Lani's melody dissipated into the digital sea. In a studio across town, Scott swiveled his office chair. At 26, he possessed a noble air: slightly tousled hair, a guitar pick always within reach, and sharp eyes that seemed to read sheet music in the air. Scott wasn't just a musician; he managed a small agency focused on authentic talents that the mainstream industry usually ignored.
He followed the V-Tuber scene in his spare time, fascinated by the blend of technology and art. But Lani's last broadcast had paralyzed him.
— What a bass line...
— Scott murmured, leaning closer to the monitor.
— That's not just technique. It's visceral.
He saw the chat scrolling frantically, but his eyes were fixed on the movements of Lani's avatar. Scott recognized a hit and, more importantly, he recognized an artistic soul when he heard one. Without wasting time, he opened his contact panel.
— Lani, you have no idea the potential you have
— he said to the screen, with the smile of someone who has just discovered treasure. He began to draft a direct email, musician to musician:
"I saw your stream today. You have something that can't be taught. I want to take your music to the next level. Can we talk? – Scott, Phantom Agency."
He clicked send, unaware that the message would cross the city and land directly on the phone of a girl with social phobia.
The Prince and the Coffee Shop
The morning at the coffee shop followed its usual rhythm. Isaac was focused on grinding the beans, trying to push from his mind the lyrics to Lani's song he had heard the night before.
Afonso was sitting at an isolated table in the darkest corner, armed with his laptop and headphones. He watched Isaac with admiration. To Afonso, Isaac was like a seinen protagonist
—someone who carries the responsibilities of the coffee shop with dignity (unlike David). Afonso craved that calm, but his mind was a whirlwind of cynicism and insecurity.
Sasha entered the shop, huddled in her coat. She approached the counter where Isaac stood.
— H-hi, Isaac... good morning. The usual, please.
— Good morning, Sasha. One black coffee coming up
— Isaac smiled. He noticed she looked more exhausted than usual, as if she had stayed up all night.
At that moment, Stella walked in. Seeing David, she felt a pang of shame for what had happened that day and went straight toward Sasha. David saw her pass and went back to work.
— Sasha! You didn't answer my messages. I was worried
— Stella said in her tough tone, slamming her sketchbook on the counter.
— Sorry, Stella... I... I was busy editing the song
— Sasha trembled as she replied.
Isaac overheard the comment by chance, when suddenly...
The Stranger
Scott walked through the door. He didn't look like an ordinary customer; he wore an impeccably cut overcoat over a designer turtleneck. Every detail, from the discreet wristwatch to the perfectly styled hair, exuded sophistication and wealth. He had the "clean" and magnetic look of a K-drama lead
—a mix of classic beauty and an aura of authority.
Valentina, who was checking the orders, arched her eyebrows and gave a side smile, visibly impressed.
— David, wipe the counter, fast! I think a prince got lost on his way to the studio and ended up here — she whispered, though she was clearly enjoying the presence of someone so elegant in her shop.
David stopped with the cloth in his hand, jaw dropped.
— Man, he looks like he stepped straight out of a movie. Isaac, look at this guy's style!
Isaac, maintaining his composure, looked up. He felt a sting of something he couldn't define. Scott had a presence that "filled" the room—something Isaac, in his constant attempt to be invisible and solitary, avoided at all costs. Isaac adjusted his gentle, fake smile, preparing to serve him.
First Contact
Scott walked to the counter with natural elegance. He didn't know anyone there, but his sharp, observant eyes scanned the place with professionalism. He was looking for something money couldn't buy: authenticity.
— Good morning
— Scott said. His voice was calm and polished.
— A double espresso, please. No sugar.
— Good morning. One moment, please
— Isaac replied, starting to prepare the coffee.
While he waited, Scott turned slightly toward the room. He noticed Afonso in the corner, who was staring at him with a look of pure cynical disdain. Afonso thought: "Here comes the perfect guy, the hero of youth that everyone loves... how irritating."
