Chapter 103: Beatrice's Metamorphosis XVI

As everyone exited the place, a box was already prepared in the waiting area for them to cast their votes. Each had their own opinions.

A group of acting students, still high on adrenaline, gathered in the waiting area.

"I mean, Hedda Gabler was incredible," one of them said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"The slow unraveling, the tension… Miss Sinclair's performance was solid."

"Yeah, but Miss Falcon as Medea?"

His friend shook his head as if still processing.

"That was something else. I felt that. When she clutched at her chest, just before…"

He swallowed.

"It was like watching someone break apart, piece by piece."

Nearby, a girl wrapped in a Limelight Collective hoodie crossed her arms.

From time to time, there was such merchandise, and along with the performance this time, the two groups also sold them.

It was to recover the losses they would face from this competition.

Since the tickets were sold at half price so that all those watching would be able to see both plays, they had thought of a different way to recover the costs.

After all, they needed funds for the theater they were renting and the props they were using.

"You're just saying that because Medea is flashier," she argued.

"Hedda's tragedy is more subtle. More psychological."

A first-year student from the literature department chimed in.

"I actually read Hedda Gabler for class, and I think Miss Sinclair nailed it. Her restraint, the way she controlled every little expression? That's harder to do than just—"

She gestured vaguely.

"Than just screaming and throwing yourself on the floor?" someone else cut in, rolling his eyes.

"Miss Falcon didn't need to throw herself around. She barely moved, but you could feel everything."

A theater professor passing by overheard and chuckled.

"Both performances were remarkable," he commented, his voice amused.

"But sometimes, raw emotion carries more weight than carefully measured restraint."

A few feet away, a mother who had come to watch her son perform leaned toward her husband.

"I loved Hedda," she admitted.

"It was so sophisticated, so tragic in a quiet way."

Her husband nodded but hesitated.

"Miss Falcon, though… When she looked at her children—"

He exhaled sharply.

"I got chills. That girl is something else."

Back near the entrance, a group of Limelight supporters was deep in debate.

"Miss Sinclair carried Hedda Gabler so well. She became her. Her acting was so refined, so polished."

"Sure, but if you ask me who made me feel more—" another student shrugged.

"It was Medea. And that's the point, right?"

There was a heated discussion about which play to vote for.

This was not limited to those attending the school. The same went for the scouts who had come to check the budding actors and actresses.

Some flipped through their notes, others murmured to each other, exchanging thoughts on the night's performances.

"Hedda Gabler was exceptional," one scout said, tapping his pen against his notepad.

"The actress had complete control over her performance. Every move, every word… it was all calculated and precise."

Another scout, a woman with sharp eyes and years of experience in talent scouting, nodded.

"She carried herself with elegance. You could tell she had studied every detail of Hedda's character. It was a performance with intention."

A third scout adjusted his glasses, flipping back through his notes.

"Yes, but she never surprised me. She did exactly what I expected her to do."

"She was perfect," the woman admitted.

"But perfection can sometimes be predictable."

A brief pause settled over them before someone spoke again.

"Then Medea happened."

The shift in their expressions was instant. The memory of Beatrice Falcon's performance lingered, heavy in the air, as if none of them had fully shaken it off yet.

"She wasn't just performing," one of the younger scouts muttered.

He hadn't written anything since the second act.

"She was living it."

Another scout, more seasoned in the industry, ran a hand through his hair.

"By the time we reached the final scene, I couldn't take notes anymore. I just sat there."

He let out a slow breath.

"She didn't let us watch from a distance. She dragged us into her grief."

The woman with the sharp eyes nodded slowly.

"The actress playing Hedda gave a masterclass in control. But Beatrice Falcon didn't just play Medea. She became her."

"She didn't act out grief," another scout murmured.

"She made us feel it. Raw, ugly, unbearable."

One of the older scouts, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. His voice was thoughtful.

"Hedda made me think."

His eyes lingered on the closed theater doors, as if he could still see Beatrice Falcon standing on that stage.

"But Medea made me feel."

A quiet agreement passed between them.

For talent scouts, technique was important. Control, discipline, and mastery of the craft were all qualities they sought in an actor.

But sometimes, a performance came along that defied all of that. A performance that wasn't about control but about something deeper. Something that left an imprint.

Hedda Gabler had been brilliant. The actress who played her would go far, there was no doubt about that.

But Medea had shaken the room.

And that was the kind of performance people never forgot.

Shawn and the rest were discussing how high Echelon Dominion's chances of winning were just as all these discussions were ongoing.

But they were interrupted when Harmony suddenly chuckled while sitting on one of the couches in the waiting area.

"It was pretty obvious that they'd win. Beatrice has truly bloomed."

There was even a tinge of pride in her tone.

She then stood up.

"I'm sorry, guys. I badly need that sleep. Tell Beatrice congratulations."