---
The recording started playing.
"I know what you can give Chris to make him love you," Ivy's voice was heard.
"Really? Like what? Will it work? Nothing has worked so far—he just hates me more," Maria's voice responded.
"Listen to me. I want the best for you. I know boys—especially boys like Chris. They act hard to get, but he's secretly enjoying the attention. Soon, he'll start loving you. Trust me. I'm his neighbor—I know everything about him," Ivy continued.
"Oh… then what should I do?" Maria asked again.
"Give him a cake. He loves cake—especially peanut-flavored," Ivy's voice said.
The class fell into stunned silence as more recordings played one after another.
Suddenly, Ivy screamed and bit Maria's hand to break free, then lunged for the phone. Neo stepped in, grabbing Maria's wrist while flashing a smirk.
"Relax. The recording isn't over yet. Why are you in such a hurry?" he taunted.
The next recording began to play—Ivy suggesting Maria buy a pair of panties, even offering to choose which color to get.
"Stop! Stop!" Ivy screamed, covering her ears.
"And that's it. All the voice notes and call recordings we have," Maria said, holding up the phone. "So Ivy, why don't you continue your little act? Or does anyone still think she's a good friend?" Maria asked, pointing at Ivy.
Neo let go of Ivy, who dropped to the ground. She stood shakily, glaring at Maria.
"This is fake! All of it—fake, fake, fake! I never thought you'd stoop this low just to bring me down. Well done. You've really outdone yourself," Ivy hissed, clapping slowly.
"You showed them some recordings, but that doesn't prove I resent the gift. Your plan has a loophole, Maria. Just stop the drama already!" she screamed, making several students flinch. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to compose herself, before breaking into a sob.
At that moment, Chris walked into the classroom.
"The star of the show has arrived," Maria said dryly.
"Chris, tell them it wasn't me! Tell them Maria is the one with an unhealthy obsession with you. She's just using this to get your attention—she's gone too far!" Ivy cried, clutching his hand. "Tell her, brother Chris!"
Maria sneered and clapped slowly. "Perfect. Did it not occur to you that I don't like Chris anymore? I used to love him. Past tense. That ended the moment I saw the two of you for what you really are. Scum and snake—what a perfect match."
"Brother Chris, are you hearing this?" Ivy asked, still clinging to him.
Chris casually pulled his hand away, making the entire class gasp. He removed his earbuds and looked around lazily.
"What drama is it this time? Aren't you guys tired of jumping from one mess to another? Anyone watching would think this is a full-blown soap opera," he muttered, eyeing the growing crowd.
Neo smirked. "Then why not end it yourself? Who do you think sent the gift? Maria? She always bugged you, so it must be her—right?"
"I canceled the gift order the moment I saw their true colors. Why would I send a gift after that? I'd rather give panties to a beggar," Maria snapped.
"Gift? You mean the panties?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. Everyone nodded, bracing for his reaction.
Chris chuckled. "So that was for me? I thought someone sent it by mistake. Anyway, why would I want a girl's panties? She's not even my type. I like my girls… bigger—in certain areas," he added, eyeing Maria briefly before looking away in boredom. "Also, I don't even know who Ivy is. Do I even have a neighbor?"
The class went silent.
Maria's lip twitched. Her hand itched to slap someone. Neo chuckled and rubbed his forehead.
"Tsk. The person you begged for help doesn't even know you. This is getting boring. Let's just end it," Neo said, pulling out his phone. "I'll have my guy trace who called the security guard and used Maria's name to send the gift. And don't bother saying it's a lie now."
Ivy's face turned white. She clutched her head and screamed. Her friends rushed to hold her.
"Ivy's having a panic attack!" one cried out.
Maria walked over, dumped two bottles of water on Ivy's face, then reached for her shirt button.
Ivy stumbled back in shock.
"Looks like her panic attack suddenly healed," Maria said dryly, glancing at Neo.
Neo's hacker sent over the trace results within seconds—along with the voice call transcript. The culprit was Ivy.
The class looked at Ivy in silence. Her friends stepped away from her one by one.
Ivy dropped to her knees.
