The Greatest Showman #1315 – This Is Me

"I will not let them be completely defeated. After all, there is a world that belongs to me—just because I am different!"

Renly's voice erupted with astonishing power, each note climbing higher, igniting sparks in the air. The intensity was palpable, a force that struck straight to the heart. The echoes lingered, each reverberation throwing the room into a silent trance, where even the rhythm of one's heartbeat seemed to falter.

Edith stepped forward.

Arthur, standing behind her, felt the weight of the moment crash down upon him. He barely had time to react before he saw Edith walk out from the crowd, raising her right hand—fist clenched—like a soldier answering a call.

But this wasn't a concert. This wasn't Hollywood.

No one here would be swept away by sheer emotion, no one would break protocol to raise a fist in solidarity. This was the aristocracy, where composure and restraint were paramount. To express oneself so openly was an embarrassment—a scandal.

Arthur shut his eyes, frustration etched into his face.

And then—he opened them.

And froze.

Beatrice stepped forward, raising her fist high, her eyes shimmering with tears. Pain and defiance burned within them, reflecting the distant stars. She ignored the stares, disregarded the setting, abandoned royal etiquette, and simply followed her heart.

Then—

Matthew Dunlop stepped forward.

Eaton Dormer followed.

Andre Hamilton.

Even Richard de Ville.

One by one, they emerged—noble, reserved, and restrained no longer. Some were hesitant, some awkward, some uncertain, yet they all raised their fists, forming a forest of defiance.

Unheard of.

But then again, wasn't Renly Hall himself unheard of?

Wasn't his rise unprecedented?

So why should this moment be any different?

Arthur's mouth fell open. Shock painted his face as his gaze drifted back to Renly—the youngest son of the Hall family, the outcast, the misfit. The one who had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet still stood tall.

"When the blade of words attacked, I fought back with overwhelming force. I was brave and fearless. I bore the bruises and wounds. But this is me."

His shoulders, once frail, were now squared with unshakable resolve. His face, once delicate, radiated a fierce, untamed fire. Even the light itself seemed to dim in deference to his presence.

Arthur felt it then—the pull.

This wasn't the Almeida Theater. He knew that.

But suddenly, he didn't care.

Or rather—he didn't want to care.

For the first time, he wanted to stand tall, embrace his truth, shatter the chains that bound him, and chase his own dreams.

A slow smile spread across his face. Now, he understood what Edith had meant.

He did it.

Despite the bruises, the rejection, the pain—Renly had done it.

Arthur looked around at the raised fists, at the silent declaration of defiance, and he realized—he, too, belonged here.

"Yeah... he finally did it."

And so, Arthur took a step forward.

He raised his right hand.

He clenched it into a fist.

Then clenched it tighter.

He thought he wouldn't be moved.

But the truth was—he was.

The song's power surged through him, a wildfire spreading through his veins. Something deep within him stirred, awakening, breaking free.

"Watch out, I'm going to be on stage! I'm going to beat the drum! I'm not afraid! I'll never apologize—this is who I am!"

Edith hummed softly, a melody lifting from her lips.

"Oh, oh, oh-oh... oh, oh, oh-oh..."

The simple, rhythmic tune resonated deep within their souls. It was a song of rebellion, of resilience, of freedom. The chords built, the voices grew, and suddenly—the room was alive.

More and more people joined in, their hums swelling into a chorus.

The disapproving eyes, the scoffs, the aristocratic disdain—they were all still there. Viscount Bioford's face twisted in horror, his disbelief palpable.

"Such vulgarity. Such foolishness. Such—such disgrace!"

To him, this was a desecration, a stain on the upper class, a humiliation of everything they had stood for, upheld, and defended for generations. His anger flared, rising from his gut to his throat like bile.

And yet—

The contempt became a backdrop, an unintentional harmony to Renly's defiant song.

Each note was a battle cry.

Each verse, a challenge.

"I will not bow. I will not break. I will not be ashamed of who I am."

The melody climbed higher, searing itself into the air, into the walls, into their very bones. The sharper the ridicule, the stronger the voices became.

One by one, masks fell away.

One by one, hands unclenched, arms opened, voices soared.

"Let the storm come harder!"

The chorus surged like an unstoppable tide. What had begun as a lone voice now echoed through the banquet hall in waves of uncontainable defiance. Even Richard, always so composed, had joined in.

For those who still remained silent, the weight of loneliness crept in—an isolation they had never known before.

"THIS IS ME!"

The declaration exploded from their chests, a collective exhale of long-restrained breath. Arthur's grin widened—this wasn't about the music.

It was about freedom.

It was about choosing to live.

Arthur, Edith, Richard, Beatrice, Andre, Eaton—every last one of them was breaking free. Even Matthew Dunlop, always as cold as ice, found himself humming along.

This was the moment.

Renly had won.

He stood in the fire, unshaken, untamed.

Let them sneer. Let them mock. Let them try to tear him down.

Here, in this moment, he was invincible.

"I know I deserve to be loved. I know I deserve to be here. There is nothing I don't deserve!"

The final note rang out, soaring to impossible heights.

He deserved it all.

The love.

The admiration.

The victory.

Even if his own family had never given it to him.

Even if George and Elizabeth never once supported him.

He still won.

This was for them.

This was for himself.

This was for everyone who had ever been cast aside, ignored, trampled upon.

No one should ever have to apologize for being who they are.

Not Renly.

Not Arthur.

Not anyone.

As the last echoes of the song faded into silence, the banquet hall held its breath.

Every eye was on Renly.

Every heart had stopped.

The world stood still.

And in that breathless, impossible moment—he was infinite.