The Greatest Showman #1464 - Conversational Self

The filming of Booming Drummer was progressing smoothly, with everything falling into place. The crew was efficient, and the concerns about possible chaos and loss of control had not materialized. On the contrary, Renly's performance continued to captivate, sparking more creativity in Damien. The chemistry on set deepened, making the process more than just a technical exercise—it felt like an artistic brainstorming session, rather than a mere assembly-line production.

Damien's mind was always brimming with ideas, seeking to capture different fragments of the picture from unique angles. Renly, in turn, was able to bring those ideas to life, interpreting Damien's vision while adding his own touch to Andrew's character. In doing so, Renly was subtly steering the course of the story.

Thankfully, the worries of Renly's friends had proven unfounded, which allowed everyone to relax and return to their routines. Paul, for instance, remained in New York, having wrapped up filming on Violent Neighborhood. Taking advantage of the break, he brought his daughter Meado to enjoy a summer in the Big Apple.

From the outside, everything seemed to be on track, but Renly knew better—it was all an illusion.

With the progress of Booming Drummer, the sense of restraint grew more palpable. It was like standing before a full-length mirror: on the surface, everything appeared fine, but beneath it all, he was bound tightly, unable to break free. The reflection in the mirror—the version of himself that others saw—was flawless, but it was just that: an illusion. Beneath that image, he felt like a watermelon with a perfect exterior, only to find the interior rotting upon cutting it open.

This restraint wasn't just in his performance—it was Andrew's restraint, too. It was chaotic, unsettling.

Under Fletcher's relentless pressure, Andrew descended further into darkness, becoming colder, more cruel, and bloodthirsty. Like a beast on the edge of a cliff, he was unknowingly teetering toward the abyss.

Renly felt that same invisible force pulling at him, restricting his every move. No matter how hard he struggled, it felt as though he was trapped in deep, thick mud—each attempt to escape only making it harder to break free. He yearned to break through, but each effort only seemed to make the suffocation worse.

In the darkness, he could almost feel the breakthrough within his reach—his double jump technique and the four hundred strikes were improving. But every step forward felt like it would lead him into a familiar rut. The sense of frustration was mounting, pushing him into anger, confusion, and uncertainty.

The restraint was the only force he could fight, but it was impossible to tell whether it was a barrier stopping his progress or a safeguard preventing him from falling into madness. Was it holding him back from breaking his acting barrier, or was it the last thread keeping him tethered to reality, keeping him from losing himself in fantasy?

The blurring of acting and reality, character and self, was intensifying. The depression and restraint, though intangible, were suffocating. It was neither good nor bad, but a dangerous, gray emotion that was slowly consuming him.

It felt like waking up after the car accident in a past life.

He could hear and feel his body, but no matter how hard he tried to move, it wouldn't respond. His mind screamed for action, but his body was paralyzed, trapped in a nightmare of frustration. As the panic and anger built, he fought against the limits of his own body. Every struggle was in vain, every effort futile.

In that moment, Andrew lost control. He kicked over the jazz drum, fist raised, ready to destroy Fletcher. The fury in his eyes was blinding, and his actions, wild and unrelenting, were driven by a rage that knew no reason.

This wasn't slaying the father. It was resistance. The final act of rebellion. A resistance that was unhinged, an attempt to break free from the tyranny of control. This was the moment before the killing blow.

The scene was flawless, from the mounting tension to the explosive confrontation. Damien couldn't contain his excitement. He rushed outside, overwhelmed with emotion, celebrating the completion of such a critical turning point.

Yet, for Renly, there was no relief after the performance. The suffocation, the overwhelming depression—it didn't fade. Instead, it flared up like a fire, burning relentlessly in his chest. His efforts to fight back were futile, and he found himself sitting alone in the corner of the practice room, facing the wall, drained.

The exhaustion from deep within his soul had taken its toll. His mind swirled into a haze, and he was engulfed by darkness. In that trance-like state, the vague figure of Chu Jiashu reappeared in his mind, trapped on a white hospital bed like a mummy.

The scene grew clearer, and suddenly, Renly realized it: Chu Jiashu was him, and he was also Chu Jiashu. The figure lying in the bed—was that him too?

With trembling hands, Renly reached out, touching Chu Jiashu's hand. The moment his fingers made contact, he felt himself drawn into the body, trapped again in that familiar cycle.

He was the mummy. Bound and struggling, helpless. It was always him—Ryan Stone, LeVine Davis, Andrew Neiman, Chu Jiashu, and Renly Hall—they were all him. Different faces, but the same soul, bound by the same restraints.

He struggled, resisted, but he couldn't break free. The question that had plagued him for so long reverberated in his mind: What is going on? He thought he had broken free, that he had left his past behind, that he had reinvented himself. But now, it seemed like he was back where he started, trapped once more.

It wasn't fair.

His anger, frustration, and confusion boiled over. He fought against his own prison, but it was like trying to escape a glass bottle. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break through.

As the pain and the fury reached a peak, Renly felt his energy drain. His body could no longer sustain the effort. The world around him faded into darkness, and all that remained was the void. In that space, he saw himself once more—two sides of the same mirror.

One face, dark brown curly hair and light brown eyes. The other, black hair and eyes, a slender build. Both were him. But who was he?