"Oh? Why are you all stepping back?" Maria said, her voice cold and mocking.
"Don't you want her as a friend? Didn't you say, 'How I wish I had a friend like this'?" Maria asked as she looked at them, then sneered. "Have you all seen Ivy's true colors now? Acting like she cares about me, when in truth, she was manipulating me for her own selfish reasons," Maria said calmly.
Ivy started laughing as she knelt, the sound growing louder and more unhinged. Then she stopped, tears running down her face, eyes filled with hatred as she looked at Maria.
"I did it. I've driven her away," Ivy kept repeating, confusing everyone. Then, without another word, she stood and walked out of the class under everyone's stunned gaze.
Maria rolled her eyes, unimpressed. What's she trying to pull now?
"Well, the drama is over, so you can all leave," Maria said, dismissing the remaining students. Then she walked over to Neo.
"Tell Mike I appreciate his help," Maria said softly.
"Oh? How did you know Mike helped and not me?" Neo teased with a grin.
Maria just gave him a flat look and walked past him.
---
And just like that, the class moved on. Ivy didn't return. That same day, the video revealing Ivy's true behavior went public. The first episode aired—and it went viral.
The next day, Maria's follower count exploded, and so did the popularity of the Mask Girl's designs. Her mysterious identity, powerful voice, and haunting elegance spread across the internet like wildfire.
Today marked the second episode—something fans had been eagerly waiting for. But this time, the format changed.
"This round won't be judged by fans," the host announced, smiling brightly from the center stage. "You'll be judged by professionals and will perform in front of a live audience."
The contestants tensed.
"But first," the host continued, "You'll have to go outside and attract a live crowd using only your singing. Whoever draws the largest audience will earn a special advantage for the second task—performing on stage in front of the judges. You guys will wear a wrist watch it tells how many crowd you haved And remember, five participants will be eliminated today."
The host stepped back with a wink. "Your mission starts now. Good luck!"
Other participants scattered across the city—some took the busiest shopping streets, others ran straight to crowded markets or lively teen parks, each trying to gather the biggest audience for their performance.
Maria walked alone toward one of the main streets, her steps calm and purposeful. But before she could take her spot, a group of girls strutted toward her like they owned the pavement. Leading them was Tessa, dressed like she was walking a runway.
Without warning, Tessa bumped into her shoulder—deliberate and sharp.
"Oops," she said with a smirk, not even pretending it was an accident.
"Sorry, loser," one of Tessa's lackeys sneered. "This is Tessa's stage now. Go find another sidewalk to beg on."
"Yeah," another added. "This area's reserved for winners—not background characters."
They brushed past her with practiced cruelty, heading toward the mall entrance like queens claiming their throne.
Maria didn't react. She simply watched them walk by, her face unreadable, eyes half-lidded in boredom—like their presence was no more interesting than dust on her sleeve.
Tessa took the center of the city's attention—right in front of the massive glass mall, where the foot traffic was constant and camera phones were always ready. Neon billboards glowed behind her, casting her in light like she belonged on stage. Her lips curved with confidence as she stepped into position.
She had chosen the prime spot—and she knew it.
Without waiting, she launched into her performance.
The music started—an upbeat, glittering pop track that echoed across the street. Tessa's voice followed, smooth and sugary, perfectly practiced. She sang with the precision of someone who'd rehearsed for hours in front of a mirror, knowing which angle made her jawline pop, which expressions made the crowd swoon.
Then came the dance.
Tessa spun, hair flying, her glittery outfit catching the light. Her moves were sharp, choreographed to the beat—nothing groundbreaking, but flashy enough to hold attention. She pointed at the crowd, winked, flipped her hair. People clapped, cheered, some even recorded. One by one, they left other performers to gather around her, drawn in by the energy.
Across the street, Maria stood with her arms folded, leaning slightly against a lamppost. She hadn't moved. Her face remained unreadable, expression flat.
She watched silently as Tessa danced like the street was her personal concert.
