ISABELLA NIGHTFALL'S POV:
"Isabella," my two friends, Sophie Miller and Claire Benette, pulled over their chairs and sat next to me. "Are you fitting in at this school yet?" Sophie, my bright but clumsy friend, patted my back. "Yep!" I nodded. "This place is less boring than home,"
Sophie had the kind of presence that entered a room before she even spoke. Her honey-blonde hair fell just past her shoulders in soft, natural waves that bounced every time she moved — and Sophie moved a lot. Whether she was talking, laughing, or dramatically flopping onto the dance floor in defeat, her hair caught the light and shimmered warmly under it. It framed her face in a way that made her look perpetually sun-kissed, like she belonged under open skies rather than fluorescent classroom lights.
Her eyes were a bright hazel, flecked with gold that seemed to glow whenever she smiled — which was often. They crinkled at the corners when she laughed too hard, and they widened dramatically whenever she got excited, which, admittedly, was also often. She had soft, rounded cheeks that flushed easily and lips that pouted unconsciously whenever she focused on getting a move right. There was nothing sharp about her features. Everything about her felt warm, inviting — like golden hour captured in a person. When she danced, she didn't just execute choreography. She threw her whole heart into it, movements bigger, brighter, almost spilling past the mirror as if she couldn't contain the energy inside her.
Claire, on the other hand, was quiet until you truly looked at her.
She had long chestnut-brown hair that she usually kept tied low, practical and out of the way, but when it was let down, it cascaded in smooth waves that brushed past her collarbone and softened the sharp intelligence in her gaze. Without her glasses, her grey-blue eyes were striking — cool and observant, like she was constantly analysing the world even when she pretended not to be. They weren't cold, exactly. Just precise. Focused.
Her features were refined in a way that didn't demand attention but commanded it once noticed. High cheekbones, a slender jawline, and pale skin that contrasted beautifully with her darker hair. She held herself straight without trying, shoulders naturally aligned, chin level — as though posture had always been second nature to her. Even the way she walked was economical, efficient, each step deliberate.
"That's definite!! Sophie laughed.
"So, have you chosen which club you would like to join?" Claire, my intelligent but slightly reserved friend, adjusted her glasses.
"Yep! I want to join the Entertainment Club!" I exclaimed. "Then you're going to be in the same club as me! High-five!" Sophie squealed as she 'high-fived' me. "Sigh, I was hoping you would join the Occult Research Club with me," Claire sighed, lowering her head.
Sophie and I paused and said, "But they say only eccentric people go there. Apparently, it's quite horrifying!"
"No, there's nothing scary about it! We will only be dissecting some human bodies we have scavenged from the morgue in our last session to find if any supernatural creatures are hiding in them seven days after 'the hell gates opened'. Today, we'll also be checking out what happens if you blend raw fish and human intestines. Will the acid in the intestines digest the raw fish? If it did, what would happen to the fish? And, the next session, we would be…" Claire listed a few hundred horrifying things that made our skin crawl.
Sophie and I stared at her, our faces pale and our legs trembling. We definitely made friends with the wrong person. Our mouths were agape, but Claire still did not get the hint!
"That's quite enough, Claire," Ms Lexi's voice rang from behind Claire. Claire immediately jumped up and bowed repeatedly, "Sorry, Ms Lexi! So sorry!!"
"It's ok, Claire. I just think Sophie and Isabella were getting a little frightened," Lexi smiled kindly at her.
"Sorry, I got carried off…" Claire apologised to us.
"It's ok, really," Sophie and I waved our hands frantically.
"Mm," Ms Lexi nodded to herself. "So, Isabella, are you adjusting well?"
"Yep!!"
"And your brother?" Ms Lexi asked. I tilted my head in confusion. "How is he, I mean?" She coughed.
"He's doing fine, why?"
"Just asking," Ms Lexi smiled and headed towards her desk.
"You have a brother?" Sophie asked excitedly. "How many siblings do you have? What are their names?"
Claire, on the other hand, muttered, "Ms Lexi seems interested in your brother…"
"Yep! I have two siblings, one older brother, and one older sister," I raised an eyebrow before answering. "Their names are Alistair Nightfall and Kaori Nightfall."
"Wow, that's so cool to have two older siblings to dote on you!" Sophie squealed. "How about your parents? What are their names——?" Before she could finish, Claire grabbed her hand and shook her head and whispered in her ear something that sounded like, "Remember, House of Nightfall's downfall?"
"Anyway, now that Ms Lexi seems interested in your brother, I am intrigued and want to see your siblings," Claire changed the subject. I pretended not to notice. After all, she's only doing this for my sake.
"Yeah! I want to see your house too! We could practice dance and acting there too!!" Sophie bounced up and down.
