Ruby saw everyone's gaze and forced down the jealousy and resentment churning within. She glanced at Yvette, who stood on stage, eyes lowered, and said coldly, "Mr. Holmes, does your earlier statement still hold?"

The crowd was puzzled; even Zion seemed taken aback, unsure of Ruby's sudden question. He nodded. "Ruby, my word remains; rest assured."

A smug smile touched Ruby's lips. This was precisely what she'd wanted to hear. "Mr. Holmes, I admit Yvette's technique surpasses mine. However, you once said piano playing isn't solely about technique, but about capturing the piece's true emotions. Only then can a performance truly move people, correct?"

Zion clearly recalled his words. Ruby was right; he'd said precisely that, more than once. "Yes," he replied.

Ruby looked at Yvette triumphantly, then raised her voice. "We pianists all know the love story of Bryan Brooks and his wife. 'Dream' was his birthday gift to her, expressing his love and promise. Yet, Yvette's performance missed the mark entirely. Did you sense any lingering love? No matter the skill, without the composer's intent, how can she deserve a perfect score?"

The contestants murmured in agreement. Yvette's performance was excellent, but the emotional interpretation was flawed. Students unfamiliar with music whispered to those who were, questioning Ruby's assessment. Upon confirmation, murmurs of unfairness arose.

Zion was momentarily stunned. Ruby was right; Yvette's interpretation didn't align with the story's emotional context. Given her skill, she surely knew the backstory.

He couldn't understand. Yvette's playing conveyed not love, but mutual respect tinged with sorrow for a lost soul.

Zion looked at Yvette. Only she could answer.

Andrew, Simon, Zachary, Jaiden, and others in the front rows also turned to the stage. The entire auditorium hung on Yvette's response, questioning the validity of her perfect score.

Yvette scanned the room, her eyes narrowing slightly. After a moment's pause, she spoke, her voice unusually serious. "It's fake."

Chaos erupted. Whispers filled the auditorium: "Yvette says it's fake? What does she mean? Is the story false?" "But I learned the same story! Ruby's right!" "Is she just defending her score?" "Who knows?"

Ruby sneered, folding her arms. "Zion wouldn't give me a chance, so why should Yvette get one?" Her face was filled with mockery and disdain. "Yvette, are you out of your mind? If you're going to argue, at least offer a better reason. 'Fake'? Are you saying Mr. Brooks lied? To play his music without knowing the story...how embarrassing!"

Turning to Zion, she asked, "Mr. Holmes, you don't agree with Yvette, do you?"

Ruby, relentless, no longer bothered with politeness. Her attitude had completely shifted.

Andrew stepped forward, causing Ruby to instinctively recoil. "Ruby, you lost. Stop making excuses. If you can't handle defeat, why compete?"

Ruby, frustrated by Andrew's consistent defense of Yvette, gritted her teeth, defiance etched on her face. She couldn't provoke Andrew, but she'd gone too far to retreat. She waited for Zion's response.

Zachary, Simon, and the others remained silent, feeling unqualified to judge. Ultimately, Zachary held the deciding vote on Yvette's score. He wanted to defend Yvette but hesitated, knowing his words would hold little sway. He anxiously awaited Zion's response.

All eyes turned to Zion. After a long pause, he sighed. "Yvette, what's your response to Ruby's question? Why do you say the story is fake?"

All eyes fell upon Yvette. Under the bright lights, her all-black attire and sharp gaze exuded cold arrogance. Her aura was dark and foreboding.

Yvette calmly put away her phone; a buzz had gone unnoticed except by the nearby host. "Wait," she said calmly. "Alright," Zion replied.

Ruby wouldn't grant her a chance. "What are we waiting for? You owe us an explanation. Over a thousand people are waiting. Isn't that enough?"

Yvette frowned, giving Ruby a chilling glance that silenced her. "It's here," Yvette said.

A phone rang, a unique melody. Zion recognized it but couldn't place it.

Yvette answered, displaying a video call with an elderly foreign man—seventyish, wearing reading glasses and a straw hat. His blonde hair was mostly white, his deep-set eyes hinting at past handsomeness. A field of roses bloomed behind him.

In broken Clusian, the old man said, "You finally called, you heartless girl! You have no conscience!"

No one understood the video call, but Zion remained motionless. He recognized the voice; five years prior, he’d briefly met this man—the famous pianist.

Does Yvette know him? Zion wondered, his composure shattering. His trembling voice betrayed his shock. "Yvette, is that… is that him?"

The auditorium's confusion was palpable. Who could cause Zion such emotional upheaval?