Tessa's lackeys had claimed smaller corners of the main street—less ideal, with less foot traffic. They tried to perform: some singing, some doing awkward freestyle dances. But it was clear they had expected Tessa's crowd to overflow and draw attention to them too.
Some of them cast glances at Maria—nervous but smug.
"At least we got some people watching," one of them whispered. "She's got nothing."
They relaxed a little, thinking the competition was already in their favor. Tessa was drawing a crowd, their own spots weren't completely dead, and Maria? She hadn't even started.
But Maria? She simply stared across the street with a calm that was almost eerie. Her eyes flicked once to Tessa's polished show—and then, slowly, she looked away.
As if it wasn't even worth her attention.
Then, without a word, Maria turned and walked toward a quieter street—not as crowded as the main one.
Maria walked into the quieter street—an old cobbled area lined with vintage shops, cozy cafés, and curious tourists. It didn't have the chaos or foot traffic of the mall, but it had something else: charm, perfect acoustics, and room to breathe.
She stopped beneath a wrought-iron street lamp, her silhouette framed by the soft golden glow of the evening sun. A few passersby glanced her way, intrigued by her beauty—but her cold, distant aura kept them at bay.
Maria's gaze drifted across the street, away from the flashing lights and screaming fans surrounding Tessa. Her eyes landed on a humble ice cream truck parked at the edge of the road. Its paint was faded, the bell a little rusty, but something about it felt… right. Calm. Real.
An old man sat behind the wheel, adjusting his cap and sipping tea from a thermos.
Maria approached, her steps light, her presence serene. The frost she'd worn earlier melted into warmth. She took a soft breath and smiled—genuine, gentle—the kind of smile that made time pause.
"Grandpa," she greeted kindly, "may I borrow your speaker for a moment?"
The old man blinked in surprise, then chuckled, charmed by her politeness. "For a pretty voice like yours? Sure," he said, handing her the well-worn speaker he used to call out ice cream flavors. "Give them something sweet."
Maria took it, and something in the air shifted.
Gone was the cold detachment from earlier. Now, it was like a spring breeze had swept through—gentle, warm, inviting. People started to slow their steps. Her aura had changed—like sunlight breaking through clouds. Comforting. Magnetic. She hadn't said a word, yet all eyes turned to her.
And then she began to sing.
Her voice—soft and delicate at first—drifted like a lullaby on the breeze. It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Her tone was raw, hauntingly beautiful. It touched hearts.
People stopped mid-step.
The melody was like a siren's call—emotional, unforgettable. Every word painted vivid pictures: of loss, quiet pain, and buried dreams. Her song awakened memories, pulling tears from strangers. Some stood frozen. Others wiped their eyes. All of them listened.
Then the tone changed.
Sadness faded into something deeper—chilling truths, silent pain, scars unseen. Goosebumps broke across arms. Her voice was no longer just music—it was a story, a confession, a storm of truth. It wasn't just heard. It was felt.
And then… hope.
Her voice rose, steadier, stronger. A spark ignited. No longer a victim's cry—but a survivor's anthem. A song of healing, of rising, of reclaiming joy.
People clapped. Some sang along. Many smiled through tears. The sorrow turned into celebration. Maria didn't just perform—she transformed the street into her stage.
And they followed her.
The old man opened the back of the truck, turning it into a moving stage. Maria stood in the open trunk, her hair dancing in the wind. The truck rolled slowly down the street—and the crowd followed like a wave.
Across the plaza, even the performers noticed the shift. Heads turned. Phones were lifted. Calls were made.
"Come quick—you have to hear this girl sing!"
The truck made one last turn—straight toward the mall.
Tessa froze mid-spin, flushed with confidence—until she heard the thunder of cheers.
They weren't for her.
Maria's voice soared as the truck rolled into the plaza—Tessa's stage.
It parked.
Right. There.
And Maria kept singing like she owned the city.
The crowd surged forward. Tessa stumbled back, lost in the sea of people. Someone bumped her shoulder. Another blocked her view. Her voice caught in her throat.
Maria never even glanced her way.
She sang like she belonged there.
