Chapter 7: Melissa? That’s Just My Friday Alter-Ego
1004 Words
The moment Maya’s fist was inches from shattering Aria’s nose—Aria moved.
It wasn't a block. It was an execution.
Aria’s right leg whipped out like a c***k of lightning, her boot connecting solidly with Maya’s solar plexus.
THUD.
The air left Maya’s lungs in a violent burst. She didn't even have time to scream before she collapsed onto her knees, clutching her stomach, her face draining of all color. She looked like a stranded fish gasping for water.
The hallway went tomb-silent.
Three seconds of pure shock. Then—
“WHAT THE HELL?!”
The crowd exploded.
“Did she just… did she just take down Maya Wei? In one hit?!”
“Are you kidding me? Maya is top twenty in the Arcadia Combat Division! She’s been training in Jiu-Jitsu and Muay Thai since she was twelve!”
“Wasn't the sister a janitor? Since when do janitors kick like special forces?”
Maya struggled to look up, her eyes wide with agonizing disbelief. “You… what kind of dirty trick was that?!”
Aria stood over her, her red lips curving into a bored, predatory smirk. “A dirty trick? You flatter yourself, darling.”
Her voice was cold, dripping with disdain. “That ‘form’ of yours? It’s amateur hour. I didn't even break a sweat.”
This was the woman who had held the title of the Underground Black Market Combat Champion for three consecutive years. The woman codenamed Viper. As Agent 001, she was a master of close-quarters assassination, ballistics, and stealth. To her, Maya wasn't an opponent—she was a stationary punching bag.
“Just you wait!” Maya wheezed, trembling as she tried to stand. “You think you’re tough? You haven't seen the real elites of Arcadia yet. Someone like Alaric Van—the Alpha of the combat track—could snap you like a twig!”
Aria turned on her heel, her silk dress fluttering behind her. “And why exactly would I care about meeting them?”
“Because you’re arrogant!” Maya shrieked. “Because you’re an uncultured stray! So what if you can fight? In this world, you’re still a joke!”
The circle of elitist students immediately joined the chorus:
“Exactly! Does she think she’s in a street brawl?”
“Wait until the actual sparring session starts. She’ll be crying for her mommy.”
“Janitors belong in the basement. Stop embarrassing the Kane name!”
Aria tuned them out. Arguing with high schoolers? If the fossils back at the CIB heard about this, they’d laugh themselves into a cardiac arrest.
But then... a sound drifted through the corridor.
Piano notes.
The intro was aggressive, like a call to war, transitioning into a melody as haunting as moonlight over a graveyard. The final chord held a chilling, lonely pride. It wasn't a classical piece; it was a raw, brilliant improvisation.
The hallway fell into a trance.
“It’s Isabella!” someone whispered in awe. “Only she can play with that kind of soul.”
“God, she’s gotten even better! She sounds almost like the legendary Melissa.”
Aria’s footsteps faltered.
Melissa?
The masked virtuoso who never showed her face, whose tickets sold for ten thousand dollars a seat in Vienna and Paris?
The 'Melissa' identity was just a cover Aria had used last year during an assassination mission in Austria. That specific piece—the Requiem of Shadows—was something she’d improvised at the Vienna Golden Hall moments before she took out her target.
She hadn't realized Isabella had made a religion out of her throwaway alias.
The students saw Aria freeze and took it as a sign of intimidation.
“Hey, Aria, have you even seen a piano before? Or were the keys too clean for your 'janitor' hands to touch?”
“The difference between twins is insane. One is a goddess, the other is... whatever that is.”
Isabella stepped out of the music room, her posture perfect, her eyes looking at Aria like she was a stain on the rug.
“Aria, know your place. Some things can’t be bought or faked, no matter what dress you’re wearing.”
Aria arched a brow. “Is that so? I beg to differ.”
“You—!” Isabella bit her lip, her ego flaring.
The crowd went feral:
“Aria Kane! How dare you speak to Isabella like that!”
“She’s the Piano Queen of Arcadia!”
“In all of Veraine, only the world-renowned Melissa is her equal!”
Aria almost burst out laughing at the mention of her own mask. You worship me, yet you call me trash.
She walked slowly toward the grand piano, her fingertips grazing the ivory keys. Her voice was lazy, almost playful.
“So... you like this 'Melissa,' do you?”
She paused, looking Isabella dead in the eye with a cryptic, dangerous smile.
“I think if she knew she had a fan like you... she’d probably laugh herself to death.”
Isabella frowned, her heart skipping a beat. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Aria didn't answer. She turned and began walking toward the combat gym, her silhouette calm and commanding.
But as she passed the piano, her hand reached out and struck a single, complex chord.
The opening chord of the Requiem.
Isabella’s pupils contracted until they were pinpricks.
That specific chord... it was a 'Melissa' signature. It had never been published. It was a secret technique that required a specific finger-span.
She stared at Aria’s retreating back, her heart thundering against her ribs. How? How could she possibly know that?
High above on the roof of the faculty building, Dante Voss lowered his binoculars. He spoke into his tactical earpiece, his voice a low vibration.
“Run a full biometric match on the pianist known as ‘Melissa.’”
“I have a feeling... the Viper and the Virtuoso are wearing the same skin.”
- Writer
