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The internet was still ablaze with chaos—even after two full weeks. The director faced intense backlash. Every show, every film he'd ever produced was now getting bombarded with bad reviews and boycotts. But life didn't stop for anyone.
Maria stayed in a hotel to recover from her wounds. Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed her hand, but it still stung. Yet even while bandaged, she didn't slow down.
She was buying stocks.
She had officially launched her own company.
She continued performing as the masked girl—quietly sewing, crafting, and occasionally performing anonymously online.
Strangely enough, she'd also been reading more. Neo had started sending her books. Weird, considering Neo didn't even like her and hardly attended class. He only showed up when he felt like it. It was probably Mike who told him to send them.
---
Maria finally returned to school.
Her presence stirred a silent wave across campus. Students whispered. Some tried to discreetly snap pictures when they thought she wasn't looking. Her desk was buried in snacks and gifts—clear signs that the school had been watching the recent variety show.
Her follower count had exploded to three million.
It was enough to launch a strong debut in the entertainment world—when she was ready.
Then Ivy walked in.
With that ever-so-sweet voice, just loud enough for others to hear, she said:
"Maria, I hope you're okay now. I actually came to your house a few days ago to check on you. But your parents said you don't stay there anymore—or even visit. Is everything alright?"
Maria smiled. "Oh, thanks for checking in. I'm not living at home anymore—don't want to add extra stress to the family. They're dealing with a lot. You'd know that though, right? I told you, bestie. Did you forget?" she said, pouting dramatically.
Ivy kept her face soft, lowering her gaze. But her inner thoughts burned.
"This bitch knows how to lie now?"
"I might've forgotten," Ivy said sweetly. "You know I've been busy. With the film set—since I'm a screenwriter—and tests are coming. Plus, the Global Painting Competition is near. I need to practice."
The class swooned. The Ivy fan club was alive and well.
Maria resisted the urge to vomit.
"Drama queen. Even ten Tessa's can't beat Ivy's white-moonlight act."
"Well," Maria said coolly, "I'm also participating in the global painting competition. And I'm working on a novel. But it's hard to practice with an injury."
The class blinked. Shocked.
Right. Maria could paint. They remembered the art show. And now she was writing a novel too? And she played violin. And she could sing?
The whispers were louder now.
"Wasn't she supposed to be untalented?"
Some students felt like slapping their past selves.
But not everyone was supportive.
"It doesn't matter," a boy snapped. "Did you all forget the bet Maria made with Kira about the next test?"
Silence fell.
The bet.
> "Let's take the next school test. If I lose, I'll never sing or perform again. I'll write the word donkey across my forehead and become your slave forever. If I back out, I'll pay you 50 million."
That was Maria's oath.
> "If I lose," Kira had said coldly, "I'll leave the school. I'll tattoo donkey on my forehead—and I'll never join another school competition again. If I break it, I'll pay you 20 million monthly."
The whole school remembered.
Kira, the top-ranked student—top ten nationally.
Maria? Ranked 55th out of 60.
With her family's current crisis, how could she even afford to lose?
Maria chuckled. "Relax. Isn't the test next week? Why are you all worried already?"
Ivy's gaze turned thoughtful.
She remembered.
Maria had once ranked top ten—back in junior year. But now, they were halfway through their second year of high school. Things had changed.
Still…
Ivy reached out and held Maria's hand, smiling sweetly.
"Even if Maria loses—so what? I'm here for her. And so is her sister, Oliver."
At the mention of Oliver, Maria's eyes darkened.
She hadn't seen her sister in weeks. It was said she left for another city… something about a competition.
Maria didn't say a word.
Here's a polished and structured version of your scene with improved grammar, clarity, pacing, and emotional depth while preserving the drama and intent:
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Break time arrived, and the cafeteria buzzed with students. Maria walked in alone and sat at a quiet table, minding her own business. Moments later, Chris entered, his presence naturally drawing eyes. To Maria's surprise, he chose the table right next to hers.
Maria tried not to look, but she could feel the ripple of whispers and glances.
Then Ivy entered.
As if trying to test the waters, she confidently walked over to Chris, a soft smile on her lips. "Brother Chris, you're here today? I thought you had traveled," Ivy said sweetly, loud enough for others to hear. Maria raised her head slightly, her eyes landing on them for just a moment before dropping back down to her food.
Chris popped a grape into his mouth lazily, giving Ivy a slow look. "What snack?"
"The cookie I made. I gave it to your butler. Did you like it?" Ivy asked, still smiling, though her tone was more cautious now.
Chris leaned back, resting his hand on his chin. A cold glint flickered through his eyes. "Which cookie? And how do you know where I live?"
Ivy blinked. "Brother Chris, don't tease. We're neighbors," she laughed awkwardly.
Maria paused mid-bite, watching quietly. Her thoughts churned. So they were close in the past. Maybe even now. How foolish I was to ignore this back then. Chris liked Ivy, but Ivy loved Mike. What a tragic little triangle. Fate really enjoys playing games.
But Chris wasn't done.
