A/N: Chapter 2! I actually have a test this week, but I wanted to take a short break just to post this. Nothing much about this chapter, just perhaps a quick insight into Erik's life? I think you'll find that it sounds similar to the story of POTO, but I shall request for all of us to erase the book from our minds and focus only on the musical. In the musical, there was no Nadir, and no back story of Erik, which is why in this story, I've chosen to include Nadir and a backstory, so in a way, it is still an AU. Does that make sense? I hope it does haha I've been studying all day and I'm afraid I'm a little muddled right now.

Masked Man 2: Exceeds Expectations makes me think of Harry Potter! Can I just say I'm so glad that you're reviewing this story as well? -hugs-

Jo Jo: Thank you! I do hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

Skyila: Gosh I hope I didn't take up too much of your time! And yes, this story will be all different from MLR (:

emeraldphan: I couldn't resist writing more! I'm glad you've enjoyed the first chapter, hopefully this second one doesn't disappoint.

Aria of Life: Thank you for sticking around, even after MLR! It really means a lot to me hehe.

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Chapter 2

"Well, I still can't believe we're going to be doing the Phantom of the Opera!" Meg exclaimed. "All our lives, we have been giggling over how ridiculous it is that we're both named after characters in that story, and now here we are, auditioning for those parts."

Christine smiled at Meg's exuberant gestures. It was true; the two girls had grown up watching replays of the musical online, and had gushed over the story and the similarities they had with the characters.

"And along comes our new mentor, and his name is Erik." Meg rolled her eyes. "This is unreal. Have we landed in some sort of alternate universe? Are we to become part of the real cast of the Phantom of the Opera?"

Her voice had dropped to a dramatic whisper, and as she said it, she flung her arms wide, belting out the well-known opening chords to the Phantom of the Opera. Christine muffled her giggles behind a hand, grabbing Meg's shoulders and steering her quickly into the school, away from the judging eyes that were now staring at them. Meg had a tendency to be rather overly dramatic—she had been born for the theatre.

"Come on, Meg, it's not that strange. Technically, your real name's Margaret, and Erik's a pretty common name."

"Not the way it's spelt!" Meg huffed. "And don't mention the real name again!"

"Mere semantics, Margaret," Christine said, rolling her eyes. "It's all just an uncanny coincidence, that's all."

"If you say so," Meg sighed, as they passed by the sign-up sheets on the theatre club's noticeboard. "Oh, we might as well sign up for an audition now. Should I even bother asking which role you're auditioning for, my darling Christine?"

"No, you shouldn't," Christine said, fishing into her bag for a pen and writing her name for an audition for the role of Christine Daae. "Though I see that Charlotte has already beat us to signing up for auditions. I don't know why I even bother signing up, though… you know she's going to get the role and I'm just going to embarrass myself again."

"She's such a show-off, anyway, and—", grumbled Meg, before a distinctive male voice cut into their conversation.

"Signing up for auditions?"

Christine gulped. It was him; there was no mistaking that voice anywhere. Slowly, she turned. He was leaning against the wall behind them in the corridor. Today, his formal business shirt and pants had been replaced by a black sweater and jeans, and he looked much younger.

"Oh, Mr Chanteur," Meg trilled. "How nice it is to see you!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Margaret, am I right?"

Meg turned a bright shade of puce. "I'm going to have some words with the mother," she muttered under her breath, as Christine laughed. "It's Meg, actually," she said brightly to him.

He nodded acquiescingly. "Meg, then." He turned to Christine. "And you…"

"Christine Sangare", she murmured, sticking out her hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Chanteur."

He took it courteously, giving her hand a brisk shake, his green eyes looking at her piercingly. "I shall look forward to hearing you sing, then, Miss Sangare," he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue easily. He nodded to the two of them, before walking away.

"You've got it bad, girl," Meg commented as Erik walked off. "Earth to Christine!"

"What?" Christine said distractedly, still looking at the formidable figure of Erik Chanteur disappear through the crowd. "Did you say something, Meg?"

