Bloodline of Deception: A Superhuman's Dilemma

I scoffed, "Then that mask isn't going to come to fruition," I stated, "Because I'm a mere mortal." Though it stung my pride to admit it, this was who I was—a normal human being who once dreamt of soaring through the skies, of being a superhuman.

"No, he will make that mask even if he has to mix your blood with his," Michelle replied, her laughter tinged with an inexplicable delight. "Believe me, he'll make it."

"You little devil," I protested. Michelle responded with a soft laugh, cozying up to me and resting her head on my shoulder, closing her eyes to rejuvenate herself.

As Michelle and I found our spot on a plush sofa near the window-front of this quaint cafe, I couldn't help but marvel at the intimate warmth of the place. Its small confines were brought to life by the smooth hum of the air conditioner, draping a gentle, cold breeze across my skin, a respite from the summer heat outside. Through the wide window, we watched a living portrait of city life - the rhythmic dance of passersby engaged in the routine of their daily lives.

The sofa, a rich chestnut hue, offered a soft embrace, akin to sinking into a cloud. Its cushions seemed to mold around our forms, cocooning us in a private sanctuary amidst the public space. The contrast of our peaceful nook against the bustling streetscape outside was stark and comforting.

Before us, a small antique wooden table bore the insignia of countless encounters. The dark, glossy surface reflected the soft café lights, narrating tales of numerous coffee lovers who had shared intimate conversations across its expanse. Its surface, patterned with faint whorls and grains, was a testament to its long-standing service.

The air held a seductive dance of scents. The robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the café, a signature scent that had seeped into every nook and cranny, offering a warm, familiar welcome to patrons like us. Weaving through the strong coffee aroma was Michelle's perfume, an exotic blend of floral notes with an undercurrent of sweetness. It was as much a part of her as the words that fell from her lips, her personal olfactory signature within the tapestry of the café.

Michelle's skin, a delicate porcelain white, was a stark contrast against the dark fabric of the sofa. The ethereal softness of her skin seemed to radiate a subtle glow, an unspoken purity that made her all the more captivating. As she began to speak, her voice, soft and melodic, seemed to effortlessly fill the space around us. Each syllable was a soothing note, a comforting rhythm that harmonized with the clinking of spoons, hushed conversations, and the distant hum of the city. Together, they orchestrated a perfect symphony, a moment of serenity amidst the chaos of the world.

"Today, I'm exceedingly happy and I'm dreaming pleasant dreams," she murmured. I let her drift off to sleep, recalling how she had cried herself into a drunken stupor the previous night. "Jaime," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible, "Do you kiss me each time you tuck me in?"

"You must be dreaming," I deflected, shifting my gaze towards the bustling street outside the café.

I sighed heavily. In reality, I did kiss her, because each time I put her to bed, she'd unconsciously mutter in her sleep as soon as she was tucked in, "Papa, Mama, kiss me goodnight."

I often wondered when was the last time she had been cradled by her parents and kissed goodnight. Because every time I kissed Michelle's forehead and cheeks, a smile would bloom on her lips, helping her sleep more soundly. I sipped my drink, allowing her to rest for a while as I gazed out of the café window at the passersby. A salesman, some teenagers with backpacks, a mother with her child, a well-dressed man engrossed in a phone conversation. They all had their own lives, their own tasks, their own places to belong.

^Three years had passed since I left my hometown. What was I seeking here? Where did I truly belong?^

I exhaled slowly, recalling my dreams of becoming a superhuman. I had once believed myself to be one, only to be betrayed by that dream. I had tried to forget, but perhaps deep within, I still yearned for it. I was like a little chick that left its village thinking it was an eagle, only to eventually realize it was, in fact, a chick. And here I was, a chick among eagles, still dreaming of becoming one of them.

^When will I finally let go of this fanciful dream?

Dissatisfaction's voice rings with a compelling urgency, declaring, "Jaime, you truly soar. This isn't some figment of your imagination. You ascend in the orphanage room. You do. It makes you believe in the extraordinary, that you are indeed a superhuman."

Fears, hesitating slightly, counters, "But your flight is brief, momentary. A mere few seconds, hovering a few centimeters off the ground."

Arrogance's tone is laced with defiance, retorting, "Even so, I am a superhuman. I should get a superhuman's wage, lead a life of luxury. I should stand among them, shoulder to shoulder, acknowledged as one of their own."

