The commotion on stage was at its peak. The night was bathed in blinding lights, and artificial smoke swirled around the dancing bodies of Anis, Mint, and Prika, a group of Nikkei Idols who made every corner of the Ark vibrate. Fans' light sticks stirred the air like a sea of electric stars, and the screams merged into a single name chanted again and again.
From her exclusive balcony, elevated like a throne of crystal and shadow, Mrs. Miss watched. The mature woman held a glass of red wine with the delicacy of someone who had savored excellence for decades. Her elegant ball gown, a single piece of black fabric that clung to her slender, curvaceous figure like a second skin, revealed the softness of her shoulders and the plunging neckline that hugged her D-cup breasts without the need for a bra, showcasing the clear, well-cared-for skin of a woman who understood her own power. The dress featured a long slit up her right leg, revealing a subtle black ribbon that wrapped around her left thigh, almost like a secret. Her black heels completed the silhouette of someone who needs no permission to occupy a space.
A designer handbag rested beside her, next to sunglasses that on any other night would have concealed her piercing gray gaze. But not tonight. Her eyes, that shade between gray and pale blue, fixed their gaze on the stage where her three protégés were giving their all.
Anis took center stage with a radiant smile, Mint maintained the harmony with pinpoint precision, and Prika twirled in a perfectly rehearsed movement. Everything was going as she had hoped.
And it was because she had been very demanding.
Mrs. Miss raised the glass to her lips and took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving the spectacle. A mature and proud voice emerged from the din, addressed to no one and to everyone.
"See that? That's discipline. That's what happens when you eliminate excuses."
She lowered her glass and held it against her thigh, the dark wine reflecting the stage lights.
"Anis wanted to stop yesterday. She said her feet couldn't take any more rehearsals. Mint almost burst into tears over a broken toenail. Prika... well, Prika learned quickly that complaints have no place in my living room."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, painted a subdued red.
"But look at them now. Every step, every note, every gesture... perfect. The audience doesn't buy suffering. They buy brilliance. They buy the illusion that everything comes naturally."
An assistant approached from the shadows, offering a tablet with live data. Mrs. Miss ignored him for a moment, letting her gray eyes scan Anis's body on stage.
"That girl has potential. But potential without discipline is nothing but a waste. I don't waste talent. I forge it. I burn it. I polish it until it hurts... and then a little more."
She snatched the tablet and checked the numbers with clinical speed.
"Upward. Good. But the second verse of 'Mint' came in two tenths late. Nobody noticed. I did. We'll fix it tomorrow."
She placed the tablet on the arm of the seat and took another sip of her wine, this time a longer one.
"Pretty understood this better than anyone. It's a shame Mustang never grasped that art isn't built with caresses. It's built with scars. With sleepless nights. With bodies that beg to stop and a voice that commands to continue."
The audience roared to the beat of a single high note that Prika sustained with admirable composure. Mrs. Miss bowed her head slightly, acknowledging the effort.
"Good girl. We'll give Prika an extra five minutes of rest tomorrow. Let her earn it."
She placed the empty glass on the balcony railing and interlaced her fingers in her lap, watching the end of the performance with a satisfaction she would never admit aloud.
"This is what Ark deserves. Excellence. Not weakness. Not sick leave. Not 'it hurts here' or 'I can't go on.' They can. They always can. They just need someone to remind them."
The stage erupted in applause. The three idols bowed in unison, smiling, radiant, perfect.