The final score ranking is out.
Dead last.
Charlotte.
The internet, which once hailed her as a phoenix rising, was now sharpening its talons. Memes incoming.
The live audience's reactions were equally diverse and colorful. Some whistled, some jeered at Charlotte, but there were also those who shouted encouragement, yelling "Come back stronger next time!"
In the front row, Margaret Evans pressed her lips together. She could see it clearly now—her daughter's pale face, the dark smudges under her eyes. She hadn't slept.
Eleanor Hastings, sitting beside her, caught the direction of her son's gaze.
He wasn't blinking. He looked as if he might jump on stage. She smiled, barely, understanding dawning. Her son seems to be awakening, but that vague comment before? Hmm, the kid isn't fully conscious yet.
So… what her son did last night? This is probably why Charlotte didn't sleep. And she said nothing. Not with Margaret right there. No need to poke the mother bear.
...