Grateful's voice is soothing and gentle, imploring, "Remember to be thankful, Jaime. Your life here is already an improvement from your past in the countryside. In time, when you've saved enough, you can return there. Appreciate what you have now. Don't lose sight of your beginnings in pursuit of grandeur."

All advisors go down to the core of the earth.^

"Bright moonlight before my bed,

Seems like frost on the ground.

I lift my head to gaze at the bright moon,

Then lower it, thinking of my hometown."

Without realizing it, I had read a famous poem from Li Bai.

A soft, concerned note colored Michelle's voice as she asked, "Do you miss your hometown, Jaime?"

"Yeah," I confessed, my voice just a whisper, "I feel lost here, like a piece of me is missing."

"How long has it been since you left?"

"To me, it feels like only three years. But according to the calendar, it's been five," I admitted, a strange sense of disconnection creeping into my voice.

A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "Why the discrepancy?"

"I don't know," I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "When I arrived here, my smartphone automatically updated to two years ahead. Even the taxi driver who brought me to the BtP Headquarters laughed, saying it was common knowledge. But I didn't know. I come from such a small country, so isolated."

Michelle studied me, her gaze intense and thoughtful. It seemed like she wanted to say something but held back. After a moment, she finally spoke. "Yeah, the time difference between here and your hometown is quite significant. Have you tried reaching out to your friends back home?"

"No," I confessed, the word heavy with regret and shame. "When I left, I promised everyone I would become a superhuman with BtP and help them. But now, I'm just... nobody. I'm afraid to face them. And before I knew it, five years had slipped by."

She paused, deep in thought, before releasing a heavy sigh. "Jaime," she comforted, "it's okay. When you're ready, you can always go back home, even if it's just for a little while."

"Yeah," I agreed, though I knew I wasn't ready. Not yet.

"Jaime," Michelle's voice cut through my thoughts, soft and low. Her eyes were closed, yet I could sense a potent vulnerability in her tone. "Do you know what I do for a living?"

"Administrative work in the Intelligence Division," I responded, my voice echoing the mundanity of the title.

"Do you know what I actually do?" Her question lingered in the air, her eyes remaining closed as if bracing for a verdict.

"Performing seemingly trivial administrative tasks," I parroted back to her, voicing the description she had carefully crafted and propagated among everyone. It was a neatly constructed lie, wrapped in an enigmatic smile that she wore with unsettling ease. "Always offloading those tasks onto me, though, aren't you?"

"Do you think I'm doing that because I'm incompetent?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, revealing a side of her rarely shown. I chuckled, envisioning how others perceived her: a simple woman masquerading as a beauty, seeking validation through attention, her head seemingly filled with trivialities. They saw her as a paper pusher in the Intelligence Division, juggling unimportant tasks amidst more significant machinations.

"Yes, people often find you... clumsy," I admitted, painting the picture she'd expertly crafted for the world to see.

"People say?" Her words were almost inaudible, carrying a weight I had not anticipated. "Then, what do you think of me?"

I hesitated, weighing my words. Trained by the legendary Master, I had honed my skills in the nuanced art of observation and understanding. I learned to read people - their body language, their moods, their desires - all hidden in plain sight. Every hand that lay on the bar told me a tale of emotions - joy, sorrow, irritation, loneliness, the thirst for companionship, and more. It was my job to serve, to converse, and to tread carefully around those conversational landmines.

But Michelle... if anyone dismissed her as a giddy, vulnerable woman, they were already ensnared in her intricate deception. Michelle was a chameleon, possessing an uncanny ability to blend and adapt - a prized skill amongst BtP spies. I was privy to her reality, to her cloak-and-dagger world where she infiltrated enemy lines, impersonating critical figures, and accessing high-security secrets. The cover of an administrative officer was just that - a cover. Her sporadic disappearances for months without a trace testified to her clandestine exploits.

To my eyes, Michelle was a tempest in a teacup; a wild storm wrapped within an unassuming package. She wasn't the clumsy girl she made herself out to be. She was intelligent, cunning, a dangerous masterpiece of manipulation. A genius hidden beneath layers of assumed simplicity. Every action she took, every word she spoke, held a deeper, darker meaning. I couldn't help but suspect that Andreas had become a target of the BtP's intelligence, with Michelle being the puppeteer pulling the strings. Her method was slick, passing her tasks onto me under the veil of haplessness.

