The Greatest Showman #627 – Simple Life

" Whenever the passion in my chest burns and the past comes to mind, the words of my grandfathers echo in my heart. Long ago, I made a promise to myself: when life comes quietly, I will raise a glass in tribute to a simple life."

No music, no melody—just the deafening applause of the audience serving as the only accompaniment. Renly's voice rang out, clear and unwavering. The lyrics, simple yet profound, unfolded like a narrative poem. It was as if a gentle stream trickled through time, its water crystal clear, revealing smooth, round pebbles beneath. The melody was quiet but powerful, flowing with a cold, refreshing clarity, humming the most beautiful tune in the world.

Unprepared, caught off guard once again, the tears came freely.

This was the story of grandfathers and children, the story of the old and the young, the story of ordinary people and dreamers alike. This was the story of everyone in Pioneer Village.

George Slender sobbed, his face streaked with tears, utterly unashamed. He watched Renly on the stage through blurry eyes, overwhelmed. This was why he loved Renly—the heart of a child, unwavering, pure, and sincere. Beneath the simplicity of the melody lay a quiet resilience, a strength that needed no embellishment.

"Simple Life" was never meant to be the standout track on Don Quixote. It lacked the poetic depth of Cleopatra or the haunting weight of My Bones. Yet, under Renly's interpretation, the song erupted with unexpected emotion, bringing to mind Tagore's words:

"One night, I burned all my memories, and my dreams have been transparent ever since. One morning, I cast away all my yesterdays, and my steps have been light ever since."

George didn't hold back anymore. He let the tears fall freely, yet a wild, unrestrained smile tugged at his lips. He was glad—glad that he had fought to make this album, glad that he had placed his trust in this young artist, glad that Don Quixote had made it to the world. Sales, awards, profits—none of it mattered. Life was simple: either you truly live, or you exist as a walking corpse.

He had made his choice.

George raised his hands high, striking the rhythm again. Clap! Slap! Slap! His palms stung, burning red from the force, growing numb—but he didn't stop. He clapped harder, faster, surrendering himself to the moment.

Cheers to life.

The hidden strength within the song began to crack through barriers, roaring forth. The applause swelled, rising like a tidal wave, louder and stronger, sweeping across the venue.

Renly's slender fingers strummed hard against the guitar strings, and the melody erupted again.

Rising higher, Renly's voice soared—no restraint, no hesitation, just pure, unbridled emotion.

"A long time ago, I swore to live like my grandfather—through the rain and snow, through the wind and cold. This is the simple life I have. Rich or poor, young or old, we all hang on the thin red line. And when life ends, someone whispers… This is the simple life I have."

And then, as if by instinct, the audience joined in.

"Oh-oh-oh, this is the simple life I have."

The song reached its peak, then—like a feather caught in the wind—the final note drifted away. The strumming softened, lingering in the air before vanishing into silence.

Renly's lips curved into a quiet smile, warm and bright. And softly, as if sharing a secret with the universe, he sang the last line.

"This is the simple life I have."

The song ended. The applause ceased.

And yet, no one spoke.

The silence stretched, a collective breath held in unison, a moment where the world seemed to pause—until suddenly, the dam broke.

Time unshackled itself. Hearts that had been suspended mid-air came crashing down, the rush of wind roaring in their ears. Just as fear threatened to take hold, it was replaced by exhilaration—pure, unfiltered joy.

And then the screams began.

"Ahhh!"

At first, a single voice. Then another. Then more, building, growing, surging into a deafening wave.

Inside Pioneer Village, the cries bounced against the old walls, shaking the very foundation of the building. Outside, the voices broke through the fog, the clouds, the darkness—like beacons on the Empire State Building, calling out, illuminating the sky. It was as if Gotham's Bat-Signal had been lit, announcing the arrival of Don Quixote's believers.

Standing at the center of it all, Renly felt the energy coursing through him. A warmth spread through his chest, more invigorating than any sauna, more liberating than any victory. His smile widened, and like everyone else, he threw his head back and roared.

"AH!"

All the pain of the past, the struggles of the present, every bottled-up emotion—unleashed in that single, primal scream.

He screamed until his voice was hoarse, until his lungs burned, until his vision blurred from the sheer rush of oxygen deprivation. Then, finally, he stopped.

And the grin on his face stretched wide.

This. This is the magic of music.

Renly took a deep breath, letting the moment settle. Then, with a teasing lilt, he spoke.

"Thank you."

A simple word, yet loaded with meaning. Not just for their presence tonight, but for their open hearts, their trust, their shared souls.

Exhaling sharply, he made a split-second decision.

"Alright then, let's go straight to the second song. Let's see how many people have heard it before."

His words carried a knowing smirk. Don Quixote was an unconventional album, nowhere near mainstream. Even Simple Life had caught many off guard. Now, Renly was issuing a playful challenge.

Lowering his head, he strummed the first few notes.

And then—pandemonium.

The first eight beats of the prelude were all it took for the audience to lose control. The screams spiraled into a frenzy. Before they could even recover from Simple Life, they were already tumbling into the heartache of Cleopatra.

Timsey froze.

Of course, he had heard Cleopatra before. It was the first track on the album. But the way the crowd reacted—it was as if he was missing something crucial.

Curious, he turned to look at Hope.

Tears streamed down her face, yet her expression was radiant. She tilted her head up, eyes locked onto the figure on stage. Even in her vulnerability, there was an undeniable light in her gaze—awe, admiration, something deeper.

Timsey followed her line of sight.

Renly stood there, bathed in the dim stage glow. A simple white shirt, faded blue jeans, worn-out skateboard shoes. No fancy outfit, no elaborate persona. His blond curls were messy with sweat, but there was a magnetic pull to his presence, an undeniable gravity that held every gaze in his orbit.

Timsey swallowed hard.

He hadn't seen an artist like this in a long, long time. Not since Jason Mraz.

Jason had once been like this—an artist wandering through bars, a bard singing purely for the love of music. But even Jason had eventually succumbed to commercial success. His music was still good, still meaningful, but the raw soul of his early days had faded.

But Renly—Renly was untouched.

No publicity, no hype, no calculated stardom. Just music. Pure, undiluted music.

And that was beautiful.

Timsey felt warmth surge in his chest. His eyes burned again.

And then, the husky, melancholic voice of Renly filled the air.

"The only gift God gave me was life—and a divorce. But I read the script, and the costume fit just right. So I played my part well."

Timsey lifted his hands in reverence.

And just like that—his tears fell.