Chapter 1079:
At that moment, Rylie shifted her attention back to Connor, immediately firing a series of increasingly intricate, abstract questions in music theory. His answers grew more uncertain and evasive, drawing sharper frowns from the judges. Whenever Connor failed to answer fully, Rylie would calmly call on another S-tier student to respond instead, as though it were the most natural thing.
Most answered confidently and without pause. The few who faltered like Connor received a quiet cross beside their names. By the end, Connor had been dismantled by the questioning. Finally, at his breaking point, he lashed out, voice cracking. “What are you even trying to prove? Every question is aimed at me. You’re doing this on purpose—trying to humiliate me in front of everyone!”
Each time he managed some reply, she summoned another student to address the same question. What was the point? Was this some deliberate public shaming?
Rylie set down her pen, her expression composed, a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. “Connor, I understand you were shortlisted for a World Music Award. Tell me—did you actually compose that piece yourself?”
Connor’s face turned ghostly white. “What else would it be?” he snapped.
She responded evenly. “Based on the expectations for a shortlisted work, you shouldn’t be stumbling repeatedly or offering such vague answers. The handful you got right barely qualified as meaningful. In my evaluation, your level places you in C-tier.”
𝘕𝖾𝘸 𝗐𝖾𝗲𝗸ly c𝘩𝖺𝗽𝘁еr𝗌 𝗈n 𝘨аlո𝗈vе𝗅ѕ.с𝗼𝘮
Her composed statement hit like a shockwave, leaving the auditorium in stunned silence.
A cold shiver ran through Connor from head to toe. His mind spun uncontrollably, teetering on the edge of collapse.
“C-tier?” he shrieked, voice cracking. “On what basis? Because of those ridiculous, hair-splitting questions? My piece won an award—that’s undeniable. The committee and the judges approved it. The whole world acknowledged it. Who are you to question the legitimacy of the World Music Awards?”
He ranted frantically, clinging to the award’s prestige as his last shred of self-respect, his final shield against humiliation.
At that moment, none of his supporters dared to intervene. Even the genuine S-tier students looked at him with unmistakable scorn. They had earned their standing through real skill, and seeing the S-tier label sullied by a self-serving opportunist was intolerable.
Callum snorted, his voice icy. “Enough, Connor. An S-tier student shortlisted for a world-class award can’t even outline the basic techniques in Schoenberg’s early works? I could recite those in my sleep.”
Several S-tier students near him nodded in silent agreement. Yes, Rylie’s questions were tough, but not so tough that failing nearly all of them was defensible.
Willard’s voice rang out solemnly. “A genius expected to carry such weight, yet completely unaware of the major currents of twentieth-century music. What kind of genius behaves like that? It’s a disgrace to music and a shameful trampling of the academy’s century-long tradition.”
Dennis stood, his face stern, eyes intense as he scanned the hall with measured authority. “We’ve placed too much faith in so-called awards, promoting opportunists with no genuine merit to positions and accolades they never earned. They even dare to strut before real experts, leaning on hollow—perhaps unearned—recognition to challenge the academy’s judgment.”
He stated gravely, “I, Dennis Reynolds, Dean of the Music School at the Royal Academy of Arts, formally announce—”
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