Then, Scott's gaze landed on Sasha. She was so huddled up she seemed to want to merge into the wall. But something about her caught the manager's attention: the way she held her pen over her music notebook was rhythmic, almost as if she were playing an invisible instrument.
Scott received the coffee from Isaac's hands. Their fingers touched for a fraction of a second. Scott looked into Isaac's eyes and, behind the attendant's gentle smile, perceived a fog of deep sadness.
— You have a good smile
— Scott said, casual but direct.
— But it doesn't reach your eyes. It's a good disguise for customers, but terrible for someone who works with the truth.
Isaac froze for a moment, his smile wavering for the first time in months. No one had ever been so direct. Before Isaac could respond, Scott took his coffee and walked toward a table near Sasha's, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and an uncomfortable silence at the counter.
The Intruder
Sasha and Stella were at a table in the back, where the shadows were longest and the sound of the espresso machines reached them only as a distant echo. Sasha was hunched over her phone, her hands trembling as she extended one side of the headphones to her friend.
— Stella, listen to this...
— Sasha whispered, her eyes fixed on the tabletop.
— I used a specific compression technique for that beat. I wanted the bass to sound organic, almost like a single pulse... one that simulates a failing heart. It's meant to be felt, not just heard.
Stella put on the headphone, listened for a few seconds, and snorted, handing back the accessory and shaking her head.
— You overcomplicate things, Sasha. It's just a melancholy electronic beat.
Beside them, Scott, who had been sitting in silence, lowered his cup. The little that leaked from Sasha's phone
— that subsonic frequency and the sharp, fragmented timbre
— hit him with the precision of a metronome. He knew that structure.
He rose calmly and took the few steps to their table. His presence, tall and imposing, made Sasha shrink even further into her chair, hiding the phone against her chest.
— Actually
— Scott interrupted, his voice polished and deep
— that use of parallel compression to create a rhythmic vacuum is the mark of someone who doesn't just produce, but understands the physics of sound. It's a technical choice I've only seen in professionals... or right here, now.
Sasha froze. She felt the oxygen disappear from that part of the room. Slowly, she looked up and met Scott's analytical expression. The discomfort was palpable; for someone with social phobia, being "discovered" through her work by a stranger was the pinnacle of a nightmare.
— Who are you?
— Stella asked, crossing her arms with a hostile look.
— Were you eavesdropping on her?
Scott ignored Stella's aggressiveness, keeping his eyes fixed on Sasha, who was now trembling slightly.
— I'm an enthusiast of precision
— he replied, tilting his head with curiosity.
— And I'd recognize that granular synth anywhere. You're "Lani," aren't you? The person who posted that romantic but also depressing song on your channel. You have the hands of a musician and the eyes of someone who hasn't slept in days looking for the perfect mix.
Sasha's mouth went dry. She didn't know how to react. Scott leaned in a little closer, invading the safe space of the table.
— Tell me... where did such a shy girl learn to manipulate sound in such a depressing way?
— Scott asked, with an enigmatic smile that made the hair on Sasha's arms stand up.
The Flight
Scott's words
— "manipulate sound in such a depressing way"
— hit Sasha like an electric shock. It wasn't just the fact that he had heard it; it was the way he had identified her. Anonymity, her only shield, had just been shattered.
Sasha began to tremble visibly. Her eyes darted from Scott to her phone, and then to the café's glass door.
— I... I'm not... you're mistaken
— she stammered, her voice failing completely.
— Sasha? Are you okay?
— Stella asked, reaching out, but it was too late.
Sasha's survival instinct took control. In a sudden and clumsy movement, she grabbed her backpack, knocking over her chair in the process. The thud of the wood hitting the floor echoed throughout the café, drawing the gazes of Isaac and Afonso at the counter.
Without an excuse or a look back, she began stuffing her belongings into her bag any which way. Her score notebook and headphones were shoved inside as she stood up in a hurry, her heart hammering against her ribs at the same rhythm as the music Scott had just recognized.
