The Greatest Showman #1460 – Scolded

Andrew's irritability reached a breaking point, and then he lost control.

This outburst was not entirely unexpected. When Fletcher handed the core drummer position to Ryan Connery, Andrew couldn't suppress his emotions, leading to a direct confrontation with Fletcher for the first time. However, he still forced himself to suppress the negativity, channeling it entirely into mastering the double jump technique.

But at just nineteen, Andrew was too young and too impatient. Even with talent, the absence of proper guidance made it inevitable that he would hit a wall. Especially when surrounded by fierce competitors and a director pressuring him, the intense rut he found himself in made him feel trapped, his emotions reaching a boiling point.

Frustration boiled over in his mind, but there was no outlet, and so he spiraled into chaos. His reasoning faded, and his fist struck the drumset like a hurricane. The jazz drum before him splintered under the force, but the anger still couldn't be vented.

Then, in a fit of madness, Andrew lifted the broken drum like a tattered relic and hurled it toward the wall. His body twitched and jerked, cursing wildly under his breath, as if trying to escape from a nightmare. It was as though he were trying to break free from invisible chains, the release palpable in his primal screams of, "Ah! Ahhhh!"

The raw anger exploded, a surge so powerful that it almost seemed as if his lungs and chest might burst. The emotion swept through him like a hurricane, and the entire practice room transformed into a disaster zone.

After the outburst, Andrew stood still, gasping for breath. His eyes were fixated ahead, still searing with intensity, while only the sound of his ragged breathing filled the room. Everything else seemed suspended in silence, with no noise at all, and the sound of his heart pounding in his chest became louder, almost drowning everything else out.

Thump. Thump.

In the stillness, the rhythmic beating of his heart grew more erratic, a reflection of his emotional tension. His muscles tightened involuntarily, and his body seemed poised for another outburst.

"Hiccup. Drink!" Melissa's voice escaped in a low exclamation. She quickly covered her mouth in surprise and panic, but her wide eyes revealed her underlying fear, her soft whimpering barely audible.

The filming process wasn't affected by her noise. In fact, the crew, including the director, kept their distance from the shooting area. Sensitive radio microphones captured every detail of the performance, from the actors' lines to even their breaths.

Yet, some directors, like Alfred Hitchcock, imposed strict silence on those in close proximity to the set to preserve the atmosphere. A whisper about dinner during a terrifying scene could ruin the mood entirely. Melissa's exclamation didn't go unnoticed by her colleagues, though they remained focused on Renly, as Damien had not called for a pause in the shooting.

Melissa's anxious gaze moved from Paul to Ryan, her concern growing, then back to Renly. Her fear seemed to grow for him, as though she were worried about Renly's state of mind.

Andrew, after his outburst, seemed to calm himself. His eyes flashed with renewed intensity, and he kicked the broken jazz drum aside before retrieving his drumsticks and refocusing. He adjusted his position, his breath steadying as he prepared to practice again.

The calmness was unsettling. Andrew's hand, already wounded from previous exertions, showed fresh blood, staining the drumstick handle. It was a small injury, but it carried an unsettling sense of desolation that sent a chill down anyone's spine.

He resumed his practice as if nothing had happened—quietly, methodically, with an eerie stillness that contrasted sharply with the chaos just moments before. This sudden shift created a cold, spine-chilling atmosphere.

Hell. This is hell, Melissa thought, her throat tight with fear. She couldn't stop the quiet whimper that escaped her, her words barely audible, "What's going to happen to Renly? I think he's losing it! Oh God, why would he do this to himself?"

Her words were mumbled, lost in the silence, like the distant sound of a street sweeper early in the morning—faint, almost imperceptible.

Paul was irritated by the constant buzzing in his ear. Melissa's voice was making his mind race, preventing him from concentrating. He glanced at her, confused. He hadn't expected her to be this affected, but his confusion gave way to a subtle realization: something about her reactions didn't make sense.

Then he saw Ryan—his expression dangerously close to breaking. Ryan's clenched fists and tensed muscles made it clear that, if not for Renly's performance, he might have acted out physically. His anger was palpable.

At that moment, a low voice interrupted the tension. "Shut up!" It was a warning, coming from Rooney.

Despite her petite frame and slender build, Rooney exuded a surprising intensity. Her sharp gaze cut through the air like a blade, a silent threat that froze everyone in place. Her words, though quiet, carried the weight of command.

The fear in Melissa's eyes was evident as she immediately fell silent. Her tears hovered on the edge of spilling, but under Rooney's gaze, she forced herself to hold them back. She lowered her head, cheeks flushed with frustration and embarrassment. She looked to Paul and Ryan for some sympathy, but found none. Only indifference.

Paul and Ryan exchanged glances, sighed in relief, and then returned their focus to Renly, leaving Melissa to wallow in her own disillusionment. She had hoped this moment would help her build a connection with Renly and his colleagues, but her intentions had been misunderstood.

Her thoughts drifted, but she didn't have the answers. Why hadn't Renly noticed her efforts? Why had she been reprimanded?