The crowd pressed forward, and Tessa—and her lackeys—were pushed aside. They were forced to retreat as more people gathered. One of Tessa's lackeys even swayed to Maria's song, caught in the moment.
Tessa snapped.
She glared at the poor girl, then stormed toward mall security and the nearby police.
"There's a noise violation happening!" she shouted. "Shut her down!"
But the guards and officers couldn't even get close—blocked by the massive, captivated crowd.
They gave up.
The task ended.
And without a doubt—Maria won. By a landslide.
Tessa and her followers failed to even place.
Later, in the privacy of her dressing room, Tessa screamed. She knocked over chairs, ripped down posters, shattered a mirror. Her face was twisted with rage.
She had lost.
And the girl she once called a "background character"?
She had become the star.
Here's a revised and polished version of your fourth part, with improved grammar, flow, tension, and a cliffhanger at the end:
---
Tessa screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice raw with rage. One of her lackeys hesitantly stepped toward her, trying to offer comfort—but she made the mistake of speaking.
Unfortunately for her, Tessa wasn't in the mood.
SLAP!
The girl staggered back, eyes wide in shock as stars danced in her vision.
"What do you want, you useless bitch?!" Tessa shrieked, eyes wild. "All of you are pathetic!"
The girl bit her lip, then shakily pulled something from her pocket and held it out.
Tessa's eyes narrowed. Her expression shifted from fury to confusion. "What... is that?"
The girl didn't speak at first. Her hands trembled, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "It's not for you. I brought it for Maria... I swear, I never meant to use it on you."
The distrust in Tessa's eyes was unmistakable.
(Use "suspicion" or "mistrust" here, depending on your final tone. Example: Tessa stared at her, eyes full of suspicion.)
"Keep it far away from me," Tessa snapped, her voice low and venomous. "Or I swear—I'll make sure you die… and your whole family with you."
With that, she stormed out of the private room.
On her way to the stage, she caught sight of Maria walking past.
Tessa stood straighter, expecting a smug smirk, a taunt—anything. She was ready to throw words, to claw at Maria's pride if she had to.
But Maria?
She didn't even glance her way.
She walked right past her as if Tessa didn't exist—like she was nothing but air.
That hurt more than any insult.
It shattered her pride. A blow she hadn't expected.
The host's voice echoed through the venue, cheerful and bright:
"And with today's round over, we have our winner for Task One! Congratulations to Masked Singer Number 9! If she wins Task Two, she won't need to perform in the next episode!"
Applause erupted.
Maria had won—again. And the gap between her and the others? Massive.
Tessa clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
Back in the private room, she turned slowly toward the same girl she'd slapped. Her eyes gleamed with something darker.
"Use it," she ordered coldly. "Use it on Maria."
The girl hesitated, then nodded. Silently, she left the room.
She completed her task—quickly, quietly, she fell a vase as she was nervous she put the vase back .
the door was open as
Maria stepped inside…
Maria paused then walk in then dark
...................
I feel good today so I will give a small side story of why the vice principal of Maria school sorry former vice principal change and why enjoy
---
Mike left the private room, Mike entered the car.
"Sir, what should we do about those men?" his assistant asked.
"Kill them. Send their bodies to my uncle," Mike said coldly, scrolling through his phone. "And make sure the company he secretly opened goes bankrupt. But do it slowly—give him hope that he can fix it so he wastes all his money. Then destroy his hope. That's my gift to him… from his dear nephew."
The assistant lowered his gaze and left the car quietly.
"Drive to the school," Mike instructed. "Call all the members of the school council. Tell them the heir to the Night Empire wants to meet them."
"Yes, sir."
He made the call, not to honor them, but to show that they didn't deserve to get close to Mike—or even speak to his assistant.
When the car parked in the school garage, Mike didn't get out. Instead, he continued typing on his phone and held a virtual meeting. Two hours passed before he finally shut his laptop and stepped out, walking directly to the boardroom.
Inside, frustration simmered.
"What the hell is taking him so long? Doesn't he know we have more important things to do?"
"Tsk. Just because he's the heir to the Night Empire, he thinks he can walk all over us. Does he forget he's still a child compared to us?" a pot-bellied man scoffed.