"Acting?" I asked.
"Yep! Didn't you know Entertainment Club includes acting?"
I shook my head.
"So, can we go?" They both pleaded.
"Fine by me. Are you two free tomorrow?" I took out my phone and added a reminder. Yep, Brother got all of us personal smartphones when I told him that I had made new friends and wanted to contact them.
They nodded.
"If I'm going to your house tomorrow, I don't need to do dance practice again tomorrow." Sophie mentally noted that.
"Class is starting, please keep your phones," Ms Lexi reminded us. She always came early to get to know us better. I can see why she left a deep impression on Brother.
"Oh, right," Sophie turned to me. "Isabella, do you have a nickname that we can call you?"
"Nickname?"
"Yep," she nodded. "Like my nickname is Soph, and Claire…she doesn't have one, her name's short enough."
"Hmm, let me think…Ella! My brother and sister call me Ella, too!"
"Then, nice to meet you, Ella!" Sophie shook my hand.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Ring~~!" The last class of the day ended.
"Soph, I'm going to audition for the Entertainment Club. Will you be there?" I asked as I hurriedly packed my bag. It was 3.00 p.m., and my audition was at 3.30 p.m. I needed to hurry.
"Yeah, of course I'm coming! I'm going to cheer for you the whole way!" Sophie took out her pom-poms from her bag and waved them at me.
"I'm coming too," Claire said as she took out a poster from her bag that read: Go Isabella! You can do this!
But in reality, she said it much differently: "Go. Go, Isabella. Whoo." She said it with little emotion, though I could tell that she was putting in her best effort.
"Thanks, guys," I smiled at them.
The moment we stepped into the venue, Sophie's jaw dropped, and she froze.
"What's wrong, Soph?" I asked. It was rare to see Sophie this flustered.
"Th—the judge," with a trembling hand, she pointed at one of the three figures sitting at the table. "It's her, Ms Catherine Whitmore."
"Out," she did not even glance at her and stated her opinion. The other judges nodded in agreement as they wrote down their feedback. I watched as she eliminated seven contestants in succession without even lifting her head.
"That's her. Ms Catherine Whitmore," Sophie whispered, subtly pointing toward the front of the auditorium.
At the judges' table sat a woman who looked less like a teacher and more like a final exam personified.
Catherine Whitmore carried herself with the composed authority of someone who had never once needed to raise her voice to be obeyed. She appeared to be in her early forties, though the precision in her posture and the sharpness in her gaze made her seem almost ageless. The chignon at the nape of her neck neatly swept her dark chestnut hair, not a single strand out of place; the style was severe but undeniably elegant. A pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses rested lightly on the bridge of her nose, catching the stage lights whenever she tilted her head.
She wore a tailored charcoal blazer that fit her as though it perfectly moulded to her frame, paired with a silk, ivory blouse buttoned all the way up. A narrow black skirt fell just below her knees, and her heels—pointed, polished, merciless—clicked once against the wooden floor as she crossed one leg over the other. Every detail about her appearance suggested discipline. Precision. Control.
She folded her hands neatly atop a leather-bound folder embossed with the academy crest. Long, slender fingers—unadorned except for a simple platinum ring—tapped once, softly, against the cover. Not impatiently. Not nervously.
Judgingly.
The auditorium, which had been buzzing with chatter moments earlier, seemed to quiet on its own accord around her. It wasn't fear in the dramatic sense. It was something subtler. The awareness that this was a woman who had built her reputation on excellence—and had no intention of lowering her standards for anyone.
"She used to be a teacher here," Sophie murmured nervously. "Took leave after an injury, but I didn't expect her to recover so quickly."
As if sensing she was being observed, Ms Whitmore lifted her gaze from the folder. Her eyes were a cool, steely grey—calm, analytical, and devastatingly perceptive. They swept across the line of audition candidates with clinical efficiency, not lingering long enough to comfort anyone, yet not so brief as to miss a single detail.
When one of the earlier performers finished, slightly off-beat and breathless, Ms Whitmore did not clap.
She simply adjusted her glasses.
"Your timing wavered in the first sequence," she said evenly, her voice smooth and controlled, each syllable measured. "If you cannot maintain discipline in rehearsal, you will not survive a live stage. Again."
No shouting. No dramatic criticism.
Just expectation.
The performer swallowed and nodded, visibly shaken.
Sophie leaned closer to me. "She doesn't yell," she whispered. "That's the scary part."
Ms Catherine Whitmore sat back in her chair once more, hands folding together gracefully as she observed the stage. There was no cruelty in her expression—only a relentless standard. The kind that carved raw talent into brilliance or broke it entirely.
