Chapter 5: The Price of Applause
Chapter 5: The Price of Applause
The number 9.8 glowed on the docket screen, an unblinking beacon in the charged silence of the Performers' Lounge. It felt less like a score and more like an accusation. Every other performer, from the nervous-looking freshman in the corner to the seasoned veterans lounging on the velvet couches, was acutely aware of that number. It had shattered the established order. We hadn't just performed; we had thrown a grenade into their hierarchy.
The walk back to our designated spot was like parting a sea of resentment. Glances that had been dismissive before were now sharp with envy; those that had been hostile were now tinged with a grudging, fearful respect. We were no longer the novelty act. We were the threat.
Before we could even sit down, a woman in a severe, impeccably tailored suit approached us. She was older than the performers, maybe in her late thirties, with an air of brisk, no-nonsense authority. She wasn't an audience member or a performer. She was management.
"Natalie. A word," she said, her eyes flicking to me for a brief, appraising moment before dismissing me. "Your performance was… disruptive. The board is pleased."
Natalie inclined her head, accepting the compliment with the practiced grace of royalty receiving a report from the field. "We aim to please, Alistair."
The woman—Alistair—offered a thin, bloodless smile. She held out a sleek, black envelope. "Your bonus for the score. And a dividend for the… heightened engagement from the audience." She handed it to Natalie, who passed it to me without looking at it. The weight of it was surprising. I didn't need to open it to know it contained more cash than I saw in a year.
"Also," Alistair added, her voice dropping lower, "Professor Albright sends his regards. He found your mid-term essay on macroeconomic policy… 'persuasive.' He's confident you'll find the final much more accommodating."
My stomach clenched. Professor Albright's class was notoriously difficult, a gatekeeper course designed to weed out the weak. I was pulling a B-minus, a dangerous grade that threatened my scholarship. And just like that, with a few words from a woman I'd never met, the problem was solved. The cheat code Natalie had promised was real. It was terrifyingly, seductively real. This was the price of admission being paid back with interest.
"Thank you, Alistair," Natalie said smoothly. "Give the board our best."
Alistair gave a curt nod and moved away, her purpose fulfilled. I finally sank onto the plush sofa, the envelope feeling like a hot brand in my hand. It was one thing to hear Natalie describe the rewards; it was another to feel their tangible weight, to have my academic struggles erased with a whisper. It was a golden chain, and I could already feel it tightening around my neck.
"Welcome to the club," Natalie murmured, sitting beside me. She seemed utterly unfazed, but I could see a triumphant spark deep in her eyes. "This is what it's all about. Not just the performance. The power that comes after."
Her words were nearly drowned out by the shift in the room's atmosphere. Julian had risen from his seat across the lounge. He moved with a predator’s deliberate gait, his two friends—the same ones who had been with him at the party—flanking him like wolves. The low murmur of conversation in the lounge died completely. Everyone was watching. This wasn't a performance on a stage; this was a confrontation in the heart of their territory.
He stopped before us, looming over our seated forms. He didn't look at me. His entire focus, a burning ray of possessive fury, was on Natalie.
"That was quite a show, Nat," he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. He was using her nickname, a casual claim of intimacy that was meant to exclude me, to reduce me to a temporary accessory. "You always did love bringing home strays."
Natalie’s expression remained perfectly serene. "Jealousy is such a boring color on you, Julian."
"It's not jealousy," he sneered, finally deigning to glance at me, his eyes full of contempt. "It's a concern for quality control. The Spectacle has standards. We don't reward lucky amateurs who get carried by a good partner."
The insult was a physical blow, designed to provoke. The old me, the cautious scholarship kid, would have bristled, would have let the anger get the better of him. But the man who had stared down an audience through a one-way mirror and stolen a scene from this very man found a different response.
I leaned back on the sofa, affecting an air of casual boredom that mirrored Natalie's. I didn't say a word. I just met his gaze, holding it, letting my silence be its own challenge. I wouldn’t play his game.
My refusal to rise to the bait infuriated him more than any verbal jab could have. A muscle feathered in his jaw. He had expected me to be cowed, to be angry, to be something he could control. My calm was a denial of his power.
"You think you're clever," he spat, his voice losing its smooth veneer. "You think one high score makes you a player? You're nothing. You're a scholarship case she picked up like a new toy."
He was trying to drive a wedge between us, to poison the well. But he didn't understand what we had created on that stage. It wasn't just a performance. It was an alliance forged in public desire.
"He scores better than your last three partners combined," Natalie said coolly, looking down to inspect her fingernails. "Maybe the problem isn't the strays I bring home. Maybe it's the pedigrees who can't keep up."
Checkmate.
A wave of crimson crept up Julian's neck. He was humiliated. Again. In front of the entire lounge. His fists clenched at his sides. For a second, I thought he might lunge, that his polished cruelty would finally give way to brute force.
But he was smarter than that. He took a deep breath, his fury crystallizing into something colder, sharper. He smiled, a chilling, humorless expression.
"You're right," he said, the sudden change in his tone putting every nerve in my body on high alert. "A score like that deserves to be tested. To be validated. According to the club bylaws, Article 7, Section 4, any performer has the right to challenge a score they deem anomalous. To ensure the integrity of the rankings."
My heart sank. He was using the system. This wasn't a back-alley fight; it was a formal declaration of war, sanctioned by the very rules of this world he commanded.
He looked directly at me now, the full force of his malice and authority directed at me. "I am officially challenging your score. I'm invoking a crucible performance. To prove your debut wasn't a fluke."
A ripple of shock went through the lounge. A crucible performance was rare, a high-stakes showdown designed to settle disputes and solidify dominance. It wasn't just another night on the docket. It was a duel.
"What are the terms?" Natalie asked, her voice tight. Even she seemed taken aback by the formality of the attack.
Julian's smile widened. It was the smile of a man who had just laid a perfect trap.
"A trio," he said, savoring each word. "You, him... and a performer of my choosing. A true test of chemistry and control. We'll see how well your little duet works when there's a third instrument in the orchestra."
He let the threat hang in the air, a promise of psychological torment disguised as a performance. This wasn't about points anymore. This was a direct assault, designed to break the connection Natalie and I had, to humiliate me, and to reclaim her in the most public way possible.
The price of our applause had just been named. And it was a showdown on Julian's terms, on his stage. He hadn't just challenged us. He'd put a target on our backs.
Characters

Julian

Leo
