[Comment]: "Wait, is that Patricia, the former child star? She looks so different now. It's like she lost that special aura she had back then…"
"Lost that SPECIAL AURA!?" she hissed, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "I am the only reason that charity event even had a decent viewership tonight, you pathetic, anonymous loser! I am the aura!"
[Comment]: "Her popularity ended when his father lose the election and now she tried her best to be relevant once again not for herself but for his father."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating the jasmine scented air. Patricia's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white, the soft, pulsing pink glow of the bathtub suddenly feeling like a mocking neon sign of her own desperation.
Her face contorted, the "angelic" mask she wore for the cameras shattering into a jagged expression of pure, unadulterated rage. Her reflection in the polished marble wall looked like a stranger… someone hollow, someone terrified of being forgotten. The mention of her father wasn't just a critique; it was a knife twisted into a very fresh wound.
In a sudden burst of irritation, she splashed the water violently, the high tech jets sputtering and coughing as she stood up. Water cascaded over the side, soaking the expensive bath mat, but she didn't care. The luxury of the bath now felt like a gilded cage.
"I'm done with this!"
She snapped, stepping out of the tub and wrapping herself in a silk robe. She marched out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, where a massive window offered a panoramic view of the Fantasy Tower, its lights shimmering. She sat on the edge of her oversized bed, staring at her own reflection in the darkened vanity mirror, her jaw set in a hard line.
"I'm going to show every single one of those assholes that I am still the main attraction," she vowed to the empty room, her voice trembling with a mixture of ego and desperation. "Season Two isn't just a game for me. It's our family's comeback."
With a sharp snap of her fingers, the room's smart lighting system obeyed, plunging the penthouse into a darkness.
While darkness hid Patricia's frustration, the sun rose over a different part of the city, painting a modest neighborhood in shades of amber and gold. Inside a small, impeccably clean bedroom, Elegant opened his eyes. There was no grogginess or lingering sleep only a sharp, vibrant clarity.
He sat up and stretched, his muscles lean and toned from years of disciplined sports. Through his window, the Fantasy Tower stood like a needle of light, catching the first rays of the sun. To many, it was a symbol of fear or fame, but to him, it was simply the next challenge to conquer.
A split second later, his phone chirped with a bright, melodic alarm. Eligant chuckled softly, reaching out to silence it.
"Beating you by sixty seconds today. I guess I'm a little more excited than I thought."
Before his feet could even touch the floor, his bedroom door burst open with a resounding thud. His younger brothers tumbled in, a whirlwind of pajamas and messy hair, piling onto his bed with joyful screeches.
"Big brother! Big brother, wake up! It's today! It's really today!" the middle brother screamed, practically lunging onto the bed to seize Eligant's arm.
"We checked the countdown on the TV," the youngest added, his face a mask of genuine panic. "The gates open in three hours! You're going to be late and they'll give your spot to someone else!"
Eligant laughed, a sound so warm and genuine it seemed to brighten the room. He effortlessly scooped the youngest up onto his shoulder.
"Late? Me? Have I ever been late for a championship game? Or for breakfast?"
"NEVER!" they roared in unison, dragging him toward the kitchen.
As the scent of toasted spices and sweet syrup hit them, a small, buzzing drone phone zipped past Eligant's nose. It was followed closely by another one of his sibling, his two year old age gap sister, who was already deep into a high energy monologue for her live-streaming audience.
"And here he is, guys! The morning of the legend!" She chirped, her eyes bright as she checked the scrolling comments on her screen. "The Soon To Be Hero of District 7 is officially awake!"
"Ant, for the love of— can we have one meal without the vlog?" Eligant asked, though his smile remained kind.
"No way! You should be grateful. I've already built a solid fandom for you! Listen to this fan comment: I want to see how Elegant eats, how his lips and mouth move..." she fired back.
"Gosh..." Elegant replied, shaking his head.
"Eliant! Let your brother breathe!" their mother called out from the stove. "He needs focus, not a camera lens in his eggs."
"But Mom," Eliant groaned. "He's going to be gone for a year! Maybe more! He's going to reach the hundredth floor and become the next Jack Burns! I have to document the legendary journey!"
The two little brothers looked up, shouting in perfect, practiced unison:
"No way! He's gonna be like HERO ZERO, Joshua!"
As if on cue, they jumped into the center of the kitchen, their small arms swinging wildly as they mimicked Joshua's signature twin sword style, "slicing" through an invisible dragon that was apparently threatening the toaster.
Eliant rolled her eyes with the affectionate disdain only a sister could manage. "Joshua is cool, but Jack has the rhythm," she insisted. To prove her point, she signaled the drone phone to zoom in as she broke into a rapid fire rhythm. Her voice dropped into a pitch perfect imitation of Jack Burns' chart topping pop rap hit.
She danced through the tight space of the kitchen, her fingers snapping and flicking in the shape of pistols.
"Scorch the floor, watch 'em fall, Hero Zero leads the call! Flame on the finger, ice in the vein, we're the kings of the Tower!"
As she spat the final verse, the two younger brothers didn't miss a beat. They abandoned their swordplay to join her, doing a synchronized, hilariously silly backup dance that involved a lot of aggressive shoulder shrugging and uncoordinated footwork. The kitchen had transformed into a miniature, chaotic music video.