The Greatest Showman - Chapter 824: Self-Defeating

The camera switched back to the exclusive interview mode, capturing Henry's expression in a super close-up. His face was calm, yet the stars in his eyes gleamed as though he had collided with the cosmos. His hand reached out, as if trying to touch the traces of mixed emotions.

"The kids are over-energized. They're bored." Henry's voice was flat, his thoughts distant. "If you don't have something substantial to offer, how can they trust you? Trust those... in class. What about literature?" His gaze remained calm, unshaken, though it felt as if there were hidden stories in those eyes—waiting to be discovered.

After class ended, a chubby girl, named Meredith, stayed behind, curiosity in her eyes. "Why did you only drive Marcus out, but let Jerry stay?"

"I had to kill the chicken to warn the monkey," Henry replied with a slight raise of his eyebrows, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Marcus insulted you verbally. In my class, that's not acceptable. You can say anything about me, but not about her." After a beat, Henry asked, "What's your name?"

"Meredith."

"Nice to meet you, Meredith."

Meredith blinked, a puzzled look crossing her face. "Do you really care if the kids are rude to you?"

Henry thought for a moment, then shrugged slightly, "Maybe I'm just used to it."

Meredith's expression softened, envy creeping into her tone. "I wish I was that strong."

"It's not about being strong, Meredith," Henry replied, taking a deep breath and offering a reassuring smile. "You have to understand. Unfortunately, most people act on their own impulses, and you have to remember, opportunities don't come again. You'll meet the same types of people at every stage of your life."

Mark, watching this, adjusted his position, his mind struggling to understand the depth of the scene. Was this just another version of a teacher and rebellious students, like Dead Poets Society or Spring in the Cattle Class? But there was something more in Renly's performance—an intensity, a sadness—that lingered, a weight that was hard to shake.

Gradually, Mark began to understand. This was a school on the brink of collapse—students were stubborn, disobedient, ignorant of their potential, consumed by swear words and self-deprecation. The parents weren't much better, shirking responsibility and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the root of the problem. The teachers were overwhelmed, each one struggling under an unbearable weight of despair.

One night, Henry couldn't sleep. He wandered the streets, mumbling to himself, reciting his own poems. He was like a lost soul, wandering aimlessly through the nightlife. Finally, dragging his tired body home, a hospital call forced him to leave again.

His grandfather, suffering from Alzheimer's disease, had locked himself in the bathroom, repeatedly calling out for "Patricia"—Henry's mother—refusing to come out. Henry had no choice but to go to the hospital and coax him back to bed. Watching his grandfather mumble about death and a blank diary, Henry was consumed by a deep sense of powerlessness.

In frustration, he lashed out at the nurses, venting his anger before slamming the door and storming out. But as he sat on the bus back home, his emotions began to crumble. Seeing a young girl servicing a drunk man, something inside Henry broke, and tears flowed freely, yet his eyes were empty—void of any trace of hope or soul.

Mark sat frozen, completely stunned by the rawness of the scene.

Tony Kaye's close-up shots, the rough film quality, the faint noise of the night—it all blended to create a feeling of intimacy and discomfort. The camera magnified every tiny detail in Renly's expression, showcasing the turmoil within him. No dialogue, no plot—just the silent screaming, the unspoken anguish. It was as though the light of his soul was fading, piece by piece.

Mark felt his own throat tighten, overwhelmed by the weight of the emotion.

Soon after, Henry encountered Erica, a girl who had just "served" a drunk man for free and was slapped for her trouble. She wasn't bothered by it. Instead, she sensed the pain in Henry's eyes and followed him off the bus, determined to finish the transaction. She blamed Henry for her suffering, her apathy and self-sacrificial attitude infuriating and saddening him all at once.

A letter from an anonymous student was shared in Henry's class—a cruel, cold note detailing a parent's frustration with their child. The disillusionment between the lines spoke volumes about the student's pain and torment.

As a substitute teacher, Henry wasn't supposed to do much more than maintain order until the regular teacher arrived. But what could he do? The students were difficult, the parents indifferent, and every day felt like a losing battle. Henry's own struggles with his grandfather's worsening condition weighed heavily on him.

When he saw Erica at a bus stop later, she asked to borrow money, claiming she was hungry. Henry reluctantly took her home, making her a sandwich. He discovered scars on her legs, and with quiet concern, he asked, "Have you been abused recently?"

"What do you care?" Erica snapped back.

"I'm not sure what to do about it," Henry replied, his tone steady and emotionless, "But in my case, I'd wear more clothes."

Erica ignored his advice, still offering herself for sale, but Henry remained unmoved. Instead, he took care of her, cleaning her wounds, providing her with medical supplies, and giving her a safe space to rest.

The next day, Henry returned home to find Erica in a compromising position with a middle-aged man. Enraged, he confronted the man, forcing him to pay before kicking him out. Erica, frightened, begged him not to hurt her. Henry's anger was palpable, but instead of striking her, he offered her tissues, urging her to clean up. Her desperate pleas for reassurance filled the silence.

"I'm not angry," Henry murmured, though the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable.

Erica knelt before him, promising to never do it again. Henry's gaze softened as he pulled her shirt up gently, "You don't need to promise me. Just do what you want, just do it away from here, understand?"

Erica remained kneeling, motionless, her confusion palpable.

Mark, unable to keep his emotions in check, felt a tightness in his chest. The weight of Henry's struggles, his empathy, and his sorrow were suffocating. He couldn't help but feel the deep, silent pain that Henry carried.