Up close, the first thing Aren noticed was her face. Well, mostly the lack of heavy makeup and elaborate hairstyle.
She stood there in loose cotton shorts and an oversized shirt that slipped off slightly on one shoulder, like she had thrown it on without thinking.
And yet...she was impossible to ignore sohow.
Her pink hair fell down softly, almost like it was a layer of orchids. It was slightly ssy, strands falling naturally around her face and brushing against her neck. A few pieces still clung faintly to her cheek, as though she had just run her fingers through a mont ago.
Her eyes lifted to et his.
They were brighter than any advertisent had captured. They were so bright that they probably didn’t use any post-processing to make them pop.
She was smaller than he expected, around his own shoulder height, when in advertisents, she was in elaborate heels.
"So, you’re the person they sent?" her voice cut through his haze and snapped him back to the present.
"Yes, uh—Miss..." Aren began, recovering quickly. "What should I call you?"
"You look like a college student..." she looked at him sharply. "Did they actually send a college student?!"
Aren frowned before replying. "I’m a Practitioner-Grade Mystic. If you’re dissatisfied, I can request another hunter."
For a brief second, she studied him more carefully.
Then she let out a soft sigh and waved a hand dismissively.
"Ahhh, whatever," she said. "We’re about the sa age anyway."
Her lips curved faintly.
"Just call Miu," she nodded quickly. "Co in."
Aren hesitated for a fraction of a second before crossing the threshold. The penthouse interior was nothing like the lobby downstairs. There were no chandeliers, polished marble, or gold-covered ornants.
Instead, it felt almost lived in. A low couch sat in front of a wide glass window overlooking the city. A few lyric sheets were scattered across a coffee table. An unopened bottle of water rested beside a portable speaker.
Still no security...do they not have a personal bodyguard for her? Or did they get fired and I’m the replacent?
Aren stood uncomfortably in the kitchen before she gestured him to sit in one of the stools on the countertop. He gingerly sat, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do as she slid a can of soda across toward him.
"So could you tell more about the request," he started. "Any information would be fine at all. As—"
"Relax, dude..." she cut in before he finished. Miu leaned back against the counter, folding her arms loosely.
"We’re basically the sa age," she said, tilting her head. "But you’re acting like you’re ten years older."
Aren frowned at the comnt but didn’t bother saying anything in reply. She was his client after all.
"Sorry," he said after a mont. "The request sounded important. I figured I should match the tone."
Miu nodded before leaning forward, fidgeting with her can as she asked softly.
"So what did the Committee tell you?"
Aren chose his words carefully.
"They said you’ve been hearing things." He paused slightly.
"So they concluded that you were—"
"Paranoid, right?" she finished flatly.
Miu leaned back again and reached lazily for a pack of chips sitting beside her, tearing it open with more force than necessary. Then just as quickly, she tossed one into her mouth.
"Corporate loves that word," she muttered, chewing. "Doesn’t scare sponsors off."
She swallowed and looked at him again.
"You believe them?"
For just a mont, the playful idol persona slipped entirely. What remained was just a girl, genuinely scared of sothing she couldn’t understand.
Aren held her gaze steadily.
"I don’t make conclusions before seeing the situation myself," he said evenly. "But I do need details."
She exhaled slowly through her nose.
"Fine," she said. "Then I’ll tell you everything."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the crinkled chip bag.
"You must’ve heard about the Lorianne Festival Incident, right?" she asked quietly. "Follows around like a ghost."
"I’ve heard people talking about it," he nodded slowly, trying not to tip her off. "But the actual details...I’ve got no clue."
Miu blinked.
"...No?"
"I don’t really follow celebrity news," he replied evenly. "Busy with my own problems."
She stared at him for a second longer, trying to figure out if he was joking.
"You’re serious?"
"Yes."
A faint, almost unbelieving laugh escaped her.
"Wow."
She leaned back slightly, studying him with new curiosity.
"You might actually be the first person I’ve talked to in months who doesn’t already have an opinion about it."
"That helps," Aren said calmly. "Less bias, I guess?"
Miu nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction.
"Okay," she murmured. "Then I’ll tell you the version that didn’t trend."
She set the chip bag aside entirely.
"The Lorianne Auditorium was packed to the brim," she said. "The performance was practically already over."
Her hand lifted unconsciously to her throat.
"I pushed higher than usual. My vocal cords were already strained, but the crowd kept screaming for more."
"...And I didn’t want to disappoint them."
Aren nodded slowly as he listened, elbow propped up against the granite countertop.
Miu inhaled slowly.
"I chose a particularly difficult song," she continued on. "When it ca to the highest note, I reached for it and—"
"Sothing snapped," Aren guessed.
"Yeah." Her gaze finally dropped toward Aren’s. "It was my vocal cord. At least that’s what the doctors said."
"But that wasn’t all."
"The closest fans to the stage..." she swallowed faintly. "I also ruptured their eardrums."
Aren narrowed his eyebrows.
"Wouldn’t that be the sound technician’s fault? To rupture soone’s eardrum, the sound needs to be equivalent to a gunshot."
She shook her head before replying.
"That’s what I thought too," Miu continued. "But when they checked the graphs, sound levels were completely normal."
"And word got out that I was—" she stuttered as she tried to force the words out.
"That I was a freak..."
Then she reached out and grabbed Aren’s hand, eyes wetting as she asked:
"Tell honestly, Aren...does that sound like sothing a normal Mystic does?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers