Chapter 24: Inhumane

The next day of class, the atmosphere in the classroom had split and mutated into something extremely uncomfortable for us.

It wasn't strange to say that the most famous figures in the class—its central pillars, Alex Nowak and Ana Abantino—were no longer classmates.

In response, a large number of people shot us penetrating, reproachful looks when they saw Alex approach us at lunchtime.

Probably the most ominous glare came from Abantino, watching from a distance. At a reasonable remove, with that classic secrecy in her voice, she stood among a closed circle of students.

I think it was obvious they were mocking Alex for hanging out with us.

Well, I suppose the newfound friendship between Alex Nowak and the group of misfits was the hot topic of the day. Probably filled with all kinds of speculative messages, mockery, and disdain.

But there was no point in giving it importance.

"Then we'll go shopping after class to get everything we need to start our research."

Yes, we were eating our usual cafeteria slop while Emilia proposed buying a series of books and materials to delve into the topic of "Beauty in Discord."

I don't know if musicians read much. According to Emilia, apparently they do—especially those who write lyrics.

The posh girl fiddled with her phone, showing us images of various high-end headphones that, to me, looked no different except for their outrageous price tags.

"Later, we'll buy a pair of professional headphones and a DAC converter, something like a FiiO K9 Pro ESS."

"I have one of those, but I had to sacrifice two years of allowance to get it."

Alex's comment left me a little stunned.

"What's that?"

I vaguely knew what a DAC was—some kind of magical device that could drastically improve audio quality for listening to music.

Emilia showed me a photo of a small black, rectangular gadget, about the size of a phone.

I knew what it was, but only superficially. I wasn't remotely familiar with it.

My eyes naturally drifted to the bottom of the screen, where I saw a price I could only afford in my dreams.

"You want me to buy that?"

"I'll buy it because you'd obviously have to mortgage your soul to afford it."

"I'm surprised you don't already have one."

"I have two. One at my parents' house, another in my apartment, and I'll buy another to leave at your place."

As we continued our casual conversation, we headed to Miss Valdez's class—Introduction to Singing.

We entered the soundproofed room, a place I'd never get used to.

There stood Valdez, unshakable, her presence sometimes invisible and other times more imposing than anyone else's.

What kind of day would this malleable, unpredictable teacher have in store for us? Truthfully, that was the least of my worries.

I didn't really know the answer because I was in a secluded corner of the room, detached from any explanation. My mind wandered to far more mundane things.

Before, I used to think about how to pay the bills, but with the group of students I'd aligned myself with, I felt at least a little more relaxed.

"If you're here, you obviously already know this, but the mezzo-soprano voice is characterized by a darker, warmer central timbre, with a lower fundamental frequency than a soprano's. Its typical range extends from A3 to A5, though some mezzos can exceed that limit depending on their specific classification..."

I was thinking that I should apologize to Lucille. Maybe she was waiting for me to take the first step to restore our friendship to what it once was.

But are women just overly dramatic? Or do I lack the tact to deal with people?

"Technically, you can extend the range using certain advanced techniques. The first is falsetto, which involves partially relaxing the vocal cords so only their edges vibrate. This produces a higher, airier sound, but with practice, it can be reinforced to resemble a soprano's head voice..."

But I'd managed surprisingly well without her. Not exactly me—Emilia was the main reason we'd been eating real food instead of dirt.

I suppose it was some kind of gratitude for letting her practically live in our home, though I don't understand what kind of person would be thankful for that. A very lonely one, I'd guess.

"...Then there's the whistle register, the highest vocal register. It's activated by leaving only a tiny gap between the vocal cords, creating a very fine, localized vibration. It's hard to control and lacks resonance, but it allows you to hit extremely high notes. Of course, without proper training or if you push beyond your physiological limits, it can be counterproductive—even harmful."

I could think whatever I wanted, but nothing changes through thought alone. Maybe I should stop overanalyzing and just act, no matter the consequences.

What's the worst she could say? It can't be that bad, right? After all, she's a very kind person.

"Every person has a specific voice type—it's biological and unchangeable, at least until someone invents a viable vocal cord transplant. However..."

Her gaze landed on Ana Abantino.

"Here we have a perfect example of what I just said not always being true... No, that would be an exaggeration. Forget it. Here we have a perfect example of how anomalies in this world can be so strange that they defy the laws of biology—no offense, Miss Abantino."

"No problem, ma'am."

I'd never heard her speak much before, even in the rare moments fate had us cross paths. For instance, she barely participated in class, so I hadn't had the pleasure of hearing her in those scarce instances.

Her voice was pleasant, but thinking that feels a little creepy. Forget that.

Wait, what did Miss Valdez mean by "defy the laws of biology"? Was it metaphorical? Some convoluted way of complimenting someone?

Like, "your voice is otherworldly"? That's a very complicated way of saying it, don't you think?

"Miss Abantino, why don't you give us a demonstration?"

Abantino nodded and approached the teacher's side, where everyone could see her.

Normally, there were no murmurs or whispers in class—the small space and the teacher's trained ears made it easy to detect disturbances.

Yet, somehow, the room felt quieter than ever before.

Abantino opened her mouth, took a delicate breath, and any expectations I had of her were brutally shattered.

Trampled.

Spit on.

Not because she was bad—but because she exceeded all logic, every biological law and scientific principle.

Everything I understood about "human beings." And everything I understood about "singing."

It was a cappella. I thought it might be an opera piece like Mozart's "Voi che sapete." But what she sang was Joni Mitchell's "A Case of You."

In that moment, my mind went blank. No—my entire body went blank, as if I had no heart, no organs, not even skin—just a consciousness floating in the void.

I felt like I was floating because the ground beneath me had crumbled.

But also because I was terrified. Terrified of knowing that this person would never be surpassed by anyone.

The first verse was delivered in a contralto voice—deep, raw, and intimate.

The chorus shifted to mezzo, with magnificent projection and control, a natural vibrato, and transitions as organic as my own muscles and bones.

Then, at the climax—a pure soprano, high and flawless, soft yet startling.

"Still I'd be on my feet..."

Ana Abantino—as ridiculous as it sounds—could sing in three voices. She could access the entire possible vocal range, hitting any note she pleased, any tone she desired.

Something impossible not because of technical difficulty, but because of the very limits of human biology.

That's when I realized why Emilia treated Abantino with such respect, why Alex doubted he could ever beat her, and why the teachers adored her so much.

Why everyone called her the best of our generation—no, the best in history.

If talent is the innate ability to excel at something, then by definition, it's "inherent." Some people are born with that inherent capacity to do things better than others, shaped by countless factors—from early education to special genetic traits.

In some sports and disciplines, it might be a brilliant mind, longer legs, or superior lung capacity—like Michael Phelps, one of the greatest athletes of all time.

But Abantino wasn't like Phelps in terms of "talent." In fact, she surpassed him. Because her gift wasn't just superior lung capacity—something biologically possible.

What Abantino did was simply fictional. It was hard to even categorize her as human.

As the teacher said—there was no other way to put it.

Her birth shattered every paradigm of humanity because her mere existence defied the laws of biology and anatomy.

Now, she possessed all three female vocal ranges—mezzo-soprano, soprano, and contralto—in their entirety.

Naturally, without relying on techniques like falsetto, whistle register, or mixed voice.

Looking back, that was the first of many times I heard Ana Abantino—"the Inhuman"—sing.

"Excellent demonstration, Miss Abantino, though you didn't need to show off. I've heard about you for years. In the most exclusive music circles, you're held in the highest regard, with enormous expectations placed upon you. It must be difficult, no? I've even heard that since childhood, you've undergone countless medical tests to determine why you can do what you can do."

"That's no rumor—it's true. I'm grateful for the gift life gave me and for the chance to contribute to scientific research on the human body."

"Well, that was exceptionally executed. Now, who would like to volunteer to demonstrate how a... well, normal person sings?"

Valdez said it with a hint of mischief, scanning every inch of the room.

"I can suggest someone, ma'am."

"Oh, of course..."

Her eyes landed on the apparent leader of Alex Nowak's new group—because we all followed her and did as she pleased.

The girl who, overnight, had transformed into a mysterious beauty, the one everyone secretly talked about.

"What's your name? Maria Vilca... something. Why don't you come up here, Maria?"

My sister hadn't batted an eyelid during Abantino's entire a cappella performance. Her expression never changed—she remained relaxed, as if Abantino's ability didn't surprise her in the slightest.

My sister stood up. I thought she'd stay seated and ignore it. But unpredictable as ever, she walked forward until she stood face-to-face with Abantino.

"Now that I see you up close, your mouth looks normal. I noticed your unique ability a while ago and thought you must have some extra organ or something to do that, but you look surprisingly ordinary. Hmm... I guess it's a mystery, huh?"

Yes, my sister was completely unpredictable—and she'd just sentenced me to death.

She'd just insulted Abantino, basically calling her "weird."

The bell rang.

Saved by the bell.

"Miss Vilcanoba, we'll hear you next class. Unfortunately, we're out of time. No homework this week."

She left.

As if she wanted to flee the situation—or go laugh in secret at my sister's tasteless remark.

Probably the latter, because I saw her suppressing a smirk before walking out.

Noise seeped in from outside.

Yet, all of us remained in absolute silence.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing. Sorry if I sounded strange—sometimes I don't know how to express myself. You have a good voice, but I wouldn't call it beautiful. You need a lot more practice, you know?"

"What? What do you know about me? I've practiced my whole life!"

"Oh, how interesting. Then sorry—it must not be practice you lack. Maybe it's something more... symbolic."

My sister glided from phrase to phrase. She didn't speak with eloquence or arrogance, but with genuine, innocent curiosity.

Abantino's face was red—whether from embarrassment or rage, I didn't know.

But my sister stepped away and walked over to me.

"Hey, bro. Let's go. What Emy said we'd do after class sounded fun. Plus, she promised to buy me a 200-gram beef burger."

"Seriously? Do you ever think about anything besides food?"

She grabbed my sleeve and dragged me toward the exit, excited about her reward.

Alex and Emilia followed, eager to escape the awkward situation.

And in the classroom, Ana Abantino remained—along with several nameless students.