— I have to go! Now!
— Sasha blurted out, her breath short and her eyes overflowing with terror.
She passed Scott like a blur, almost bumping into his shoulder. The feeling of being naked before that analytical gaze propelled her forward. She ran toward the exit, pushing the glass door so hard the bell jingled frantically
— a sharp sound that seemed to mock her desperation.
Scott remained standing by the table, watching her disappear down the sidewalk through the storefront window. He didn't try to stop her; he simply crossed his arms, wearing that intrigued smile of someone who finally finds the missing piece of a puzzle. At the counter, Isaac dropped his cleaning cloth, worried, ready to go after her.
The Intervention
Afonso, watching everything from his dark corner, felt his stomach churn. He hated the way Scott seemed to command the very air in the room without saying a single word. He saw Sasha's panic and Isaac's vulnerability.
He stood up, closing his laptop with a loud snap that drew everyone's attention. He walked toward the counter, stopping beside Scott on the way.
— The coffee here is good, but the silence used to be better before types like you showed up
— Afonso said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Scott finally smiled; a genuine smile, this time.
— Cynicism is also a great way to hide talent, you know?
— Scott replied, without taking his eyes off the counter.
— And you? You look like the kind of person who analyzes the world as if it were a bad script, but deep down, perhaps you're terrified of being nothing more than an unimportant side character.
Afonso froze. Valentina's coffee shop, which used to be a refuge for hidden secrets, seemed to have been invaded by a human X-ray.
The Confrontation
Isaac dropped the cleaning cloth on the counter. The dull thud was the signal that the curtain had fallen. He walked around the counter and headed toward the stranger's table. David and Valentina exchanged worried glances; Isaac never abandoned his post in the middle of a shift to confront a customer.
— You must be feeling very satisfied right now, aren't you?
— Isaac's voice came out low, but loaded with an authority no one there recognized.
The man, who was about to bring the cup to his lips, stopped mid-motion. He looked at Isaac with a slightly raised eyebrow, maintaining an absolute calm that only fueled Isaac's irritation.
— Satisfied? I'd say I'm intrigued
— the stranger replied, setting the cup down.
— This place is more interesting than the sign outside suggests.
— You walked in here, invaded her space, and threw a weight on her that she clearly cannot carry
— Isaac said, stepping closer.
— I don't know who you are or what you think you know about that girl, but you don't have the right to walk into a public place and scare people like that.
The Stranger's Game
The man leaned back, crossing his legs. He analyzed Isaac as if he were looking at a museum piece that had just revealed a crack.
— You protect her as if she were made of glass, boy...
— the stranger gave a cold smile, ignoring Isaac's tone.
— But glass, when it isn't polished, ends up forgotten in a dark corner. What I brought was an opportunity. Her talent is a scream, and you are trying to muffle it with this lukewarm coffee and this false sense of security.
— What you call "muffling," we call privacy
— Isaac shot back, fists clenched at his sides.
— She isn't a "talent" for you to collect. She is a person. And if you approach her or this counter with this little game again, I will personally make sure you are invited to leave.
The Exit and the Card
Afonso, who was still nearby, watched the scene in absolute silence. He noticed that the stranger didn't seem offended; on the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying Isaac's reaction.
The man rose slowly. He was slightly taller than Isaac, and his presence seemed to flatten the room. He took a black card with silver lettering from his overcoat pocket and placed it on the table, sliding it forward with his index finger toward Isaac.
— Give this to her when the panic passes. She will know what it's about
— the man said, in a polished, professional tone.
— And as for you... your smile doesn't reach your eyes. You live in a bubble of lies, serving tables so you don't have to face your own silence.
The stranger adjusted his overcoat and walked toward the exit without looking back. Before leaving, he stopped and looked at Valentina.
— The coffee was excellent. But the service...
— he looked at Isaac one last time
— ...was too honest for its own good.
