Der Praesi

Maestra

The afternoon air in Vienna was bitter, but the small, quaint cafe where Nevaeh sipped her hot chocolate offered a comforting warmth. Only two days remained until the preliminary round of the Fritz Kreisler International Violin Competition began.

In a leather case next to her chair, a violin made by a master luthier from Cremona rested gracefully, a silent testament to the ten hours of daily practice she had been putting in for months.

She turned her attention to her phone screen displaying digital sheet music. However, the tranquility was suddenly shattered by the harsh chime of the cafe's doorbell.

Three large men walked in with heavy, arrogant strides. Thick black leather jackets bearing the cobra logo—the trademark of the notorious motorcycle gang, the Midnight Cobras—covered their tattooed bodies.

The cafe, which had previously been filled with soft whispers, suddenly fell silent. The barista behind the espresso machine froze, while several customers looked down, avoiding eye contact.

Without further ado, one of them—a bald man with a scar on his temple—grabbed a young man in a neat suit sitting in the corner of the room by the collar of his jacket.

The young man, who had been anxiously holding his laptop, was startled, his wooden chair being dragged with a loud screech.

"Where are your things, you bastard?" the scarred man's voice thundered through the suddenly silent cafe.

"I-I swear, I sent the code! Not here, please..." the young man pleaded, his voice trembling, his face as pale as a sheet. However, his hand was silently reaching for the cell phone on the table, intending to send an emergency signal.

The bald man noticed the movement and immediately drew a small pocketknife, holding it right in front of the young man's face.

The air in the cafe felt thin. The Viennese streetlights began to light up outside the window, while Nevaeh's fingers, which usually danced on the violin strings, now gripped her cup tightly.

Ting!

The loud, cheerful voice shattered the silence like a bolt of lightning in broad daylight.

Nevaeh instinctively closed her eyes, cursing her own stupidity for forgetting to set her phone to silent mode. Her phone screen lit up brightly, displaying a message notification from a contact named "Koko Yi 🙄":

“Little one, where are you? Koko is in the next block. I was going to get some pistachio gelato to fuel your training, but ended up lost in an antique bookstore. Hang on, okay? Don't go anywhere!”

Nevaeh didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking the message wouldn't attract her attention, when the sound of footsteps and shouting suddenly stopped. The atmosphere in the cafe shifted from tense to a far more eerie silence.

Slowly, the bald man turned his head toward Nevaeh's table.

In a corner of the cafe dominated by blonde tourists, Nevaeh's oriental face stood in stark contrast, frozen under the dim chandelier, especially with her phone, which had just rang right after the death threat.

The man's sharp, suspicious gaze was now locked completely on Nevaeh.

He released his grip on the young man's collar and walked slowly. Each thud of his combat boots on the cafe's wooden floor sounded like a countdown to disaster. His two companions watched, their hands fumbling for something in their leather jackets.

Death.

Nevaeh swallowed hard, her cold fingers trembling under the table, hoping Koko Yi would come crashing through the glass window like a late-night hero—or at least, hoping she wouldn't end up making the local newspaper's headlines tomorrow.

She quickly summoned all the remaining wits she had.

Pretend to be stupid, Nevaeh!

As soon as the bald man stood right next to her desk—blocking the light so that his shadow cast the entire table—Nevaeh looked up with a confused and slightly disturbed expression.

"Entschuldigung?" Nevaeh said in a trembling voice, using broken, innocent-sounding German. "Ich... ich verstehe nicht. Ist... ist etwas passiert?"

The man narrowed his eyes, then glanced at the phone screen, which still displayed Koko Yi's message.

"English!" he snapped in a deep, hoarse, testing voice. "Who were you texting, huh?Who did you send a signal to?"

Nevaeh changed her expression to one of just the right amount of offense and fear, then blurted out her answer in rapid, protesting English.

"What? Are you crazy?!" she exclaimed in frustration. "I don't know what you're talking about! My phone just pinged because of my... my brother! He's an i***t who is currently lost trying to buy pistachio gelato somewhere around here!"

She pointed at her phone screen openly, pointing fearlessly at Koko Yi's chat—though inwardly she was already praying that he wouldn't throw his phone.