"Why do you think he even called this meeting?" asked a woman in green. "He didn't say anything, just that he wanted to meet."
"Was it even him who called—or was it his driver? He must be angry. He wouldn't have done this otherwise," the principal muttered, tapping his fingers on the table.
"Who's afraid of a child?" the pot-bellied man sneered. The principal ignored him—if he wasn't afraid, he wouldn't have come so early and waited two full hours infact no one would have come here they feared him more than they feared the night empire or his family.
"He called the meeting, yet he's the one delaying. I can't take this—I'm leaving," someone said. But no one stood up. Instead, they coughed, sipped water, pretended not to hear.
Forget the Night Empire—Mike himself was more terrifying. To them, he wasn't just a young heir—he was a psychopath who need help his family are even afraid of him.
The boardroom doors swung open. One of Mike's bodyguards stepped in first, followed by Mike. His footsteps echoed like thunder, making the powerful men and women in the room tremble.
"You guys are complaining am I too late?" Mike asked as he took his seat, flanked by two bodyguards, with two more by the door. His voice was calm, almost apologetic—but his eyes told a different story, cold and merciless.
Awkward laughter followed.
"You're not late! You're very early—we'd have waited longer," the pot-bellied man said, forcing a smile.
"Like I care if you complain. It doesn't affect me," Mike replied, resting his head on his hand and glancing sideways at the man, who immediately shut up.
"I heard you're planning to expel a girl?" Mike asked softly.
They exchanged cautious glances, unsure of how to respond.
"Yes… the vice principal reported her," the woman in green answered carefully.
"She's a troublemaker," another woman said. "She embarrassed the school by exposing bribery. She also caused a scene with a student named Ella. Ella's parents filed a police report and involved the media. Oh—and she sent a pair of panties to a male classmate named Chris."
"Yes, and Chris's family is extremely influential," the pot-bellied man added with glee. "A girl like that is a disgrace. We should expel her and make her a scapegoat. She owes this school!"
"She should be blacklisted from all schools," another fat man said.
"I think that's too harsh," the principal said, carefully choosing his words. "We should let her explain. And… I don't believe she's guilty of all this."
Mike looked up slowly, tilting his head to study the room as others quickly rebuked the principal.
"I want to buy the school," Mike said softly.
Silence.
"You want to buy the school?" the woman in green gasped. "You want all of us to sell our shares?"
"Yes. I didn't stutter," Mike said. "And I want your shares in the Night Empire too. I'll pay hundreds of millions—for everything."
"You aren't serious!" the pot-bellied man roared, standing so quickly his belly jiggled. "You're robbing us! Just hundreds of millions? And you want our shares in both the school and the Night Empire?"
"Mike, let's not be hasty," another man began. "Some of us don't even have shares in the Night Empire. And those who do…"
His voice died as Mike looked him straight in the eyes.
Mike's bodyguards walked forward and handed each of them a folder.
An ominous chill filled the room. Inside the folders were documents detailing every shady deal, every crime, every secret. Even information about their family members. Deals that hadn't even happened yet.
The pot-bellied man collapsed into his chair, dazed.
Mike snapped his fingers, and his bodyguards handed them another set of documents.
"These are transfer forms. Sign them, and you'll have nothing to do with this school or the Night Empire anymore. I'll even be generous—ten thousand dollars each."
His smile wasn't a smile. Some of them collapsed; others vomited blood. They signed as they have no choice.
Mike pointed to the principal.
"You'll still be the principal you are smarter than the rest."
Then he left, bodyguards at his side.
He walked straight to the vice principal's office.
Inside, the vice principal was kissing a teacher. He froze when he saw Mike, scrambling to put on his clothes.
Mike leaned on the doorframe, unwilling to step into such a filthy office.
"It seems you're busy having fun. But it ends now," he said.
"What do you mean? Mike, this is wrong—you can't just barge into a teacher's office—" the man began.
Mike didn't reply. His men dragged the teacher away. Then the vice principal.
Mike walked to his car. The vice principal was thrown into another car.
They drove away.
---