He shouted stubbornly, pointing his small hand toward the piano:
"That's my sister's piano, not yours!"
Karina lifted her head calmly and looked at him with a lofty gaze, then said in a low, steady voice that hid her boredom beneath control:
"My dear, this piano belongs to me, not to Sina. What's wrong with you today?"
But the boy didn't back down; instead, he clung tighter to his words, yelling angrily:
"No! It's my sister's! Her name is carved on the frame—it was a gift from Father!"
Karina sighed deeply, then turned toward the piano, staring at it as if wondering how to silence it rather than explain herself. At last, she replied with biting coldness:
"Be quiet, you little nuisance."
San approached her in trembling steps, his voice rising from anger to defiance:
"Shut your mouth, you motherless girl!"
The air between them froze for a moment. Karina turned toward him slowly, her eyes gleaming with a cold light that held nothing but threat.
She stepped closer until their breaths collided and said in a quiet, knife-edged tone:
"Don't make me tear that filthy mouth of yours."
The boy shouted again, his small pride refusing to yield:
"I won't be quiet!"
Karina didn't hesitate. She raised her hand and slapped him hard—the sound cracked through the air. The child froze, eyes wide in shock, as a single tear rolled down his flushed cheek.
She said with deadly calm, looking down at him:
"You'd better learn some manners."
San ran out of the room in tears, his sobs fading into the long corridor.
Karina looked back at the piano again, studying the golden frame that bore the name "Sina." She soon realized it was only a sticker, not an engraving. A faint, mocking smile curved her lips as she murmured to herself:
"Just a sticker... Since when did Sina even have a piano?"
Not long after, San returned—this time with his mother, Aunt Elena—who stormed into the room, her eyes blazing with fury as she gripped her son's arm tightly.
She shouted at Karina, her voice trembling with emotion:
"Is this how you were raised?! You strike a younger boy because you're stealing something that isn't yours?!"
Karina remained standing where she was, her hands clasped before her, her gaze calm as though she heard nothing.
She replied in a measured tone laced with disdain:
"I didn't steal anything... it's just a sticker, not an actual engraving."
Elena's voice rose sharper:
"That's no excuse! You—"
But Karina cut her off with deliberate coldness, lifting her chin slightly:
"Remember who I am... I could tell Father someone broke his confinement orders."
The words died on Elena's tongue. The anger drained from her face; she found no reply. With only a brief sigh, she took her son's hand and left the room in tense silence.
---
That night, a heavy stillness enveloped the palace. Even whispers seemed muted, as if afraid of something unseen.
Karina sat near her window when a soft knock sounded at the door.
A familiar voice came from the other side:
"It's Robinson... Your Grace?"
She rose and opened the door. He stood there, holding a pale envelope, respect etched into his features.
He spoke softly:
"My lady... a letter from a stranger."
She took the envelope with evident curiosity. As she broke the seal, a faint scent of old ink drifted out—one she remembered well.
The letter was from Ron. A flicker of surprise lit her eyes as she read slowly, as though reading memories rather than mere words.
> "Dear Karina,
I miss your laughter. How long has it been since we last met?
I think I saw you recently with one of your relatives...
Isn't it time we meet again? Let's play as we used to...
—Ron."
She lifted her eyes from the page, a faint, wistful smile touching her lips. Ron... The name alone was enough to awaken years of buried longing.
She took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a trembling reply:
> "Ron,
My longing for you is beyond measure, but circumstances have delayed me.
I'll make sure to set a time soon for our meeting.
Please understand my absence.
—Karina."
She placed the letter into another envelope and sealed it with a quiet smile before whispering faintly to herself:
"Why did you disappear so suddenly, Ron? Where were you when I needed you?"
---
The following days passed slowly, almost painfully so, until the fourteenth arrived.
Karina sat before the calendar hanging in her room, her gaze fixed on the sixteenth—the day of the competition.
Her room was filled with old musical instruments; the scent of wood and ivory lingered in the air. She rubbed her sore fingers, raw from endless practice, as if preparing them for a decisive battle.
Moments later came a soft knock, and Sina entered gracefully, wearing her usual deceitful smile.
She spoke in a honeyed tone:
"My dear sister Karina, I need a small favor."
Karina looked up slowly, already knowing what was coming.
"What is it?" she asked coolly.
Sina continued in her practiced, gentle voice:
"I've entered the piano competition... but I don't have a good piece to perform. Could you compose one for me?"