Within her, I could see the potential to infiltrate the darkest corners, to impersonate any identity without the blink of an eye. I had seen her in action at Eve's Café and other place, her investigative prowess on full display. As if she had the ability to peer into the souls of people, drawing out secrets buried deep within. The clumsy image she projected was but a façade to hide her true form. The more reckless she seemed, the better she hid her real identity. At work, she was a lethal predator, akin to a black puma, her gaze dissecting her surroundings with deadly precision.

She was a deadly force of nature, an assassin who could strike without remorse. She had mastered the art of manipulation, revealing to me only what she wanted me to see.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared of her, scared of crossing the boundaries she had set. The fear of whether I would be next to be discarded, to protect her secrets, was a constant presence. Or if she would let me in, into her web of deception. "You're a complex mix," I told her, "Pretty yet repulsive, incredibly sweet yet unbelievably stubborn. Your heart is a fragile one, easily hurt. Every heartbreak sends you spiraling, getting drunk and shedding tears," I said, mirroring the image she often portrayed.

Michelle's soft chuckle vibrated against my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. "Do you remember nearly two years ago, when I asked you out just like this?" she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. A forgotten memory, one I'd buried deep within, resurfaced, causing my heart to thump violently against my ribcage. "You left me, right in the middle of our date. You just disappeared."

I swallowed hard, words failing me.

"After that, you kept avoiding me. You distanced yourself, day after day, week after week," Her voice wavered, the first sign of her tears making their appearance. "I felt abandoned, lonely. You shattered my heart." In a gesture of comfort, I leaned in, gently wiping away her tears with my thumb, holding her close. "I had something important to take care of. That's all," I managed to murmur. "I was just... busy."

"You weren't avoiding me?"

"No? Why would I do that?" I tried to sound surprised, to inject some levity into the heavy silence.

"But why did I feel that you were distancing yourself, avoiding me? Why did I feel that you stopped loving me, that you closed your heart off to me? Even now," Her voice broke, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her cheeks.

"She's clever," I thought, the realization washing over me. I couldn't deceive her. She was right; something had indeed changed within me at that time.

I witnessed her executing people, all while maintaining a chillingly serene smile on her face.

***

With an air of calm determination masking his rising frustration, Sensei methodically works on the seemingly impossible task of crafting a mask from Jaime's blood. The peculiar endeavor, so far, had met nothing but failure, driving Sensei's patience to its very limits.

His hands, steady as the heart of a tranquil sea, shape and mold the precious fluid with the gentle care of a seasoned artisan. But the material proves relentlessly elusive, falling through his fingers like sand. His brows furrow, his lips thin into a line, a small bead of sweat trickles down his forehead as he delves deeper into this enigmatic task. He lets out a soft sigh, a silent confession of his growing frustration.

In a moment of desperation or perhaps inspired madness, Sensei makes a peculiar decision. He pricks his own finger, watching as a bead of his own life fluid forms at the tip. Muttering a litany of complaints under his breath, he lets his blood drop into Jaime's. He expects nothing, perhaps just a slight change in hue or an interesting swirl of red.

But as soon as his blood mingles with Jaime's, an unexpected spectacle unfolds. His blood doesn't merely mix with Jaime's; it sparks, sizzles, and dances in an exotic ballet. The sight is surreal, mesmerizing. It's as if the universe itself takes a breath, watching in anticipation.

Slowly but surely, the sanguine mixture begins to congeal, taking form under his deft fingers. The blood that was once a challenge begins to obey his will, molding into a mask that is beautiful and majestic in its raw simplicity. It's as if it has captured the essence of life itself, bridging the gap between the ordinary and extraordinary, the human and superhuman.

Awestruck, Sensei watches the transformation, his heart pounding in his chest. In the midst of the silence, the unexpected magic that has just transpired seems like a whisper of the divine—a beautiful, miraculous interplay of two distinct lives converging into a piece of sublime art. It's more than he could have ever hoped for, a testament to the wonders that can emerge from the most unlikely of circumstances. And with that, Sensei finds himself pulled out from the depths of frustration and thrown into a realm of awe and profound respect for the miracle he has just witnessed.