"Ching~!"
The digital chime of the notification vibrated through the stillness of Room 108, a sound that felt abrasive in the heavy silence of the dormitory.
Wyne sat at the very edge of her mattress, surrounded by the remnants of a life she was preparing to leave behind.
She had been meticulously packing the small, sentimental items she had overlooked during her frantic attempt to depart with her father hours earlier.
Her movements were mechanical, driven by a desire to simply be gone.
When the phone lit up beside her, she didn't reach for it immediately.
She stared at the glowing screen with a look of profound, hollow confusion.
With a slow, hesitant motion, she extended her arm and swiped the device open.
Her breath hitched.
After three days of a cold, agonizing silence-a self-imposed isolation that felt like a burial-Trizha Frantzes had sent a message.
Wyne let out a jagged sigh, the weight of disappointment settling in her chest.
She chided herself for her own negligence; she had meant to block the number, to sever the tether once and for all.
Memories of Trizha's jagged words and the sting of betrayal were still too fresh, like open wounds refusing to knit.
Yet, a morbid curiosity-or perhaps a lingering ghost of affection-forced her thumb to tap the notification.
The first thing Wyne saw was the photograph.
It was the horizon of the La Luna Sangre Hotel's tower insides, a breathtaking expanse of midnight blue and shimmering artificial gold, captured with a clarity that felt almost painful.
And then, the text followed immediately:
「Hello, Wyne. I'm in the Prom Tower right now... taking a little break after dancing. Well... you know, dancing 'constantly'? Haha. Just like you always said, I'm such an absolute idiot to even consider trying that. My legs are basically jelly.」
A small, involuntary smirk flickered at the corner of Wyne's lips.
It was a reflex, born from years of shared jokes and the embers of a friendship that hadn't quite turned to ash.
But the smirk died the moment she scrolled down.
「Anyway... I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for ever hurting you, and for what I did to Margaret. I was just letting out my own anger and I was completely out of control. The thing is... you were right. I was out of my mind. Or at least, I was so far outside of myself that I didn't recognize the person I was becoming.」
A surge of disdain rose in Wyne's throat.
She tightened her grip on the phone until her knuckles turned white.
An apology?
Now?
After the public humiliation and the shattered trust?
She had made her decision days ago.
A few paragraphs of digital text couldn't undo the damage.
She prepared to shut the phone off, to finally hit the block button and end the charade.
...But then, the bubbles appeared again.
More messages began to pour in, a frantic stream of consciousness that didn't fit the curated, "Influencer" persona Trizha had worn like armor for years.
Wyne's eyes widened as she read.
Each line felt like a hammer blow against the wall she had built around her heart.
This wasn't the Trizha who lived for likes and filtered reality; this was something raw, something terrifyingly honest.
Trizha was changing-not because she had to, but because she had reached a point where the lie was finally killing her.
Wyne didn't realize she was standing until her knees hit the edge of the bed.
Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, a desperate, frantic rhythm.
She didn't think; she reacted.
She grabbed her light jacket, shoved her phone into her pocket, and bolted for the door.
She ignored the half-packed bags and the lingering shadows of the room.
She had to reach Trizha.
She had to give her the answer that these messages demanded.
***
In the hallway, the air felt like fluid, thick and heavy as she ran.
「Years ago... remember when I told you that being an Influencer was my true dream? It wasn't. It was all a lie. I really wanted to be an Idol back then. But I got scared. I looked at the crowd, and I saw all those eyes facing back at me, and it terrified me. I backed away and told myself that a dream is just a dream. I've regretted that decision every single day since.」
KA-BOOM!
A thunderous, earth-shaking explosion ripped through the night air near the hotel's grand entrance.
The shockwave shattered the nearby windows of the lobby, sending a rain of glass onto the manicured lawn.
General Koby and his elite unit were thrown into immediate chaos.
The soldiers, who had been maintaining a disciplined perimeter, were caught completely off-guard by the unprecedented violence of the blast.
"What the hell was that?!" a sergeant screamed, diving behind an armored transport.
"The entrance is gone! The ceiling just collapsed!"
"Did anyone see the intruder? Did a shell hit us?!"
"Is this a terrorist cell?! Status report, now!"