"Legends say, she hasn't let anyone pass the first sequence before," Claire whispered in my ear. "Even the Occult Research Club knows that much. We tried researching it once, and apparently," She looked me in the eye. "We found out that if you really passed the first sequence, there will be a challenge waiting in the second."
"Next up after Magret Reeves is Isabella Nightfall from Class 5-B. Please get ready," the judges called.
"You're up next, good luck," Sophie patted my back.
"Don't worry, I'll support you throughout the whole routine, even if she rejects you." Claire held up her poster.
"Thanks, guys, I'll do my best!" As I walked towards the stage, Nibbles poked his head out of my pocket. "Let's do this, Nibbles!" I patted his head. "I'll give you two cookies as a reward later."
"Squeak!" Nibbles squealed with excitement.
The stage lights felt warmer than they had from the audience, brighter too, almost blinding as I stepped into their centre. The polished wooden floor stretched wide before me, smooth and mercilessly open, offering nowhere to hide. From this angle, the judges' table seemed farther away, yet Ms Catherine Whitmore's presence felt closer—like the point of a needle aimed precisely at my spine.
I stopped at the marked centre point and bowed politely. "Good afternoon. I'm Isabella Nightfall from Class 5-B."
"Begin when ready," Ms Whitmore replied without inflexion.
I exhaled slowly and moved into my starting position.
For a split second, doubt flickered at the edge of my thoughts. Legends say no one passes the first sequence. Even the Occult Research Club looked into it. A challenge awaits in the second.
My fingers brushed lightly against the orange mark on my hand, hidden from view. Nibbles shifted in my pocket, tiny paws pressing against the fabric as if reminding me he was there.
Right.
Not alone.
The music began.
The first sequence was technical—clean footwork, sharp isolations, controlled transitions. No dramatic flair, no room for improvisation. It was a test of discipline, not creativity. I let the rhythm anchor me, keeping my movements crisp and economical. Every step landed exactly on beat. Every turn stopped precisely where it should. I could feel Ms Whitmore's gaze tracing my lines, measuring angles, calculating flaws.
Halfway through, I heard it.
The faint scratch of a pen.
Not writing criticism.
Observing.
I pivoted into a tight double spin, lowering seamlessly into a glide before rising into a clean extension. My breathing remained steady. Controlled. The stage no longer felt intimidating; it felt familiar. Like the dance room at home. Like Earth. Like the girl I used to be.
When the first sequence ended, the last note hung in the air for a breath too long.
Silence followed.
I straightened.
The other two judges murmured among themselves, pens moving quickly. Ms Whitmore did not speak immediately. She leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin as she studied me—not my posture, not my clothes.
Me.
At last, she began calmly and evenly, "You have an unexpectedly refined technique."
Unexpectedly?
"But refinement without presence is hollow." She adjusted her glasses. "You are thinking too much."
My heart skipped.
Thinking too much?
Before I could respond, she closed the folder in front of her with a soft but decisive snap.
"Proceed to the second sequence."
The auditorium inhaled sharply.
Sophie gasped so loudly I could hear it even from the stage. Claire's poster wobbled in her grip.
I could hear Claire scribbling notes into her notebook frantically, her face looking shocked as if I had defied gravity.
"She passed," someone whispered behind me. "She passed the first sequence."
"This sequence," she continued, folding her hands together, "will test adaptability. You will perform to a track you have never heard before."
One of the other judges pressed a button.
The speakers crackled—
And then—
A bright, high-energy pop intro exploded through the hall.
Synth. Beat drop. Claps.
It was undeniably idol music.
Upbeat. Flashy. Fast tempo.
The kind that demanded not just technique—but charisma.
Sophie gasped from the audience. "Idol genre?! That's way too hard without practice!!"
Claire narrowed her eyes. "They're testing stage presence."
Ms Whitmore adjusted her glasses. "An idol is not merely someone who dances correctly. An idol commands attention."
The instrumental built quickly.
Three seconds.
Two.
One.
The verse hit.
I didn't hesitate.
The moment the rhythm settled, my body responded instinctively. My shoulders rolled smoothly into the beat, hips snapping into a sharp accent before I pivoted forward with confidence. I hadn't planned the choreography, but my instincts guided me. My years of practice, my memories from Earth, the countless hours in front of mirrors—they fused seamlessly.
If the first sequence was discipline—
This was domination.
I moved across the stage with speed and precision, but this time my eyes were alive. I wasn't looking at the floor. I wasn't calculating angles.
I was performing.
When the pre-chorus built, I stepped forward, lifted the mic stand prop placed at centre stage, and spun it smoothly before sliding it aside with effortless flair. My smile wasn't shy.
It was electric.
The chorus dropped.
And I exploded into motion.