A strange light flashed in Karina's eyes—a mix of anger and cunning. She remembered how Sina had once stolen her glory, performing her piece 'Moon of Mist' before everyone and claiming all the applause while Karina remained behind the curtain.
This time, it would not happen again.
Karina smiled coldly.
"Of course, dear. I'll compose a piece that will leave everyone speechless."
The words sounded like a promise, but it was not a promise of victory—it was a promise of downfall.
That night, Karina sat at her piano, golden light slipping through the velvet curtains to caress the worn ivory keys. She pulled a yellowed sheet of paper from her drawer, took a pen engraved with the family crest, and began to write.
The notes poured not from her heart but her mind—precise, twisted, filled with deceptive transitions and intricate tempo shifts that required a master's hand. She knew perfectly well that Sina would never keep up.
When she finished, she held up the sheet to the light and, at the bottom, wrote in neat, small letters:
"Let this music be a requiem for buried pride."
A faint smile touched her lips as she closed the notebook.
The trap was set.
But deep down, she knew this musical war would not end with a single note—it would begin with the first.
---
Sina said brightly, her voice ringing with false triumph:
"Thank you, sister! I'll return to my room to practice!"
She clutched the music sheet with exaggerated care, as if carrying a piece of gold, then hurried out, the hem of her pink gown brushing the carpet like a trace of elegant deceit.
Her steps were quick and nervous, her eyes gleaming with the hunger known only to those who chase glory they don't deserve.
Karina remained still, the silence wrapping around her like a cloak of ice.
She did not move—only looked toward the door that had just closed behind Sina and whispered inwardly, calm as a verdict:
"Enjoy your laughter while you can, Sina... Tomorrow, your false wings will break on the stage of truth."
---
The Next Day — The Day of the Competition
The grand hall was filled with light and murmurs. The crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling scattered their glow like falling stars, dancing upon golden mirrors and silk-blue walls.
The mingled scent of candles and rich perfume made the air thick—luxurious yet tense.
In the front rows sat nobles and esteemed musicians, their refined faces turned toward the stage with expectant arrogance.
Every breath seemed to wait for that moment—the moment that separated those born for glory from those doomed to fall beneath it.
The contestants came and went, one after another: hesitant melodies, scattered applause, polite smiles.
Until finally, the announcer's voice echoed:
"Next contestant — Sina Bionale!"
A hush fell over the hall. Some recognized her—the daughter of a house known for its beauty, not its talent.
She stepped onto the stage with carefully measured grace, as if walking upon strands of light.
Her pale-blue gown flowed around her like water, and the faint rustle of silk against the wooden stage sounded like the whisper of treacherous pride.
She sat at the piano, her posture radiating false confidence.
Her hands trembled, though her forced smile tried to hide the fear clawing at her chest.
She believed—or wanted to believe—that the piece bearing her name would crown her as the finest performer of the night.
She bowed slightly, closed her eyes, and let her fingers touch the keys.
At first, the opening note rang out soft and clear—a promise of triumph. The audience leaned in.
Then came the second note... the third... until the melody began to twist strangely, descending into patterns her untrained ear couldn't follow.
Her fingers hurried, searching for the next note, but the sheet before her was full of shifting tempos and deceptive phrases she had never practiced.
Her breathing quickened; panic crept across her face.
The keys clashed beneath her hands, a jumble of broken sounds with no beginning and no end.
The applause stopped. The crowd's eyes began to dart about—something was clearly wrong.
Sina lifted her head for a moment—and met Karina's eyes from the third row.
Karina was smiling—not mockingly, but with serene certainty, as though watching a prophecy unfold.
Sina's hands trembled. A sharp note cracked through the silence like shattered glass, followed by a dreadful dissonance that made some spectators exchange uneasy glances.
She tried to regain the rhythm, to salvage what was lost, but the composition was a perfect trap—every note pulling her deeper into chaos.
At last, she stopped.
Frozen before the piano, sweat dripping down her brow, while the silence in the hall was harsher than any applause could ever be.
After what felt like an eternity, whispers began to ripple through the room:
"Was that really her piece?"
"I've never heard such a mess before..."
Sina bowed with a trembling motion, then fled the stage, her tears trailing behind her.
Meanwhile, Karina sat unmoving, her face composed as if nothing unexpected had occurred.
On the edge of the stage, she noticed the music sheet—the cause of the disaster—fluttering on the floor like a broken wing.
She smiled faintly, inaudibly, and whispered to herself as she looked toward the piano:
"Even music rejects falsehood, Sina... Your melody was nothing but the echo of fragile pride that cannot last."