CH.16 The Performance Begins

In the afternoon, within a villa not far from the city center, dusk had yet to fall, but the party's vibrancy was already subtly unfolding. The venue boasted a massive pool, an expansive terrace, and indoor spreads of snacks and drinks, where guests mingled over board games and party antics.

Calvin arrived a bit later, backpack slung over his shoulder. Inside, besides a wrapped teddy bear plush, was the mask Zeke had given him.

He had zero interest in these affairs, so showing up late had its perks: slipping in unnoticed among the crowd.

Many of his school peers from the same grade had turned up. Indoors, speakers were set up, complete with club-like lighting effects—clearly, the ambiance had been meticulously crafted.

"Calvin, you're a tad late," the young man named Lucas said with a grin, slinging an arm over Calvin's shoulder.

"I'm not exactly a key player here, and I only brought a cheap little gift," Calvin replied, finding Lucas's enthusiasm odd. They were just casual chat buddies at school, nothing more.

"I mean, this party's got tons of segments—you missed the board games and all sorts of fun activities."

"No big deal. I'm not big on those; I'd embarrass myself as a total noob."

"Haha," Lucas chuckled awkwardly, then pointed behind him. "Fair enough. The real highlights are coming up: music like a dance hall, barbecue, booze, and performances."

"You guys got alcohol?" Calvin asked, surprised. "Aren't we all minors? How'd you pull that off?"

"It's just booze—there's always a way. Plus, it's for the vibe, right?"

"I don't think drinking's a good idea. This is just a high schooler's birthday bash—some food, activities, and group photos would've sufficed."

A nearby guy overheard and pointed at Calvin, booming, "Look at this— we've got a buzzkill coward over here!"

Heads turned toward Calvin, eyes laced with disdain and irritation at his party-pooping attitude, leaving him flustered.

"Do whatever you want—just leave me out of it. I'm not drinking."

"Buddy," Lucas leaned in closer, "don't bring your old social hangups to this shindig. This is the bully Tyler's girlfriend's party—totally different from your usual scene. Sure, Tyler invited everyone on paper, but the real attendees are those itching to break free from lame high school drudgery." Lucas grinned, as if imparting profound life wisdom.

"Think about it—being all rational just kills the mood. And those so-called adults restricting our drinking? They're just trying to keep us in that stupid, sensible box. Look," Lucas gestured at the girls around them, "all these hot chicks are gonna get into it too. If you abstain, it'll make you seem less manly." His raised eyebrow hinted at something more.

"I'll pass. I need to head home early anyway— you guys enjoy," Calvin said, uninterested in debating. He'd only come because of the mysterious man's task, and he was still puzzled as to why, here, of all places, what was supposed to happen?

"Fine, I can't twist your arm, but let me know when you're dipping out," Lucas said.

"Uh, sure," Calvin replied, sensing Lucas's odd behavior today but brushing it off. He found a corner, popped in his earbuds, and scrolled on his phone, orbiting the party's periphery.

As the sky darkened, a group fired up the barbecue in the backyard, prepped roasted chicken in the kitchen, and divvied it up in the living room. A few burly, tall classmates hauled in cases of beer and bottles of amber liquor. Some had already started imbibing.

This is dragging on, Calvin thought, feeling utterly out of place—like trying to fit a puzzle piece into a Lego set. Yet he lingered, waiting.

Suddenly, he sensed something off: his backpack felt heavier against his back, radiating heat, as if something inside was smoldering.

The mask?! Calvin jolted. He bolted toward a secluded spot, like the villa's remote bathroom.

En route, he glimpsed a corner where unfamiliar classmates huddled, lighting cigarettes, their tips glowing red embers.

Where the hell are they getting this stuff? Calvin thought the party was a disaster, but right now, unzipping his bag took priority.

In the bathroom, Calvin locked the door and yanked open the zipper.

Before him lay the mask, emanating white light, scorching to the touch—as if on the verge of igniting.

What now? Calvin stared at the inexplicably transformed mask, at a loss.

Should I put it on? Uncertain of the outcome, Calvin fastened it to his face.

Searing heat engulfed him like an inferno. The bathroom flooded with white, leaving only blurred silhouettes.

Beyond the scalding on his face, Calvin's body erupted in white flames—not destructive, but regenerative. His flesh seemed reforged in the blaze.

Calvin clenched his fists, gritting his teeth through the ordeal. Time blurred until the flames subsided. His clothes and the backpack on the floor bore no scorch marks. But Calvin—his hair had turned stark white, and the mask on his face glowed faintly.

So, so exhausting, Calvin felt drained, yet sensed latent power within, like a dormant explosive. He extended a hand; roaring white flames burst forth. With a grip, they coalesced into a sword—solidified from white fire.

"Awesome," Calvin tried to muster excitement, but fatigue overwhelmed him. The rebirth-like empowerment left him as spent as a marathon finish.

Was this the whole reason for coming here? But it could've happened anywhere—why a birthday party? Calvin no longer wanted to wait; he just craved home and sleep.

Opening the door, he found that the whole night had fallen. Passing the smoke-scented hallway, he reached the living room where many were visibly tipsy, chattering and laughing. Spotting him, Lucas approached: "Where'd you vanish to? Thought you bailed—haven't seen you for hours."

"Sorry, I think I'm heading out," Calvin said, unsure how to explain. He'd leave the gift from his bag and go.

"Too bad—you'll miss Stella. She said she overdid the drinks and went upstairs to rest. But Tyler's here; say a word to him before you split."

"Fine," Calvin followed Lucas to another living room, packed with even more people. The tall guy on the central sofa was Tyler.

"Hey, I brought Calvin," Lucas announced to Tyler.

"Hi," Calvin said, sensing the weird vibe. "I'm not feeling great—I'll leave the gift and go. And happy birthday to Stella."

"Sure," Tyler replied, his face flushed from drink. "Stick around a bit longer—there's a performance coming up."

"Performance? Sorry, I'm feeling really dizzy, so I'm heading out early. Bye."

Tyler ignored Calvin's excuse, rising to address the room: "Everyone, sorry for the wait—the show's starting now."

As the crowd closed in, Calvin realized something was amiss.

"The performance? Giving this jerk a brutal lesson," Tyler snarled at Calvin, eyes bloodshot from booze and dim lights.

Lucas, who'd led Calvin here, averted his gaze, feigning detachment.

"I saw those so-called ghosts on my phone—it was you sneaking apps onto it, right? To freak me out and make a fool of me?" Tyler accused, jabbing a finger at Calvin. "You and that damn Tommy—you two bastards messed with me. Now, I'll give you a lesson you'll never forget: being tonight's clown."

Calvin scanned the encirclement: indifferent stares, spectators eager for drama, some downright thrilled.

The reek of alcohol, murky lighting, and looming bullies hemmed him in.