"Yes," Meg said drily. "Do stop ogling our new theatre mentor, Christine."

"I am not!" Christine's jaw dropped.

"Mmm, yes you were," Meg whispered conspiratorially to her. "And for the record, if he weren't wearing a mask, the man would be rather attractive, indeed. Except for his cold demeanour and the absence of any expression on his face, of course."

"Meg, keep quiet," Christine said, her face flaming. "He's our new mentor!"

Meg winked at her, and waved. "Well, off I go for ballet now. I'll see you later!"

She skipped off gaily, leaving Christine to meander to her voice lessons by herself, her face red.

She pushed open the door to the classroom just as the bell rang, and was, unsurprisingly, the last person to arrive. Charlotte, who was sitting in the second row of seats, smirked at her rather unpleasantly as Christine made her way to an empty seat in the front row. Christine dropped her book bag onto the floor before her, and rummaged in it for her scores.

"I heard you signed up for an audition already," Charlotte hissed, poking at Christine's shoulder from the seat behind. "Christine Daae?"

"I just signed up ten minutes ago, how did you even— never mind," Christine sighed. "And yes, I did."

"That role's mine, you know," Charlotte said fiercely. "I was the star in our production last year, and the year before as well."

"Yes, well, things change, Charlotte," Christine whispered back, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. "Charlotte, there are auditions for a reason."

"Just a heads-up to you to let you know that auditioning will be a waste of your time again, anyway," Charlotte sniffed haughtily. "You'll just be relegated to a position in the back-up singers again."

Her comment hit home and burned, but Christine ignored the ache in her heart and refused to reply to Charlotte's biting comment. It was true that for the past two productions, Christine had been unable to score any role in the main cast, and had always been assigned a role with few lines and minimal singing. In the first two years of her studies at the Academy, when her father had still been alive, Christine had fought fierce battles during the auditions against Charlotte, to land the lead role in two productions. It was a fact that Charlotte bitterly resented, and the reason why she kept bringing up the past two productions to Christine. After her father had passed away, something had died along with him in Christine's heart; somehow, she could not bring herself to sing to a large audience any longer, not when she knew that she would not be able to look out into the crowd and see her papa's beaming, proud face again. Christine was able to sing well enough alone or in small groups, but the moment she stood on the stage to sing individually, and looked into the audience, she tensed up. And yet, even alone, she could not seem to put her heart into singing again.

It was something she had been unable to get over for two years, and something she wished she would be able to conquer. This was her graduating year, after all, and this problem would curb any dreams she had had of standing on the stage and singing.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of lessons, Christine hurriedly shoved her things into her bag, intending to rush home to practice for her audition.

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"Did everything go well?" Nadir asked as Erik pulled open the door of the backseat and entered the car.

Erik grunted in response as he unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water and took a long drink.

"Not so good?" Nadir winced as he started up the engine of the car. "You should have let me talk to them instead… that's what the manager's job is for, you know."

"If you'd talked to them, you would have caved in at the first moment. They wanted me to grace the premiere event of the movie," Erik scowled. "Something about how the composer of the soundtrack should be in attendance, and all that nonsense. I said no, but they kept pushing for it. I only agreed to take on this composing job as a favour to Nathaniel, but this is pushing the boundary of ridiculousness."

"Understandably," Nadir reasoned gently. "After all, it is not uncommon for the major players in a movie's production to be present for the launch of the movie. Besides, all you need to do is turn up at the event, and you'll be able to leave after a short while. It will not be that bad."

Erik merely snorted, and leaned back against the headrest. He disliked public appearance. He detested having to appear before the flashing lights of cameras, always the subject of gossip in his mask, and he abhorred having to answer questions shouted at him as microphones were shoved in his face. Erik much preferred the comfort and solace of his own home; there was much to be enjoyed in a glass of red wine while lounging on a large chaise, with music playing softly in the background as he stared out of the window of his penthouse apartment at the brightly lit skyline.