The bell rang. The stranger disappeared onto the sidewalk.
Isaac picked up the card with trembling fingers. At the counter, Valentina and Stella rushed to him, curious and frightened.
— Who was that guy, Isaac?
— Stella asked, her voice still shaky.
— What did he say to Sasha? What is this card?
Isaac turned the card over. On it, it simply read: "Scott – Phantom Agency," followed by a phone number. Immediately after, Stella went after Sasha.
The silence that followed was suffocating. David was the first to speak, his voice thick with emotion:
— Man... Isaac... have you gone crazy? That guy looked like a movie villain!
Isaac didn't answer. He squeezed the black card with silver letters. His fingers were still trembling. He felt that, although he had defended Sasha, Scott had planted a seed of doubt that he didn't know how to pull out.
The Confrontation in the Middle of the Street
Sasha hit the sidewalk in a disoriented blur. To her, the noise of the cars and the murmur of the people were like radio static at maximum volume. She stopped near a park, hugging her own body, feeling as if the ground could disappear at any moment.
— Sasha!
— Stella reached her, blocking the crowd from her view.
— Breathe. Look at me, ignore the rest.
Isaac appeared right behind them, out of breath. In his hand, he clutched the black card. He looked at Sasha with a genuine concern that overflowed from his eyes
—something he rarely allowed to show.
— Are you okay?
— Isaac asked, his voice soft, trying not to startle her further.
— I... I'm so sorry about that. That guy had no right to talk to you like that.
Sasha lifted her face, her eyes red. She looked at Isaac and felt a pang in her heart. He didn't know. He was defending her because he was a good person, having no idea that she was the "Lani" he watched every night.
— He told me to give you this
— Isaac said, holding out the black card with silver letters.
— He said you would know what it's about.
Sasha hesitated, taking the card with trembling fingers. Her eyes read the name: Scott – Phantom Agency. She felt a chill. Scott had identified her in real life, but Isaac was still in the dark.
— He... he confused me with someone else, Isaac
— Sasha lied, her voice failing.
— He said nonsense about music... about a "talent." I was just scared.
Isaac frowned, looking at the card and then at her. Scott's words about "talent being a scream" still echoed in his mind. He felt there was something more, but seeing her state of panic, he decided not to press her.
— It doesn't matter what he said
— Isaac stated with a new firmness.
— No one has the right to invade your space like that. If he shows up again, or if you feel followed, let me know. I won't let anyone hurt you.
Stella exchanged a knowing look with Sasha. She knew the secret. She knew the card was for "Lani," not for "Sasha," but she kept the act going.
— Thank you, Isaac
— Stella said, taking the card and putting it in her own pocket to lift the weight from Sasha's hands. — I'm going to take her home. She needs silence now.
Isaac nodded, standing still on the sidewalk as the two walked away. He looked at his own hands, which were still trembling slightly. Scott's line about his "fake smile" and his "bubble of lies" throbbed in his head like a migraine.
Isaac's Return
The door creaked and Isaac entered. He looked like he had aged ten years in five minutes. The smile he always wore
—that "good guy" mask David knew so well
—had completely disappeared. He walked straight past David and Valentina, heading toward the back.
— Isaac! Man, are you okay?
— David tried to intervene, placing a hand on his shoulder.
— What was that? You almost broke the counter!
Isaac stopped but didn't look at David.
— I'm fine, David. I just... need to wash my face.
— No, you're not fine!
— David insisted, losing his joking tone.
— That guy said things... he talked about your smile, Isaac. What did he mean by "bubble of lies"?
Isaac finally turned his face. His eyes were bloodshot.
— He didn't mean anything, David! He's just an idiot trying to feel superior!
— Isaac's shout echoed through the coffee shop, making Valentina jump.
The silence that followed was worse than the scream. Isaac took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he tried to put the smile back on. It was a failed, trembling attempt, almost painful to watch.
— Sorry. I'm going to... I'm going to finish cleaning the tables.