Breaking Free: Love & Rebellion at Blackthorn Academy.-Chapter 59: PAST-SEVENTEEN.

"Hurry up—faster!" Hua Rong yelled, leaning closer as she tapped urgently on Jiang Zemin's shoulder.

Her arms were draped loosely over his shoulders, clutching on just enough to keep her balance as she stood on the back pegs of the old bicycle. Her hair flew behind her like a dark banner, eyes squinting against the wind.

"If you were planning to go, you should've decided earlier!" Jiang Zemin snapped, trying to catch his breath as he pedaled with everything he had. "I don't like these last-minute plans, you know!"

"Stop whining and go faster—or just let me take over!" she shot back, shaking his shoulder in frustration.

"Are you crazy? We'll fall if you keep moving around!" he shouted, gripping the handlebars tighter as they swerved slightly. "Just stay still, will you?"

"Then speed up!" she snapped again, her voice tight with anxiety. The urgency in her tone wasn't for drama—it was real, pulsing beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.

He groaned, pushing the pedals harder. "You're going to owe me big for this."

"You wish. If we're late, you'll owe me."

He couldn't help the short laugh that escaped him, though it came out breathless. "You're already blaming me."

"And I'll keep blaming you until we get there."

The streets blurred around them, the air thick with city noise and the rush of passing bikes. Hua Rong tightened her grip just slightly, leaning her weight forward to balance as they hit a bump.

She wasn't sure what exactly she was hoping to see when they arrived—but she knew one thing: she had to be there.

.....

The auditorium fell into silence.

Not the heavy, suffocating kind—but a charged, breath-holding silence, where hundreds of people waited, eyes fixed on a single figure stepping into the spotlight.

Xu Lingwei.

He walked barefoot across the stage, his movements controlled, almost too careful—as if one wrong step might shatter the floor beneath him. He wore a soft off-white top, its fabric clinging to his slender frame, slightly wrinkled near the waist where he'd clenched his fists backstage. His black pants were loose, flowing like smoke with each shift of his legs, a quiet contrast to the stark stillness of the room.

He stopped in the center. The music hadn't started yet.

His head turned slightly—subtle, but enough to betray his searching. His eyes moved over the sea of silhouettes seated before him, lingering, scanning, hoping.

But she wasn't there.

He swallowed. His chest rose with a slow breath. Maybe something came up. Maybe she never intended to come. The thought tightened something inside him, but he pressed it down. It didn't matter now. The performance had to begin.

The music started. A single melancholic note rippled through the air.

Xu Lingwei moved.

His arms lifted slowly, like mist curling toward the sky. He stepped forward, each footfall silent, each motion graceful and deliberate. A turn. A roll of the shoulder. A low, sweeping spin that left one hand grazing the floor. His body was weightless—an echo of sound, an embodiment of rhythm. Every movement flowed into the next, the choreography less a routine and more a story he poured from his bones.

But his gaze kept returning to the audience.

Still not there.

His expression never changed, yet the flickers of doubt danced behind his eyes. She said she'd come. He thought she would.

Then—noise.

Faint at first, like whispers tugging at the edges of a dream.

"You can't go in during the performance!"

"Oh come on! Just let me in!"

A flash of confusion rippled through the audience. Heads turned. Murmurs rose. Xu Lingwei faltered—a split-second hesitation in his footwork—as his eyes snapped to the back of the hall.

There, at the entrance, a familiar figure stumbled through, slipping past the guard with all the grace of someone who very much didn't care about rules.

Hua Rong.

She waved off the angry whispers, struggling against the grip of the guard trying to hold her back. "My friend is in there! Just one second—I swear I won't yell or anything!"

The guard didn't buy it. But she wriggled through anyway, ducked beneath his arm, and darted forward.

And then—her eyes met his.

For a second, everything around him dropped into silence again. Her mouth curved into a crooked grin, eyes lighting up like a child caught sneaking into a party. She gave him two thumbs up, like it was the only form of support she knew how to give.

He couldn't help it.

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A laugh slipped through his lips mid-spin. Not the kind of laugh you fake on stage, not a polite smile, but a real, startled, boyish laugh—like he'd just seen sunlight after a storm.

In the corner of his eye, the guards caught up to her. Hua Rong groaned loudly. "Okay, okay! I'm leaving! No need to carry me like a sack of potatoes—ow!"

As they lifted her up by the arms, she twisted to glance back over her shoulder at the stage. "Kill it, Lingwei!" she called with a dramatic wink—right before disappearing through the doors like a chaotic tornado leaving behind a weirdly heartwarming mess.

Outside, Jiang Zemin leaned casually against the wall, watching the entire ordeal. When she landed beside him, he doubled over laughing.

"Stop laughing!" she snapped, smacking the back of his head as if that would preserve her dignity.

Back on stage, Xu Lingwei stood frozen in place, chest heaving.

Then, he smiled.

A quiet smile. One full of something warmer than relief. She did come.

The music shifted.

He began again—this time not just performing, but feeling. His limbs flowed like wind through trees, movements bolder, freer. He launched into an elegant turn, his foot slicing a perfect arc through the air. He leapt, landed, rolled forward and rose like a wave. Arms outstretched. Fingers trembling with power.

The world had vanished. He wasn't in front of judges anymore. Or a crowd.

He was dancing for her.

The girl who made a scene just to be there for him, even if only for a moment. Even if she got kicked out five seconds later.

As the final note hummed into silence, he sank into a low pose—one knee bent, one arm across his chest, head bowed.

The room erupted in applause.

But it wasn't the clapping that filled his heart.

It was that crooked grin, that thumbs-up, that moment of connection in the middle of chaos.

She came.

And that was more than enough.