Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 95

Chapter 95- Historical Roleplay: The Silver Mermaid Legend

Wayne Academy Silver Island Field Trip - Day 4

Silvery Park Theater

Students from Sections 1 to 6 filled the rows, dressed in flowing silks, torn fisherman tunics, and elaborate seaweed crowns that rustled every time someone shifted in their seat. 

At center stage, Teacher Velasquez strode forward with absolute authority.

Clipboard in hand. Headset mic secured. A long, dramatic scarf trailing behind her like she was about to summon a storm instead of supervise a school play.

"Attention, everyone!" she announced.

The chatter dimmed.

"Each section will have thirty minutes to perform The Silver Mermaid Legend."

She paused—just long enough to build tension.

"The section with the highest score... will win access to the VIP private beach villa."

A beat.

Then— A collective gasp rippled through the theater.

"That's not fair—!"
"We're winning that."
"Section 1 already has packed swimsuits."

At the very back, Sections 7 and 8—the disqualified spectators—had made themselves far too comfortable.

Popcorn. Soda. Feet up on chairs. Zero dignity.

Clarise sat among them, posture relaxed, fingers lazily twirling the black orb like it was nothing more than a toy.

But her eyes were locked on the stage entrance.

On Miexha.

"After this..." she murmured under her breath.

Her lips curved into something almost sweet.

"I'll talk to her." A pause. "We'll be... friends."

The orb pulsed once in her hand.

Spotlight — Opening Performance

The lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the theater.

Then— A single spotlight bloomed at center stage.

Soft mist curled across the floor as the smoke machine whispered to life, turning the stage into something dreamlike... something deep.

And from the haze— Miexha stepped forward.

Her silver gown shimmered with every movement, catching the light like ripples across the sea. Her hair fell in soft waves, glistening faintly, her eyes lowered as if she were listening to something only she could hear.

Then she sang.

Her voice was soft at first... fragile.

"Oh love, oh tide, where have you gone?
The sea is wide, but I'm still drawn...
To voices lost, to ships undone...
I wait beneath the salted sun..."

The theater stilled.

No whispers. No movement.

Just her voice—rising, falling like waves against the shore.

Backstage, Asha clutched the edge of a curtain, already emotional.

"I hate her," she whispered hoarsely, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her wig.
"I hate that she's this tiny and this talented and this devastating. It's unfair."