The air was filled with the acrid scent of burnt ozone and pulverized concrete.
Huge slabs of the hotel's ornate entrance had fallen, completely sealing the way in or out with a mountain of rubble.
Koby didn't join the shouting.
He stood perfectly still, his purple eyes narrowed as he stared at the epicenter of the smoke.
His hyper-acute senses had picked up something the others had missed: for a fraction of a second, a miniature sphere of pulsating, purple energy had materialized in the center of the air before detonating with the force of a high-yield explosive.
It wasn't a bomb.
It was a manifestation.
「I'm pretty sure you already knew it was a lie, anyway. Margaret probably figured it out in five minutes and told you. I guess that's only fair. I was so nervous when I ran into her in the halls earlier. I just want you to know... I've spent a long time hating myself for being a coward. And I've regretted that more than anything.」
Before the echoes of the first blast could fade, a series of secondary explosions erupted like a string of firecrackers around the hotel's perimeter.
Every major exit and service entrance was targeted with surgical precision.
One by one, the life-lines of the La Luna Sangre Hotel were severed, entombing everyone inside and locking the military outside.
Pandemonium erupted in the military camp.
Soldiers rushed to and fro, trying to establish communication with the teams inside, but the radios were beginning to hiss with static.
"Everyone, find an available breach point this instant!" Koby's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "I want a team on the north service lift and the kitchen docks! A few of you are coming with me the moment we find a way in!"
This was no longer a search for a survivor. It was a war zone.
「For years, I told everyone I loved the camera. But I hated dancing for people who were just waiting for me to fail. I hated forcing myself to be 'on' all the time. I hated the feeling that I always had to be better, faster, prettier. I know it sounds selfish, but I just wanted them to see that I was more than a screen. They never did. So I blamed them. And I regretted that, too.」
Inside the main hallway of the hotel, the air was vibrating with the aftershocks of the exterior blasts.
Yuri Calypso, her face pale with fury, led her men and Commander George toward the western exit.
The sound of the explosions had reached them clearly, muffled by the thick walls but unmistakable in their power.
"What the hell is Koby doing?!" Yuri shrieked, her hand flying to the holster at her hip. "Did that bastard just decide to shell my hotel?!"
"I doubt it," George replied, his voice grim as he drew a sidearm. "Koby is many things, but he isn't a butcher. This isn't the military. Someone is infiltrating, Yuri. Someone is locking us in."
「And this cheerful, 'Golden Girl' side of me? It's a mask, Wyne. A facade. The real me is something I've kept locked in the dark. If you had seen me before today, you'd be terrified. You'd look at me and ask if I was really the same girl who saved you nine years ago. I lost myself in the clout, in the lies. I almost regretted that I ever survived at all.」
"AHHHH! H-HELP ME!-"
The plea was cut short by the sickening sound of wet metal meeting bone.
At the very rear of Yuri's formation, one of her veteran guards suddenly buckled.
A thin, red line appeared across his throat before he could even register the pain.
He slumped to the floor, blood pooling rapidly on the pristine carpet.
The group spun around, weapons raised.
Yuri and George stared at the fresh corpse in absolute horror.
There was no one there.
The hallway was empty, save for the flickering overhead lights.
"EVERYONE!" Yuri's voice tore through the hall, a command born from her days as a Mafia Queen. "GET YOUR BACKS TO THE WALL! DEFEND YOURSELVES! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"
The guards, motivated by a cocktail of fear and ingrained loyalty, formed a defensive circle.
They were the best of the best-men who had survived street wars and international hits.
They braced themselves, eyes searching the shadows for an enemy that seemed to be part of the darkness itself.
「And now... I just wanted to send you this. I know it's a lot, and it's messy, and I'm probably overexplaining. But these words are all I have left that are real. I've made a decision, Wyne. A decision to finally put an end to the conflict that I created.」
"Never let your guard down!" Yuri continued to shout, her presence a focal point of defiance. "We were built for this! We fight to the last breath! Even this can be solved if we stand our ground-"
The words died in her throat.
In the span of a heartbeat, a figure appeared.
He didn't walk.
He didn't run.
He simply was.
Between Yuri and George-between the Establishers of two different worlds-a man in a dark, tattered cloak materialized.