Sharp footwork. Clean arm lines. A controlled body wave that travelled from my shoulders down to my fingertips before snapping into a powerful turn. My hair fanned out as I spun, stopping dead-centre on beat. I hit the final pose of the phrase with one hand extended outward, chin tilted slightly upward, eyes locked forward as though facing a stadium instead of a school auditorium.
The room felt different.
The air felt charged.
Nibbles shifted excitedly in my pocket, but this time I didn't need magic. The glow at my fingertip stayed dormant. This wasn't about power.
This was about me.
The second chorus intensified, and I incorporated freestyle elements—slight gestures, a wink toward the audience, a playful step-slide that made the front row gasp. I pointed toward Sophie for half a beat, and she nearly fainted on the spot, shaking her pom-poms like her life depended on it.
Even Claire's calm composure cracked—her posture lifted higher, eyes wide.
The bridge slowed momentarily.
Instead of toning down, I stepped forward confidently and sang the ending line live.
Clear.
Steady.
Bright.
The note rang through the auditorium without wavering.
And then—
The last beat dropped.
I executed a clean triple spin, landing perfectly on count, then struck the ending pose with one knee slightly bent, one hand resting over my heart, the other extended outward as if reaching for the crowd.
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Then—
One of the side judges' pens slipped from his hand and clattered onto the table.
The female judge beside him inhaled sharply, eyes wide.
"Her control…" she whispered.
The male judge leaned back in his chair. "That wasn't a student-level performance."
And then—
For the first time since the auditions began—
Ms Catherine Whitmore smiled.
It wasn't wide.
It wasn't dramatic.
But it was unmistakable.
The kind of smile a master gives when they recognise something rare.
She began to clap.
Once.
Twice.
Steady.
The other two judges quickly followed, their applause filling the auditorium. The audience, stunned for a moment too long, burst into cheers seconds later.
Sophie screamed so loudly I was certain the roof might crack.
Claire blinked twice as if confirming she hadn't hallucinated the entire thing.
Ms Whitmore raised a hand, and the room quieted almost instantly.
She looked directly at me.
"Isabella Nightfall," she said, voice calm but no longer cold. "You understand something most performers take years to grasp."
She paused.
"An idol does not ask for attention."
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
"She becomes impossible to ignore."
A soft murmur spread again.
She closed her folder.
"You are accepted."
The words were simple.
But they echoed.
And in that moment, standing beneath the stage lights with my heart pounding and my future quietly unfolding—
I knew.
This was only the beginning.
"Ah, all those binge-watching of J-pop MVs in the hospital paid off!!" I slung my bag over my shoulder. An idol, huh? That sounds nice. I can sing and dance, that's what I have always wanted to do. Being an idol is perfect for me.
"Hey, Ella, how did you do that?" Sophie caught up with me from the back.
"I don't know, my instincts kicked in," I smiled.
"Are you sure? Those moves were unheard of. That choreography of yours was really creative. Even if others could do it, they will not be able to polish it off so perfectly." Claire raised an eyebrow as she walked beside me. As expected of my intelligent friend, Claire. She has already caught on.
"Yep, I'm pretty sure. I've only seen some choreography of pop music, so I decided to go with some dance moves to throw everyone off guard. After all, if I were to do the same choreography as them, that would be boring, right?" I winked at her.
"Yeah, I guess…" Claire scratched her chin. "Your adaptability is truly amazing."
"Thanks!"
"Oh? Someone is waiting outside the school gates. Who could that be at this hour?" Sophie asked.
We walked closer towards the school gates to see…Brother?
"Brother?"
"Oh, Ella, we were waiting for you. How did it go?"
We?
I stepped outside the school gates to see Big Sis next to him, smiling warmly at me.
"Big Sis?"
"Hi, Ella! How was school today?" She opened her arms. I immediately bolted into her warm embrace. Back on Earth, I've always wanted a big sister like Kaori to dote on me.
"It was great! I got into the club!" I looked up at Big Sis with a huge smile.
"I knew you could do it," my brother patted my head. Though he said it flatly, I could see a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Ella, your older siblings are so handsome and pretty! You definitely got some good genes there. They're so cool!" Sophie exclaimed.
"You three have great chemistry. Each person compliments each other, whether it's looks, personality or elements." Claire commented.
"Who are these?" Big Sis squeezed my squishy and soft cheeks.
"They're my friends, Sophie and Claire," I struggled to say.
"Hi, can we go over to Ella's house after school tomorrow?" Sophie said immediately, a hopeful smile plastered on her face.
"Yeah, sure!" Big Sis replied without hesitation.
"Then we need to go grab a few things from the supermarket today," Brother took out his phone to note that done.
"Mm, and this is the life of Isabella Nightfall," I thought to myself as I held Big Sis and Brother's hands.