The Greatest Showman #1272 - Stay Away from Disputes

The vast, clear blue sky stretched before me, intoxicating in its azure brilliance. Like translucent emeralds glowing beneath the delicate sunlight, the colors seemed to dance, swirling around the steep, rugged coastline. Sandy beaches, lush shrubs, and dark green jungles punctuated the scene, their brilliant hues layered like waves, folding into the distance.

The sound of the wind was thunderous, a deep roar that resonated through the air. With arms spread wide, I felt the sensation of wings forming, as if I were soaring, weightless, caught in an exhilarating blend of emotions. There were no words—only the sheer, overwhelming magnificence of this moment. It made me feel small, a mere speck in the grand, infinite expanse of the universe. The starry sky above, the vast ocean below, both symbols of life's boundless potential.

The feeling of free fall consumed me, as if my heart had taken flight.

It's no wonder that people become addicted to the thrill of skydiving. It's a kind of freedom that can only be understood by those who truly experience it—by those who allow themselves to feel the rush of falling, the weightlessness that makes every second an unspoken joy. The tug of gravity, the fall, the thrill—each moment adds to the intoxicating sensation, a chemical high unlike any other.

The sky—this endless blue—is still sweet, even after hundreds of jumps. It remains as thrilling as the first time.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my companion's gesture, and I responded with a simple signal. Then, I drew my knees to my chest, completing a 360-degree spin mid-air. I stretched my limbs, tightening my muscles as I reached for stability. My body trembled slightly, but eventually, I found my balance.

Looking up, I saw my coach give a thumbs-up, a silent acknowledgment of my progress.

But I didn't get carried away. I steadied myself, then gently kicked my legs, gliding through the air like a swimmer in motion. Even in free fall, I moved laterally, the joy of gliding surging through me like a wave breaking on the shore—unparalleled, invigorating.

My companion and I soon met in the sky, performing synchronized aerial stunts—five-pointed stars, circles, lines, and arrows, sometimes together, sometimes apart, like acrobats in the air. Eventually, we pushed off from each other, scattering like stars across the vast expanse.

I watched in awe as my teammates started to perform intricate aerial acrobatics—complicated movements that demanded precision and skill. Two months of training had been insufficient for me to master these advanced moves, but I admired their accomplishments, knowing that, with time, I would reach their level.

Two months—Renly had been submerged in his training, almost vanishing from the world for this brief period. He started in Alaska, spending 20 days diving into his first skydiving experience, before beginning more specialized training in New Zealand, where the practice became more intensive. While his training had a professional edge, it was still far from the level of true experts.

For skydiving, two months is a fleeting amount of time. It's impossible to expect drastic improvements in such a short span, and trying to speed up progress through sheer repetition would only lead to frustration. The process requires patience, precision, and adjustment with each day.

But Renly was hooked—completely. Skydiving had become his new obsession, surpassing even his passions for surfing and rock climbing.

After a decade spent immobilized in bed, never experiencing true freedom, skydiving became his escape. The ability to spread his wings, soar through the sky, and feel the liberation of free fall was intoxicating. This new form of freedom was the antidote to his years of confinement.

Skydiving enthusiasts often liken free fall to a drug, an addiction that once embraced, is nearly impossible to shake. The sky becomes their true home, just like the sea in Blue Sea and Blue Sky—a place where life and death, freedom and surrender, merge into a profound experience.

Renly understood this deeply. In the vastness of the ocean and the boundless sky, he found a moment of life, embracing it fully, passionately.

Outside of his skydiving pursuits, Renly always embraced a wide array of hobbies—challenging himself, seeking new experiences, and learning to love life in all its forms. But the greatest passion, the one he reserved for his heart's deepest corners, was his performance—his true calling. It was the only thing that could ever match the exhilaration he found in the sky.

When his feet touched the ground, gravity's pull hit him like a shockwave, reverberating through his body, but the smile on his face couldn't be suppressed. Every jump, every leap felt like it could be the last—and that made it all the more precious.

From a distance, Renly's companion Andre Hamilton could be heard cursing from the sidelines. "He's a lunatic! God, he's a lunatic! I don't know him, and next time, who wants to jump with him? I refuse, I steadfastly refuse!"

But the team members nearby had a different take. "Don't complain. You sign up first every time, and we all wonder if you have a thing for Renly."

"Whenever we complain about Renly, you're the first to defend him."

"That's right, you didn't say it yourself—Renly's reached the technical standard now, so why not give it a shot?"

"Don't mind him. I think he's a masochist—he says no, but his body clearly loves it."

Andre, standing apart, rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. Then, noticing Renly walking towards him with a half-smile, he muttered, "Don't come near me. I'm not one of your masochist friends, Eaton or Matthew."

Renly just smiled in response but said nothing.

Andre, sensing Renly's approaching grin, distanced himself further. "Keep your distance, man. You're a lunatic! Anyone who gets too close to you will become one too. My reputation's already shot—I don't need 'lunatic' added to the list."

Renly jabbed playfully, "So, you're aware of your bad reputation, huh? Rare, but good to know."

Andre, speechless, stared at Renly. "Save some energy, alright? Aren't you heading back to London soon? There's a tough battle waiting. Why waste energy now?"

Renly quipped, "How do you know I'm going back?"

Andre shot back, "Isn't it obvious?"

Renly raised his hands in surrender, "Alright, alright, I admit it. I got carried away earlier. I didn't control my body properly. My bad."

Andre stood there for a moment, lost for words. Renly was a master of conversation; no one, not even Andre, could match him in eloquence. On the ground, Andre was more straightforward, but in the air, emotions were amplified. He couldn't help but admire Renly's ability to maintain composure in the face of such intensity.

But a thought lingered in Andre's mind: Renly's a lunatic. How does he stay so calm?

Renly, meanwhile, was already apologizing to his teammates for his small mistakes during their last aerial routine. His errors had triggered a chain reaction, and without the captain's quick intervention, they may have had to abort the jump.

Despite Andre's greater experience—he'd been skydiving for three years—he was still far behind Renly, who had thrown himself into this new challenge with abandon. But their paths had crossed again in Queenstown, and through a twist of fate, they had become friends.

"Let's grab a drink in town," Renly suggested, snapping Andre out of his thoughts.

Andre raised an eyebrow, "Are we friends?"

Renly shrugged, not answering directly. "Are you coming, or not?" He packed his gear and began walking away without waiting for an answer.

After a moment's hesitation, Andre sighed and followed him, muttering under his breath.