The air around him distorted, a shimmer of heat and shadow that defied the laws of physics.
Yuri's senses screamed.
Her body, trained through decades of combat, tried to move, but it felt like she was trapped in amber.
She tried to raise her cannon-arm, her best effort, her absolute peak performance... and she was too slow.
They all were.
They were creatures of Romance facing a man who had brought the terrifying logic of Fantasy into their world.
「I want to forgive myself for hating my cheerful side, because even if it was a mask, it's what brought me to you and Margaret. I want to forgive myself for blaming my viewers, because they were just supporting the only version of me they knew. And I want to forgive myself for the lie. I'm choosing a different path today, Wyne. A different Route. For the rest of my life.」
「And one last thing... you were never an add-on to me, Wyne. You were my Big Deal. You always were. Thank you for being my friend in these nine whole years. I'm sorry.」
She smiled triumphly, in a silent and soft way, similar to Nomoro's.
And yet again, she is proud of herself.
It was just words, they don't really express or do anything but say.
But after sending those messages... she felt something anew.
She slowly lifted her head upwards and stared at the horizon before her, mesmerised intently at the sight, while muttering a few words...
"I'm tired... I guess it's time I retire as... an Influencer."
Trizha let out a long, shaky breath.
She felt a weight lift from her shoulders that she hadn't realized she was carrying.
She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the phone before she slid it back into her dress pocket.
She had done it.
She had finally spoken the truth.
She stood at the edge of the secluded balcony, the music from the Prom Tower echoing behind her, a distant, muffled heartbeat.
She felt determined.
Clean.
Her redemption had finally been completed.
She was about to head back to Nomoro when her phone buzzed again.
「I read everything you said. Stay there. I'm coming.」
Trizha's eyes widened.
A surge of hope, pure and electric, rushed through her.
Wyne had listened.
Wyne was coming back.
Behind her, the sound of the balcony door creaking open caught her attention.
She spun around, a radiant smile already forming on her face.
"Wyne! You're actually here already-"
But her smile froze.
The figure standing in the doorway wasn't Wyne.
It was a man, tall and imposing, draped in a heavy black cloak that seemed to swallow the light of the moon.
As he stepped forward, the hood fell back just enough to reveal eyes that looked like shattered, crimson glass, glowing with an internal, malevolent heat.
Trizha's blood turned to ice.
She recognized those eyes.
She recognized the crushing, dark aura that filled the small balcony.
"...Zack?"
It was the last word she spoke before the world went blac-Skwkxndjwi kxownwizjxjsnw kcjsnwiakxnxis oskxnxksownx kwiwnxkwnwx sowk cizkas xiskwkwkx wloxnwpqpa xoekw xosownwnx jwkwnxowowo owkdnc93ing9vnw ownskcowksp owosnx9nvoenf9 prorn9bkensk ldksnocneksnslan insnxiwnsko oenfoenskdk oowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpep opw0sksmwkxks kskxnsowls odosnaoakcn woosnwnwnd wkskaoqosndo pwoskskf iwisicnkwkw ldownxiiw lfowmwlwlc owowkskfke keidjfkw owowodkds owieo oowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpepkxownwizjxjsnw kcjsnwiakxnxis oskxnxksownx kwiwnxkwnwx sowk cizkas xiskwkwkx wloxnwpqpa xoekw xosownwnx jwkwnxowowo owkdnc93ing9vnw ownskcowksp owosnx9nvoenf9 prorn9bkensk ldksnocneksnslan insnxiwnsko oenfoenskdkoowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpep opw0sksmwkxks kskxnsowls odosnaoakcn woosnwnwnd wkskaoqosndo pwoskskf iwisicnkwkw ldownxiiw lfowmwlwlc owowkskfke keidjfkw owowodkds owieooowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpep opw0sksmwkxks kskxnsowls odosnaoakcn woosnwnwnd wkskaoqosndo pwoskskf iwisicnkwkw ldownxiiw lfowmwlwlc owowkskfke keidjfkw owowodkds owieokxownwizjxjsnw kcjsnwiakxnxis oskxnxksownx kwiwnxkwnwx sowk cizkas xiskwkwkx wloxnwpqpa xoekw xosownwnx jwkwnxowowo owkdnc93ing9vnw ownskcowksp owosnx9nvoenf9 prorn9bkensk ldksnocneksnslan insnxiwnsko oenfoenskdk
