung to her figure, revealing a cute little navel. Frayed denim shorts and high heels completed the look. She was a bit shorter than Bella, but her natural sensuality and those foxlike eyes more than made up for it.
"You really need to… enhance things a bit," Natasha said pointedly, puffing out her chest.
Ouch. Bella shot her a disdainful look. "You clearly have no taste or vision! This is the standard body type. Look at supermodels—then look at me! Don't I match them? A British psychologist published research on—"
She rambled on endlessly, and at the very end, didn't forget to rub salt into Natasha's wound.
"But you? Look at your height. I'm wearing flats today and I still look taller than you… Do you like it when everyone literally looks down on you?"
Bring it on—let's both go down together.
Bella delivered the finishing blow. "High heels? I don't need them. Look at me—free and comfortable. Even if there were a gunfight, I'd outrun you easily."
Shopping was only a side objective. Natasha's mother had transferred part of the marital assets into an education fund for her, and Natasha needed to go to the bank to sign some documents.
Before heading out, the two spent some time examining the invisibility cloak Bella had taken. Calling Bella scientifically illiterate would be slander, but her physics knowledge was still stuck at senior-year high school from her previous life.
Natasha was much better. She dabbled in everything, though her motives were nothing like those of the world's super-scientists. Reed Richards pursued the mysteries of the universe. Tony Stark wanted to change the world with technology.
Natasha? She just liked tinkering for fun. She was still figuring things out. She understood the concept of optical invisibility, but improving the technology would take at least three to five years.
They researched until nine o'clock, then headed to the bank.
"Wow! This is your truck?" Natasha was stunned by the pickup's new look.
She touched the silver-gray exterior, measured its height with her hand, excitement shining in her eyes. "Can I drive? Please?"
Bella refused instantly. Was she crazy? What if the pickup's spirit suddenly popped out and said, Take me home? That would be way too easy to misinterpret. What if she got mistaken for some trashy playgirl? Only she could drive this truck.
They both had cars, but Natasha insisted on riding in Bella's pickup, leaving her own car in Bella's garage.
The moment she got in, Natasha noticed something unusual.
"Huh? What kind of air conditioning is this? The cold air is insanely strong! Is this some high-end brand? I feel cool instantly—this is amazing!"
A chilling, ghostly wind blew through the cabin. Natasha happily admired the "air-conditioning."
Arizona's state flower was the cactus. That alone said everything about the climate—dry, scorching, brutal. It was nearly June, and the temperature was downright murderous.
But stepping into the pickup felt like walking into a freezer. Pure bliss.
Bella forced a laugh. Summer was fine—but winter? She might need a parka just to drive this thing.
She explained that her "Native American friend" Jacob had modified the vehicle. Chances were Natasha would never run into Jacob in her life. Probably…
Their destination was Bank of the West, a classic old American financial institution—exactly what the name implied.
Without mobile banking, the line was absurdly long. The two girls sat and chatted while waiting.
Natasha complained—no, bragged—that she seemed to have grown a bit again. Bella immediately pulled out her mental notebook.
"Eat foods rich in collagen and vitamins, drink 1500 to 2000 milliliters of longan water every day, swim often, rest well…"
Natasha lectured thoroughly. Bella scribbled furiously. Every tip counted.
Until the day she mastered reality-warping—bigger when she wanted, smaller when she wanted—she still needed science. Every method helped. Being judged every day? She had pride too.
Suddenly—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots echoed through the bank lobby.
The chatting duo snapped their heads toward the sound at the same time.
"Ladies and gentlemen! This is a robbery!" Three men wearing masks and top hats stormed in, firing repeatedly into the ceiling. Screams erupted from every corner.
Several female employees went pale, their legs giving out as they fainted.
Natasha shot Bella a strange look—You jinxed us, didn't you?
Bella glared back—No, you're the jinx!
"In a situation like this, can you run in those shoes?" Natasha whispered, subtly mocking Bella's earlier comment about high heels.
Heh. Run? Of course Bella could run.
Forget invisibility. In terms of pure physical speed, if she pushed herself, she could sprint a hundred meters before the robbers even processed what happened. At that distance, those cheap pistols wouldn't hit a thing.
But she wasn't about to expose her abilities. Instead, she calmly analyzed the situation.
"Look at their knees—unnaturally bent. They're trying to stand straight, but you can still see the hunch in their backs. Their hands are gloved, but stiff. The way they pull the trigger is unnatural—the recoil actually shakes their hands…"
Natasha gave the conclusion. "They're old men. Really old men."
Both girls let out quiet sighs.
What kind of system drove three eighty-year-olds to risk their lives robbing a bank?