Ethan wasn’t looking for anything when he found the dance studio.
For once, he wanted to explore the city without any concerns, though he still carried his cello and his camera, exploring the area around Griffith Park.
He had already planned to drop by Cheesecake Factory and make Penny arrange a date with Bernadete, and he didn’t want to exhaust himself too much before then.
Also, he was starting to get a taste for taking pictures, taking pictures of both the environment and the unwitting street traveler.
It also helped him to understand the impact of Intelligence.
It helped him to process faster, which led to faster learning.
It was a heady sensation, like his brain was in overdrive.
He couldn’t still casually multiply ten-digit numbers or memorize a book just by reading it once, but the assistance was still clear.
He had a feeling that if he had the same intelligence back then, he would have graduated with honors from college.
Not easily, but he would have succeeded.
He guessed it was the difference between Attractiveness and Intelligence.
He had always been above average in attractiveness, and that helped him to carry the next level, turning him into someone remarkable.
Meanwhile, before the stats, his Intelligence was solidly average.
However, while he wasn’t planning to act, fate brought him an opportunity.
In the form of a ballet studio that looked oddly familiar.
He spent a minute, only for the instructor to turn.
He recognized her.
Mia.
Charlie’s fiancee.
Her presence in LA confirmed that that particular timeline was still in its first three seasons.
He decided that it was a good opportunity, especially since, Mia was a dancer.
An attractive dancer, but she defined herself more with her skills rather than her beauty, just like Alex.
It represented a chance to see if stats also extended to physical ones.
The neighborhood was quiet.
It was mostly upscale residential and commercial, the kind where his cello would carry without competing against traffic or restaurant noise.
It was also a place people would frown on rock covers.
Luckily, that was not the only thing he offered.
He started with the prelude from Bach’s Cello Suite No.
1, the most recognizable piece in the cello repertoire, then he stopped thinking and started shifting between.
He decided that even if he acquired his talents by a shortcut; he liked playing.
People stopped, some dropping money.
He was midway through the fifth song when movement caught his eye.
A woman was walking up the sidewalk toward the studio, carrying a canvas bag and a pair of ballet shoes by their ribbons.
She was probably in her mid-twenties, but she looked incredible.
Dark hair, athletic build, the particular posture that came from years of ballet, spine straight, shoulders down, chin lifted, the body trained into elegance as a default state.
He appreciated the view.
She was beautiful in a way that was entirely different from Penny or the Dunphy sisters.
Where their beauty was immediate and accessible, hers was disciplined.
Earned.
Every line of her body reflected thousands of hours of practice, and she moved with the fluid efficiency of someone who had spent her life learning how to occupy space precisely.
Just like the other women, TV hadn’t done her justice, she was far more alluring in real life.
On screen, she’d been Charlie Harper’s love interest, the ballerina who was too good for him and eventually proved it by leaving.
In person, she radiated a quiet intensity that the sitcom format had never been able to capture.
She stopped walking when she heard the Bach.
Not the casual stop of a pedestrian appreciating street music, but the focused stop of a professional recognizing something.
Her head tilted, her eyes found him, and she listened.
He finished the song and let the last note decay naturally, the cello’s resonance held the evening air for a moment before releasing it.
“That was beautiful,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Street makes me sound better than I am.”
“Bach makes everyone sound better than they are.
That’s why he wrote it,” she said.
“Oh, an affectionado?” he asked, then paused, examining her.
“No, probably a dancer, and from the ease you recognized Bach, either ballet or modern jazz.”
“Good guess.
Ballet,” she said.
“You’re not from around here.
I know most of the street musicians in this area, and none of them play Bach.”
“Just moved to LA.”
“Mapping the good busking spots?
This isn’t usually one.
It’s too residential.”
“I noticed.
But the acoustics are great.
These old buildings echo in interesting ways.
And, it’s more about having a way to rest while resting for taking photos,” he said, showing his camera.
She looked at him with renewed attention.
“A multidisciplinary artist?”
“An enthusiastic amateur at best,” he said.