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Skwkxndjwi kxownwizjxjsnw kcjsnwiakxnxis oskxnxksownx kwiwnxkwnwx sowk cizkas xiskwkwkx wloxnwpqpa xoekw xosownwnx jwkwnxowowo owkdnc93ing9vnw ownskcowksp owosnx9nvoenf9 prorn9bkensk ldksnocneksnslan insnxiwnsko oenfoenskdk oowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpep opw0sksmwkxks kskxnsowls odosnaoakcn woosnwnwnd wkskaoqosndo pwoskskf iwisicnkwkw ldownxiiw lfowmwlwlc owowkskfke keidjfkw owowodkds owieo oowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpepkxownwizjxjsnw kcjsnwiakxnxis oskxnxksownx kwiwnxkwnwx sowk cizkas xiskwkwkx wloxnwpqpa xoekw xosownwnx jwkwnxowowo owkdnc93ing9vnw ownskcowksp owosnx9nvoenf9 prorn9bkensk ldksnocneksnslan insnxiwnsko oenfoenskdkoowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpep opw0sksmwkxks kskxnsowls odosnaoakcn woosnwnwnd wkskaoqosndo pwoskskf iwisicnkwkw ldownxiiw lfowmwlwlc owowkskfke keidjfkw owowodkds owieooowoqoq ox w w r. Fkco kdkck ekekdndkfkfnd kskwksnxksnw kendnckenwe ksnsnsnwkd lwkendocjs kelwkwkxksmw wlfkskwksx lwlwlwlskxjs kelskwlqls wosjxiwnqofke ppfpekflcpep opw0sksmwkxks kskxnsowls odosnaoakcn woosnwnwnd wkskaoqosndo pwoskskf iwisicnkwkw ldownxiiw lfowmwlwlc owowkskfke keidjfkw owowodkds owieokxownwizjxjsnw kcjsnwiakxnxis oskxnxksownx kwiwnxkwnwx sowk cizkas xiskwkwkx wloxnwpqpa xoekw xosownwnx jwkwnxowowo owkdnc93ing9vnw ownskcowksp owosnx9nvoenf9 prorn9bkensk ldksnocneksnslan insnxiwnsko oenfoenskdk-
CRASH!!
The sound of the glass cup shattering against the marble floor was deafening, a sharp, crystalline explosion that cut through the heavy bass of the DJ's music.
Nomoro stood frozen, his hand still shaped as if gripping the cup that was now nothing more than jagged shards at his feet.
The air around him suddenly felt thin-starved of oxygen.
Sweat.
It began as a cold prickle at his hairline, sliding down his temple like a slow-moving insect.
Fear.
Not the fear of a blade or a bullet, but the primitive, gut-wrenching terror of a predator who realizes they have lost their most precious charge.
Desperation.
It clawed at his throat, a silent scream that threatened to choke him as his mind raced through the corridors of the tower, searching for a presence that had suddenly flickered out like a candle in a gale.
Worriedness.
Nervousness.
Every instinct he had honed was vibrating with a singular, violent frequency.
The atmosphere of the ballroom, once vibrant and celebratory, now felt like a suffocating shroud.
He didn't need to see the balcony to know.
He didn't need to hear the struggle to understand.
Nomoro felt it in the very marrow of his bones.
Someone-no, she-was in mortal danger.
"Trizha!"
The name didn't escape his lips; it roared through the canyons of his mind, a desperate call into the void.
His eyes, usually so calm and analytical, were wide and frantic as they scanned the crowd, seeing nothing but a blur of colorful fabric and oblivious faces.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't look back at the mess he had made or the students who turned to stare at the boy standing over broken glass.
Nomoro began to run.
He moved with a sudden, explosive force, shoving past the dancers with a chilling disregard for etiquette.
His black formal suit, once a symbol of his attempt at normalcy, now felt like a restrictive skin he was ready to shed.
Each step he took felt like he was fighting against the current of time itself, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He knew.
He knew with a certainty that transcended logic.
Trizha Frantzes had been taken.