It was the mystery that fuelled the questions and the gossip. Erik was the son of the greatly celebrated Madeleine Bellerose-Chanteur, one of the most talented theatrical stars in the industry during her time, and Charles Chanteur, a wealthy composer who had passed away in a freak accident not long after Erik was born. Madeleine herself had long since retired, but her name was still thrown around now and again, said in reverence and appreciation of her beautiful voice and her stunning looks. As a child, Erik had barely been able to catch more than a few glimpses of his mother. She had been busy with her schedules, with training, with lessons, far too busy for a child that reminded her too much of her late, beloved husband. Erik had been precocious as a child, demanding for his mother's attention, and spending far too much time in his music room, preoccupied with the piano, and passed from nanny to nanny.

Until the day an arduous fan-turned-stalker had decided to take revenge on Madeleine for all the times that she had declined his invitations to dinner. At the age of seven, Erik had been allowed to go out with Madeleine once, because her schedule for the evening had been cancelled. He had been delighted at the opportunity, and remembered gambolling down the emptying streets in the evening beside his elegantly dressed mother.

The accident was something of a blur in Erik's mind, but he recalled a dark shadow dashing toward his mother, the malicious intent clear on his face. He recalled shouting as he saw the stranger brandishing something silvery; he had thought it was a knife. The stranger had thrown the item at them, but had had terrible aim.

It had hit Erik instead, and then there was pain.

It had been agonizing pain, eating at his flesh.

Erik remembered rolling on the floor, screaming as the pain ate away at him. He remembered hearing Madeleine's shrieks, and the wail of the ambulance's sirens, and then there was nothing else, only blessed oblivion.

When he had woken up, he had been confused, a young boy lying in a hospital bed. It had been starkly white, and clean, and sterile. He remembered Madeleine's horrified face as she sat beside his bed, a slight hint of regret and sadness in her eyes—but only the slightest hint. He saw the pitying looks on the nurses' faces as they changed the dressings for his wound.

It had been acid, he heard the doctors tell his mother. It had been acid, and she had been lucky that an ambulance had been nearby when the accident had happened. It had been luck that had saved Erik's life, but that same luck had seen fit to rob Erik of his face. There was only so much surgery could do, and the doctors had tried their best to repair Erik's face as well as they could, but they dared not go any further for fear that they would damage it further. There had been a lot of medical terms and difficult-sounding words that Erik had not understood, but he had understood one thing quite clearly—he was now ugly.

The side of his face that the acid had landed on had been ravaged by the chemical. It had been fixed up as best as the doctors could, but nothing would change the fact that his skin was now a little bumpy and scarred, and the corner of his eye drooped slightly.

From then on, Erik had worn a mask.

And along with the mask that now hid half of his face, Erik had retreated into his own world. He spent most of his time alone, without speaking much, and relegating all his energy into learning music. He loved music with a passion that ate at him, as much as the acid had. Erik had private tutors and was home-schooled, for he refused to enrol in any schools, and Madeleine, perhaps hoping to save herself from some embarrassment at a masked son, had agreed to hire private tutors for him. By the time Erik had enrolled in the Academy, he had mastered the piano and violin, and knew how to play several other instruments rudimentarily. He sang with a voice that some of his voice teachers had said sounded almost exactly like the male counterpart of Madeleine Bellerose's voice. But unlike his mother, Erik would never stand on the stage.

He had graduated from the Academy, and gone on to achieve a PhD in musical theatre. Erik now worked mainly as a freelance composer, though the number of job requests that came in were so overwhelming that his manager, Nadir, had had to reject many of them. He had worked with many top stars hoping to release a new album, though he did not prefer composing pop music, and he also worked with a few orchestras, coaching them in their techniques.

But still, he remained mysterious. Despite numerous requests for Erik's appearances at musical premieres, or book launches, or just any sort of event, Erik politely declined almost every invitation that was sent to him. It had the musical industry clamouring to know more about him, but Erik Chanteur firmly remained as he had always been—a mystery.

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A/N: Well, wish me good luck for my test tomorrow! See you guys soon!