“I dabble.” He didn’t need to brag, because as a professional, she was able to recognize the quality of his playing.
A fourth chair quality wasn’t that impressive in auditions, but from a street-performer that claimed to dabble, it was impressive.
More importantly, it automatically elevated his skills in other areas.
She smiled.
It was not a measured smile, controlled in the way of someone who didn’t give them away freely, but a genuine one.
“I disagree.
I know professional quality when I hear it.
You’re good enough to play in an orchestra.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe.
But not exactly my scene.”
“Time commitment?” she asked.
“A part.
But I never liked playing with orchestras, where the conductor is the king, and where I’m just a cog in the machine, forced to follow the notes of the first three chairs while waiting for my time.”
“A free spirit,” she said, her smile suggesting fascination.
He nodded, though he suspected that the same arrogant statements coming from someone not as good looking, would have landed hollow.
“I’m Mia.
My studio is just there,” she said, pointing to the side.
“Ethan.
I’m the guy sitting on a bench outside your studio vandalizing your ears with old music without permission.”
“Permission granted.
Retroactively.” She glanced through the studio window, then back at him.
“How long have you been playing?”
He considered the honest answer and opted for the functionally true one.
Hard to pin down.
Picked up as a child, tried to get good, hated the pressure, dropped, then picked back up in high school as a dirty little secret.”
“Cello is your dirty little secret?” she asked.
“It is when you’re also a linebacker on the team,” he responded, which made her laugh again.
“It shows.
And trust me, I know.
We ballerinas understand music the way fish understand water.
We live in it.” She set her bag down on the bench beside him, and they started chatting.
Ethan made sure not to make any overt moves.
He didn’t know if she was dating Charlie yet, but either way, she was the kind of woman who would stop any overt flirting, obsessed with her craft.
Luckily, his knowledge was enough to keep her entertained for twenty minutes.
Then, their discussion stopped by her phone alarm.
I have a class.”
“Understandable.”
She paused, her expression shifting.
“It’s children.
Beginners, ages six through ten.”
“Sounds terrifying.”
“It is.
But also wonderful.” She paused, considering something.
“I usually use recorded music.
A speaker and a playlist.
It works, but it’s flat.
The kids respond differently to live music.
They hear the breathing in it.” He saw where this was going before she said it.
“Would you be interested in playing for the class?”
“Can’t promise anything regular, but today, absolutely,” he said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Simple pieces.
Nothing too technical.
Just something with a clear tempo that they can follow.”
“How long is the class?”
“Forty-five minutes.
I can pay you —”
“Don’t.
Consider it an audition,” he said.
She studied him, and he recognized the evaluation.
A smart woman assessing whether he was worth the risk.
“Alright,” she said.
“Come in.
Let me show you the space.”
The class itself proved surprisingly fun.
The children were more serious than he had expected.
It was still the chaos of tiny ballet shoes and mismatched leotards and the particular energy of small humans who had been forced to sit still in school all day and were now vibrating with released momentum.
Mia’s transformation was interesting.
The distance she maintained while talking outside was gone, and she transformed into someone gentle, patient, yet encouraging.
She knew every child’s name, their abilities, and their quirks.
She corrected posture with a touch rather than words.
Ethan positioned himself in the corner and played, enjoying his new audience despite the simplicity of his tracks.
The class ended with a reverie, then parents arrived, collecting the children.
“That was even better than I expected,” she said with a big smile, feeling more comfortable with the situation.
“You are good as well, not just as a dancer, but also with children,” he said.
She sighed.
“Thanks.
It’s tough, but fulfilling.”
“The children loved it.
Sophie hasn’t focused for an entire class in months.”
“Sophie’s the one with the purple leotard?”
“And the attention span of a hummingbird.
Usually.
Tonight she was locked in.
Your music helped.
You’re good.”
He accepted the compliment without deflecting this time.
She was a professional, and professionals didn’t offer praise they didn’t mean.
“So,” she said, walking closer, just a touch flirting.
“Is there any chance that I can interest you come here regularly?”