"Oh," he said, dragging the word. "You're the girl who keeps sneaking into my house, dropping off gifts, or staring at my window from your balcony."
The smile on Ivy's face began to twitch.
"My butler kept wondering whether to call the police or toss you out. Security tightened up, but somehow, you still got in. Persistent. And that cookie?" Chris tilted his head. "I gave it to my servant's kids. No point wasting food. Maybe just send it to them directly next time."
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Also, your perfume is suffocating. Could you move? I'm trying to nap."
With that, Chris rested his head on the table, as if talking that much had exhausted him.
The cafeteria went dead silent.
First, because Chris had actually spoken—a lot. Second, because every single word had been a razor blade. Sharp. Public. Final.
Then a soft chuckle broke the silence.
Maria.
She sipped her drink, smiling. "Sister Ivy, don't be mad. Your hard work paid off. His servant's kids liked it."
Ivy's frozen smile cracked. Her lips trembled, and her eyes glistened, but she forced herself not to break down.
And then—
Laughter. A ripple, then a wave.
"Oh my god. That's the most I've heard Chris talk in a year—and it was just to roast someone," a girl whispered behind her hand.
Maria calmly pulled out a book and began reading as she continued to eat, unaffected by the chaos.
She glanced at Chris from the corner of her eye. This Chris… he feels different. In the past, he always had this dead look in his eyes, as if the world was a bad sitcom he was forced to watch. Talking seemed like pain. Moving? Torture. He'd rather lie down and pretend people didn't exist.
But now… this version of Chris has more expression. Still bored. Still lazy. But sharper. And he actually talks.
Still, Maria couldn't help but wonder—Why say that to Ivy? Weren't they close? Or maybe… they aren't close yet?
In her past life, Ivy claimed they slept together. Chris supported her. That he was her lover.
Maria shook her head, brushing the thoughts away, and returned to her food as Ivy stood there—frozen, humiliated, and speechless.
---
After class, Maria headed to the shooting range.
The place was nearly empty. Jake wasn't there—only the instructor, who sat cross-legged on a mat, munching on an energy bar while someone practiced nearby. He didn't even lift his head when she entered.
"Go to the wall. Star will handle your training," the instructor said calmly, pointing without looking. "When you're done, I'll teach you something."
Maria raised an eyebrow but followed the direction. As she approached the wall, Star—silent as ever—stepped out from the shadows and walked toward her. Without a word, he pressed a hidden panel. The wall slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a dark passage.
Maria stepped forward cautiously.
"This is a virtual reality training room," Star said, leaning against the wall with a cold expression. "Take the gun. Your goal is simple—stay alive. The pain is real. Ninety-nine percent simulation accuracy. One hundred percent pain."
He gestured toward the suit and weapon rack. "Just wear the suit. Try not to die."
Maria looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "Did Jake tell you to set this up?"
Star didn't answer. But his silence was an answer. He turned and walked away.
Maria reached out, her hand hovering over the weapon Jake had personally given her. She gripped it tightly, the metal cool against her skin.
As she held it, a memory surfaced.
The first time she used a gun.
The first person she killed.
But there was no fear in that memory. No guilt. No regret.
She had taken a life—and she would do it again if she had to. Again and again. Without hesitation.
She slid into the suit, fastened the buckles, and stepped into the simulation chamber. The world flickered and transformed before her eyes.
Within three minutes—she failed.
But she didn't stop.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, she adjusted. Improved. Adapted. She even turned the difficulty up to hard mode. Sweat dripped down her spine, the pain of the virtual wounds sharp and searing.
It felt real. The gun felt real. The blood, the tension, the danger.
The only difference?
She was killing robots.
Not people.
But even in simulation, her hands were steady. Her breath calm.
She was made for this.
Maria was starting to get the hang of it.
All she had to do was imagine Ivy's face on every target.
Each time she pulled the trigger, her aim grew sharper, her reflexes faster. She even changed the environment settings—switching from the bland training field to war-torn alleys, neon-lit urban streets, and rain-drenched rooftops. She wasn't just surviving anymore. She was adapting. Learning.
When she finally stepped out of the simulation chamber, sweat clinging to her neck and a satisfied smirk on her lips, the instructor was seated beside a laptop, watching the data stream from her session.
He raised an eyebrow. "You've got talent. If you ever want to become an assassin, give me a call," he said, tapping his temple. "I also teach sniper skills—long-range kills, clean exits."
Maria chuckled as she approached him, wiping her hands on a towel. "i new it this place really isn't as simple as it looks," she muttered.
She stopped in front of him. "I'm not interested in being an assassin," she said, voice smooth, "but the sniper training? I'll take that."
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes calm. "Also… fighting techniques. Weapon handling. If you can teach me, I'd appreciate it."
The instructor gave a dry laugh. "I don't come cheap."
Maria didn't flinch. "Tell Jake to pay. He'll be more than happy to."
The instructor stared at her for a moment before breaking into a slow, knowing smile. "Alright, then. Let's see how far you're willing to go."
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