"I'm just a student! I'm here for the violin competition! Look!" Nevaeh pointed at the leather bag next to her chair with trembling hands. "My violin is right here! I don't care about your business, I just want my hot chocolate and my i***t brother back!"

The man froze for a moment. He glanced at the violin case, then met Nevaeh's eyes, which reflected the panic of an irritated young musician.

His jaw tightened, assessing whether the girl in front of him was truly just a stupid tourist or a hidden threat.

Finally, the man snorted harshly.

"Damn it. Get out of here, you stupid tourist. Don't even try to interfere with Midnight Cobras' affairs," he grumbled coldly, before turning back to the corner of the cafe.

Without wasting a second, Nevaeh grabbed her violin case and cell phone, dashed through the cafe's glass doors, and ran as fast as she could.

Her lungs burned. The cold Viennese air hit her face, but her legs kept running around the cobblestone street corners, searching for an exit.

Bam!

Unfortunately, her body collided with something hard at the corner of a narrow alley, sending her flying and nearly falling onto the paving stones.

"Ouch! Who put a concrete wall here?!" Nevaeh cursed in annoyance, clutching her throbbing forehead. She looked up to scold the person blocking her path, but her words got stuck in her throat.

The figure she collided with wasn't a wall, but a tall, athletic man. His broad chest, clad in a thin black turtleneck, felt as hard as a wall, and the sharp scent of cedarwood wafted up to her nose as soon as her nose brushed against the messy-chic man's casual coat.

Nevaeh, in her confusion, briefly thought that this man must have wandered off from a Vogue photo shoot.

She immediately spun around, intending to flee in the opposite direction—kicking this man with a body like a Kremlin wall was clearly not a good option.

However, before she could take a step, a large, strong hand swiftly grabbed her wrist, locking her movement without a break.

Nevaeh tensed, ready to scream. But the man instead lowered his position, bringing their faces close in a casual gesture, and then smiled a lopsided, mischievous grin.

"Wow, maestra," the man whispered in a low, lazy yet seductive voice, his eyes fixed on the violin case in Nevaeh's hand before rising to meet her gaze. "Who are you running from, hmm? You're quite dramatic... but unfortunately, you've run into the wrong person to race with."

Their faces were so close that the scent of cologne intensified in the night air.

"Let go!" Nevaeh growled, trying to struggle. She pulled her hand away, but the grip only tightened—giving her no chance to escape. "Are you deaf? I said let go!"

Instead of letting go, the corners of the man's lips turned up even further, forming a lopsided, annoying smile. He glanced at the violin case, then returned to her beady eyes, their dark glare reflecting the twinkling city lights.

"Wow, this little musician is quite fierce," he whispered lightly amidst Nevaeh's panic. "I was just about to save you from those stupid thugs at the cafe, and in response, you called me a... concrete wall?"

Nevaeh's eyes widened.

"If you knew, why didn't you help me earlier?!" Nevaeh snapped angrily, her breath still ragged. "In fact, you were just watching and strolling along!"

"Seeing a free show in the afternoon isn't a bad idea, maestra," the man replied without guilt. He took a step forward, forcing Nevaeh back until her back was pressed against the cold brick wall.

"Besides, I wonder how far this foreign girl can run with a violin worth millions of euros in her arms."

Nevaeh snorted in annoyance, biting her lower lip.

"Let go, or I'll scream right now!" she threatened, trying to put on her most ferocious expression, even though her knees were already weak.

The man chuckled—a low, annoying baritone. Slowly, he loosened his grip, then raised both hands in the air, though the grin on his face didn't fade at all.

"Alright, alright. Don't make that face, it'll ruin your beauty," he said lightly, then lowered his hands and smoothed the collar of his coat. "Save your screaming for the preliminaries the day after tomorrow. And by the way..."

He leaned in slightly to Nevaeh's ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "...tell your brother, who's busy looking for gelato, to take better care of you. Vienna isn't as safe as the tourist brochures make it out to be, maestra."

Before Nevaeh could process how the man knew about Koko Yi, the figure had already turned. With a leisurely pace and his hands in his coat pockets, he walked away from the alley, blending into the city crowd.