He could have accepted it, but that would lock him into an almost employee-employer relationship, which he had no interest in.
“Regularly, no chance.
But, I’m not against dropping in occasionally as long as I’m available, but there’s the point of payment.”
“I can probably pay you the same rate as a session player—” she started.
“Not money.
I don’t exactly need it,” he said, which was not exactly true.
She looked hesitant.
“And, what do you need?” she said.
“Time for time,” he said, tapping his camera.
“I need a model to work some ideas, and you’re perfect,” he said.
“We can work on a simple exchange rate, minutes for minutes…”
“A model,” she said, understandably hesitant.
“And, what kind of modeling do you have in mind?”
“Let me give you an idea,” he said, raising his camera.
He reached for the lights of the studio, turned off one, turned on another, and pointed.
“Step here, and rise to your toes.”
“Eleve or Releve?” she asked.
He shrugged.
She followed, and he snapped several photos.
They looked almost casual, but they were not.
While playing, he had been doing his best to map the studio and decide the angle and the composition.
After taking several photos, he passed the camera to her.
She scrolled through the photos with the critical eye of someone who understood visual composition.
“These are good,” she admitted.
“Really good.
I can’t believe we don’t even have any lights, yet it looks like studio work.”
“I told you, I’m an enthusiastic amateur,” he said, once again letting his work speak for him.
She looked thoughtful.
“May I use them as well?”
“Not all of them.
We will need to discuss.
Some of the photos need to maintain exclusivity.
Some, I’ll be willing to cede.
But, if you have something specific in mind, we can always add another exchange,” he winked.
“For a supposed free artist, you’re pretty ruthless, aren’t you?” she teased.
“Guilty,” he responded, smirking.
Mia handed the camera back, then looked around the studio.
The mirrors, the warm hardwood, the evening light coming through the front window in long, amber shafts.
“I need photos for my business,” she said.
“The studio website is embarrassing.
My friend took the photos with her phone three years ago, and they look like surveillance footage.”
“What kind of photos?”
“The studio space.
Some action shots of classes, for the website and flyers.
And a headshot of me that doesn’t look like a passport photo.”
“I can do that.
“When?”
He looked at the studio.
The light was good, the sharp midday sun blocked by a tree, adding some texture, and the studio had too many lights already.
The mirrors added depth and visual interest.
“How about now?
The light’s good enough,” he said.
“Sure, let me go and change into new clothes.”
While she did, he started with studio shoots.
They were simple but effective, with wide and long angles that made the studio feel grand yet welcoming; once again mixing future trends with his skill.
He shot from multiple heights, kneeling for low angles that made the studio feel grand, and standing on a chair for overhead shots that showed the floor’s warm grain.
Then Mia returned, wearing an even more magnificent ballerina outfit, sticking to her body perfectly, looking sexy and elegant at the same time.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded, and they started.
She was, unsurprisingly, extraordinary to photograph.
A lifetime of body awareness meant she understood exactly how to move her body, and after he learned the dance vocabulary with the help of Intelligence, it got even faster.
“Can you do something in the center?
Whatever feels natural.”
She walked to the middle of the studio and began a simple pattern, slow and controlled, her arms moving with a liquid grace that separated trained dancers from everyone else.
He shot continuously, capturing the movement in fragments: an extended leg, an arched back, the precise geometry of her hands.
“I think we have enough,” he said.
“Show me,” she said.
He brought the camera to her.
She scrolled through the shots slowly, her expression shifting from professional assessment to something closer to wonder.
“It’s good.
It’s really good,” she said quietly.
“I mean, there are worse pictures of me in our promotional posters, and there I’m the principal dancer, and we’re working with professional marketing agencies.” She looked at him again.
“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
He smiled and waved.
“Well, if you’re feeling guilty, we can always change the exchange ratio from one-to-one, to one-to-three.”
“You’re shameless,” she said.
“Guilty,” he replied with a shrug.
“Do you want me to check the website as well?” he asked.
“You can do that?” she asked.
