Carmen and Mr. Stone looked very out of place, waiting in the long line up to the door of the Pavillon Cambon Capucines. A master and student, dressed in matching fighting outfits, surrounded in suits and dresses and moguls stepping out of fancy limos, checking in with the bouncer in the front.

Mr. Stone questioned how Carmen got her hands on tickets for such an upscale event. The most she told him was that she got them online for cheap. He couldn’t know the real reason. After all, she didn’t want to find out whether or not Mei was serious about the NDA.

Mei did her job, though. The bouncer accepted their tickets, and inside, the pavilion looked like a wedding and an art museum had a baby.

Tables draped in white cloth scattered around the main area between flowery decor and marble columns supporting the second balcony. A massive mirror covered the wall behind the stage, from the first to the second floor. Paintings and sculptures by Stylus himself hung on full display, shining in the light of the serene background piano music and the awestruck chatter between the attendees.

Ten minutes before the official start, though, Stylus was still nowhere to be seen.

“Do you know what he looks like?” Mr. Stone asked as they found a table.

“Yeah, but he’s probably waiting to make a dramatic entrance.”

Carmen kept her head on a swivel, scanning the rich crowd. Back at the entrance, a man ducked in behind another couple, trying to obscure his face with a trenchcoat and a hat. Yet, she caught a glimpse of his blue martial arts gi with an orange sash.

Her heart dropped. “Mr. Stone, is that—”

Mr. Stone’s grip tightened on the bulb of his cane. “Yes. Carole, the current fiftieth-ranked Fighter in the entire world. Change of plans, Carmen. We must leave immediately,” he said, preparing to stand.

Carmen gasped. “What? But I haven’t even seen Stylus yet, let alone—”

A chorus of violins stole Carmen’s attention and the rest of the crowd, drawing them all to the stage on the other half of the room. Spotlights focused on the black curtains before Stylus emerged, basking in the applause and whistles, his blonde hair swept back and his chiseled jaw outlining a smile.

He extended his gloved palms, and they gleamed golden before the light itself emerged from his hands, forming into wings and beaks. Doves shed their metal skin and flew through the air, each with harsh, jagged outlines, as if drawn in the air itself.

While he spoke in French to the crowd, Mr. Stone guided Carmen to the seat beside him with a gentle hand. He leaned into her ear. “There is no greater target in the entire world than being the fiftieth-ranked Fighter. They become a wanted individual, threatened and attacked by anyone seeking to become one of the Fifty,” he whispered. “If Carole is challenged to a Fight, others will see the live battle and flock to the Pavillion, regardless of the bouncers. We will only have minutes before this place becomes a warzone. I cannot risk putting you in that danger.”

Carmen clenched the table cloth in her fist, eyes frozen on Carole as he still sat cautiously at a table in the corner.

Why here? Why here now?

“I get it, Mr. Stone, but I can’t just leave without finding the real Stylus. I did so much to get here,” she said, feeling the Memory Mint in her pocket.

Mr. Stone pursed his lips, watching the fake Stylus on the stage as he gestured grandly with every word. But, a man sprinted through the security around the stage, shoving past them and collapsing at Stylus’s feet. Gasps spread throughout the pavilion.

The man clumsily rose and pointed furiously at Stylus. Carmen didn’t have to understand French to know what he was trying to do. He repeated the same phrase, shouting it, yet Stylus only beamed confidently at him, basking in his feigned invincibility. Meanwhile, the crowd cheered, and his security dragged the attacker away.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

But, the attacker’s hands lit ablaze like a neon glowstick. He pointed a finger, and a beam of green light arced towards the fake Stylus’s head. The fake Stylus weaved aside as the shot scorched the wall. His security knocked the man unconscious, and continued dragging him outside, his head hanging limp.

“Very well,” Mr. Stone said, releasing his hold on Carmen's shoulder. “But, at the first sign of trouble, we are leaving. And please, do not attempt to challenge Carole yourself. You are not ready to take on an Ultimate Class.”

