The curtain shifted again.
The screen showed Victor submerged in the sea. His body floated without resistance, as if he had surrendered to the pull of the waves. He didn't struggle. His eyes were empty, his heart powerless.
But then—something flickered in him. His gaze sharpened. His lips twisted.
He moved.
Victor kicked, pushing against the black water. He clawed his way back toward the shore, coughing, choking, roaring in a voice raw with sea salt.
"You can't die!"
"No matter how broken you feel, you can't die!"
"You selfish bastard!"
"Are you all alone?"
He was screaming at himself, dragging his body from the water with fury and despair. The vitality that had drained from him returned in a single, blazing spark.
Because he had a daughter.
Because someone depended on him.
For her, he found the strength to live again.
Like a cockroach that could not be killed, Victor rose.
Standing on the beach, chest heaving, moonlight slicing across his wet face, he roared at the ocean:
"At least… this song must not end in sorrow!"
"My life cannot be written in a dirge!"
---
The scattered moonlight pierced through the clouds.
The scales of the sea reflected its glow.
The tone of the music shifted.
It was no longer mournful despair. It became an anthem. A declaration.
No longer a man crushed by tragedy, but a man who stepped out of the sea and faced suffering without fear. A man who raised his fist against every obstacle, whose eyes stared into the unknown unflinchingly.
---
The screen replayed Victor at dawn.
It was six in the morning. The sun was rising. His silhouette stood tall against the growing light, no longer a man stumbling into the waves, but a man who refused to fall because of his child.
The world was chaotic, but there would always be light.
And now, the song was no longer sad. It carried vitality, defiance, power.
The audience was stunned. Their breath caught. Could a song really be interpreted this way?
Yes.
It was not just tragedy. It was a weapon. A belief. A refusal to surrender.
---
Victor's hoarse voice roared into the sunrise:
"You have to shake off despair! Keep walking forward! Don't let self-pity bind you! Don't let this dark life chain you! You must watch your child shine—you must teach her to shine! Even if you're just a spark, burn once in the dark! Don't wait for a torch—be the fire yourself!"
His voice broke, but his life force poured out like a tide.
The vitality was so fierce that everyone watching felt it ignite inside them.
This was not art anymore. This was survival turned into song.
---
The gymnasium erupted.
Spectators in the front rows—scholars from the most prestigious universities—rose to their feet. They were not applauding, but standing in respect.
"This… this man carries such faith!" one whispered.
"For the sake of his child, he forged terrifying strength!"
"This is true conviction. To interpret despair and hope with the same song—this is the essence of art!"
Shock rippled across the crowd.
---
In the back rows, beside the elderly Victor who now watched in silence, a young couple couldn't contain themselves.
The woman gasped, "I feel like Victor must have been extraordinary. Maybe… maybe his daughter blocked his light."
Her boyfriend, though a fan of Sophia, nodded reluctantly. "This man's belief is incredible. To sing both sorrow and hope with such power… but Sophia is still unmatched. At any age, she surpasses him."
They didn't notice the old man beside them—skin thin, breath weak—smiling quietly at their words.
---
But the most shaken of all was Principal Carter, sitting in the VIP seats, leaning heavily on his crutch.
His mind reeled as he replayed three images:
The first time Under the Sea had been heard—Victor humming hoarsely in the slums, his voice lonely and raw.
The second time—Sophia's a cappella at the official welcome party in Iron City, where she had moved the entire cultural world, hailed as a sad angel.
And now—the third time, this playback, where Victor began in despair but transformed it into hope, roaring against the ocean and declaring life.
Three versions of the same song. Three lifetimes carried within it.
Carter's lips trembled.
"How… how could a man like him hold such faith? Could someone from the bottom of society truly burn with this belief?"
He remembered Victor visiting school once, dressed in greasy overalls, standing awkwardly beside well-dressed parents in suits and cars. Back then, Victor had looked pitiful, swollen with unhealthy fat. Carter had dismissed him as ordinary.
Now, watching this, Carter's doubts gnawed at him.
"Can a man who holds this much faith… really lose himself to mental illness? Could he truly have deprived his daughter of all her joy?"
---
Beside Carter, Sophia's face was twisted with conflict.
This was the first time she had heard her father's song expressed with hope, with light. But she could not forgive.
Her hatred was too deeply rooted. From ages seven to ten—her peak years of growth—he had left her nothing but scars.
The screen might show a father of faith, but she remembered only a man who shouted, who drank, who locked her into silence.
---
On stage, the other contestants remained quiet. They didn't challenge the playback. They didn't argue.
Because they knew, eventually, Victor's weaknesses would be exposed.
Sooner or later, the world would see that beneath the faith burned madness, pedantry, and humiliation.
For now, though, the image on the screen was of a man who had walked into the sea, broken, and emerged shouting life to the sky.
And for that moment—he was unforgettable.
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