“Enthusiastic amateur,” he said with a shrug.
“And, you’re as good in computers as you’re in photography,” she asked.
“More or less,” he lied.
He was much better at computers, but he didn’t mention it.
“If you have your laptop, we can go with it,” he said.
“Really,” she said, and dashed inside, and came back with her laptop.
He could have probably turned it into a perfect spy device, but he had standards, so he didn’t.
Instead, he opened her website, only to see it was a simple blog.
Luckily, the laptop was an expensive model with decent specs.
“Would you mind bringing me a cup of coffee?” he asked.
She did, and while she was doing that, he snooped through her social media very quickly, taking a peek at her messages, confirming the timeline.
It was when she started dating Charlie Harper, but it was still early.
Several mentions of abstinence confirmed that they were avoiding sex to ‘strengthen the relationship’, which was magnificent timing.
“Do you want me to explain what I’m doing?” he asked, even as he downloaded Photoshop in the background, while he quickly changed everything on the website.
He wanted to keep her with him.
“Sure,” she said, leaning over.
He explained, but they also started chatting.
He didn’t ask her about her boyfriend, but mentioned some museum exhibits.
“Usually I go the day they open, but my boyfriend and I are having some ‘scheduling’ problems,” she said.
“Busy man?” he asked.
She paused.
“Yes,” she replied, no doubt not wanting to admit that she was dating someone.
Someone who believed going to basketball matches was the height of culture.
Frankly, Ethan liked Charlie’s perspective on life.
He knew what he wanted and lived it.
Could he be less of a sleezeball doing that?
Certainly, but it wasn’t exactly a big issue.
Mia was the one who somehow decided dating a guy while changing every single thing about him was a good idea.
Naturally, he kept his mouth shut about it, and instead kept the topic dancing between his computer work and her hobbies.
With his computer talent, he could have finished everything in about thirty minutes, but he stretched it for most of the afternoon, interrupted by another class which he also played, and even took a few photos of the children taught by Mia with the permission of their parents, adding them to the site.
As evening closed, she was laughing at a joke of his about a recent display in the museum, her earlier defensiveness gone.
“By the way, tomorrow I’ll visit the museum, likely with a friend.
You and your boyfriend are free to drop by,” he offered.
“The more, the merrier.”
“Will you be alone?” she asked.
“Probably,” he said.
“I have four soft yes, but you know how people change their minds about art at the last minute when it comes to art.”
She paused, her expression shifting.
“Give me a minute,” she said, pulled her phone, and sent a few quick messages.
Whatever the answer was, it was enough to put a deep frown on her face before she erased it.
“Sure, why not?” She said with forced cheer.
From her expression, it was clear that she would come alone.
[Achievement complete.
Budding emotional affairs are still affairs; arrange a date with Mia.
Challenge: Medium]
[+5 Agility
1 Random Silver Skill
1 Random Silver Reward]
[Bonus achievement complete.
Netori effect in play]
[+5 Charisma
1 Random Silver Skill
1 Random Silver Reward]
“It doesn’t count against the clock,” he teased.
“You still owe me five hours of modeling,” he teased her.
“You’re ruthless,” she responded, but her laugh was just breathy enough to count as flirting.
“I need to go,” he said.
She nodded, then after a pause, she went for a hug, and kissed his cheek.
“It was a pleasure,” she said.
“See you around.”
“See you around,” he replied with a cheer, and left.
After all, while he worked hard, his rewards were equally impressive.
As much as he was tempted to pull a skill from Mia, Agility was more important.
He picked that.
Charisma was also tempting, but Charlie was a bundle of skills, filled with stuff he needed.
[Intermediate Piano Expertise]
[Uncommon Skill: You are fairly skilled in handling the piano, enough to work in a minor orchestra without playing solos.]
Magnificent.
He stepped out into the evening, cello case on his back, camera bag over his shoulder, and walked home through streets that were becoming familiar in a way that made his chest feel wider than usual.
Then, he took a taxi back home.
After all, he still had a blind date to attend.