“I won’t.”

Mr. Stone raised a final thumb of good luck as Carmen made her way to the outskirts of the pavilion, where guests sipped wine and plucked hors d'oeuvres from palettes held out by waiters.

Carmen took a chocolate covered strawberry, scanning the pavilion. Stylus’s abilities allowed him to draw within the world itself like a canvas. Either his twin brother had a copying ability, or they were working in sync, for Stylus to coordinate using his power from somewhere out of sight while his brother acted like it was him.

For that, he’d have to be somewhere high.

A massive mirror covered the wall behind the stage, from the first to the second floor. Her mind dismissed it the first time she noticed it. It could've been for artistic looks, or it could’ve been a convenient way to hide a two way mirror. Other staff and kitchen members weaved in and out from the left and right side of the stages, passing the security.

That’s where I need to be.

Carmen approached the entrance at the left of the stage. Forcing her way through would draw too much attention, let alone if it would be possible. They were likely Fighters, too. She needed a distraction, to draw their attention elsewhere.

She extended her arm, summoning Chip and sending him soaring high across the room. He drew a few glances, but the transparent yellow bird made his way towards their target while she approached the security.

“Help! Please!” Carmen exclaimed. “There’s a dangerous man, and I don’t know where my Dad went!”

Confused and bewildered, the guard she approached called out to his colleague at the other side of the double doors behind him. She immediately came over, and crouched down to Carmen’s level. “Calm down, little girl,” she said, speaking in a thick accent. “Who are you talking about?”

“I don’t know his name, but I saw him on TV — he was a Fighter!”

The guards met with concerned eyes. “We had a strict No Fighting policy with our attending list,” she spat. “Who?!”

Carmen pointed at Carole, across the room. At that exact moment, Chip swooped in and plucked Carole’s hat from on top of his head, exposing his face and his spiky black hair. The guests near him gasped. Carole tried reaching up for Chip, but his hat dropped as Chip dispelled.

The other security guard gasped, spitting a French curse while the woman in front of Carmen shot to her feet, too. “Putain, how did he get in here?” She raised a finger to her ear, speaking in French, likely warning the others.

Meanwhile, her colleague exclaimed angrily at Carole, pointing a finger. Carole raised his hands. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry! I don’t speak French, but you gotta keep it down! If someone recognizes me — get your hands off of me!”

Carole shoved his hands away, backpedaling towards the wall. At the same time, the female security guard in front of Carmen paced over, and more guards in identical black suits flooded from around the pavilion as Stylus continued talking.

No one had their attention on the door, anymore. Carmen slipped inside behind a server pushing a cart and rushed up the first set of stairs she could find. The dim second floor was devoid of any guests, cut off from the rest of the pavilion. Ahead, another server carried a plate of food around the corner.

There could only be one person he was catering to. She silently trailed him through the dark hallway, until he entered a bright room. The server brought a plate to a man sitting in a chair behind a lavish desk, facing the other side of the one-way mirror — just like Carmen hoped. He had a perfect view of the commotion on the other end of the room, and shot to his feet in anger as security crowded around Carole.

Stylus.

His rounded jaw disappeared behind a layer of fat, framed by blonde hair falling in wisps, raining flakes of dandruff as he scratched his hair in stress. This was the real Stylus, the spitting image of everything his brother wasn’t.

The servant placed his plate on the desk, and jumped in surprise as Carmen closed the door behind her. It was louder than she thought it would be. Stylus turned on her, too, gasping. “You! How did a little girl get in here?”

“I’m not just a little girl,” she snapped, clenching her fists, summoning Chip behind her in his muscular form.

Carmen clutched the pendant of her necklace—a golden cross. She was doing this for her. She knew she was going for such a powerful opponent to live up to her own standards. But, for her family watching, she wouldn’t use it. For her position in the trip itself, she wouldn’t use the Memory Mint.

For Daniel, she wouldn’t use it.

“I’m Electrica,” Carmen declared. “And I challenge you to a ranked Fight, Stylus!”