Chapter 16: You Only Know How to Play Petty Games

Clara ignored the biting sarcasm from the girl with the high ponytail, remaining entirely focused on her dance practice.

Her gaze was unwavering, and every movement was infused with a power that seemed to announce to everyone: she would not be easily broken.

As the other members began their warm-ups, the atmosphere in the rehearsal hall grew increasingly subtle.

From time to time, the dancers stole glances at Clara, whispering amongst themselves, seemingly waiting for her to have some sort of explosive reaction.

But Clara acted as if she were deaf to it all, immersed in her own world. Sweat trickled steadily from her forehead, soaking through her clothes.

The troupe leader walked into the hall and immediately spotted Clara practicing intensely in the corner.

Frowning slightly, he stepped forward and asked softly, "Clara, what happened here?"

Clara stopped her movements and looked at the leader. Without any hesitation or feigned weakness, she told him exactly what had happened that morning.

"Leader, someone put thumbtacks in my dance shoes and wrote on them."

The leader’s expression turned stern instantly. He scanned the surrounding members and raised his voice. "Who did this? If there’s a conflict, handle it properly. Why resort to such low-life tactics?"

No one responded. Everyone maintained a facade of total indifference.

The girl with the high ponytail curled her lip, muttering under her breath, "Maybe she did it to herself to get sympathy."

Clara heard the remark, and a flicker of fury ignited in her heart again. She looked at the leader and said, "I believe my innocence speaks for itself. I only wish to dance in peace."

The leader nodded and patted Clara on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I will investigate this thoroughly. If you run into any more trouble, come straight to me."

The rehearsal officially began. They were still practicing that high-difficulty classical piece.

Clara was fully concentrated, striving for perfection in every step.

Her rapid improvement left the others secretly stunned. Even those who had been waiting to see her fail had to admit her talent and dedication were undeniable.

During the break, Clara sat alone in a corner. She checked her phone and saw a message from Alistair: "How is today going?"

Clara hesitated for a moment. She decided not to tell him about the morning’s incident and replied: "It's good. Everything is going smoothly."

Just as she sent the message, the girl with the high ponytail approached with a few followers, looking down at Clara.

"Oh, still acting tough? Don't take today's 'incident' to heart. Everyone was just playing a joke."

Clara looked up at her and said calmly, "I don't consider that a joke. If you have a problem with me, we can settle it face-to-face."

The girl was provoked by Clara’s attitude. She took a step forward as if to strike, but she was stopped by the leader, who appeared suddenly.

"What do you think you’re doing! This is a dance troupe, not a place for brawling!"

The girl shot Clara a venomous look and stormed off.

The leader looked at Clara and sighed helplessly. "Clara, don't let them get to you. They're just being impulsive. Keep practicing; there's a major performance coming up in a few days, and I have high hopes for you."

Clara looked at him gratefully. "Thank you, Leader. I won't let you down."

Over the next few days, Clara practiced even more rigorously.

She was the first to arrive and the last to leave every single day, tirelessly polishing her technique.

Finally, the day of the performance arrived.

Dressed in a magnificent classical gown, Clara stood backstage, her heart a mix of nerves and anticipation.

She glanced at the other members and noticed the girl with the high ponytail—Yara—watching her with a complex expression.

Clara ignored her, took a deep breath, and centered herself.

As the music swelled, Clara stepped onto the stage with the others.

Every movement was light and ethereal, as if she were merging with the melody.

Her dance was filled with raw emotion, showcasing the soul of classical dance to its fullest.

The audience was captivated, completely immersed in the artistic world she had created.

When the performance ended, the hall erupted into thunderous applause.

Backstage, the leader approached with a wide smile. "Clara, that was incredible! I knew you could do it!"

The other members gathered around as well. Though they said little, the previous exclusion was gone, replaced by looks of recognition and respect.

Yara approached as well, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"Clara, I was wrong before. I apologize."

Clara arched an eyebrow. She didn't believe for a second that this woman had abandoned her hostility just because of one dance.

"It’s fine."

The success of the performance improved Clara’s standing slightly. The overt hostility faded, but there were still those who harbored resentment, unwilling to truly accept her.

A few days later, the leader announced major news: next week, there would be a city-wide grand gala. The troupe would perform a specially choreographed piece, and the lead dancer would be chosen through a fair internal competition.

The news sent the troupe into a frenzy. Everyone was eager to prove themselves.

Clara was no exception. Her eyes sparkled with desire; she was determined to seize this rare opportunity.

Yara, of course, was eyeing the lead position like a hawk.

On the surface, her attitude toward Clara had softened, but the fires of jealousy within her only burned hotter.

In her eyes, Clara was just a newcomer. Why should she earn everyone’s respect so quickly?

She would never allow Clara to steal the lead role from her.

As the day of the selection drew near, the atmosphere grew tense.

Everyone practiced frantically in private, and Clara was no different.

Every day after rehearsal, she stayed behind, repeating every move in front of the mirror, striving for flawless execution.

However, she didn't know that Yara and her group were sabotaging her behind her back.

Before one rehearsal, Clara found her dance shoes had been sliced open. The fabric at the toe was shredded, making it impossible to dance.

She knew it was intentional, but she didn't make a scene. She simply put on her spare pair.

Another time, the costume she kept in her locker was doused in ink, leaving the pristine white fabric a ruined mess.

Clara looked at the destroyed garment, a surge of fury rising within her, but she quickly calmed herself, found a suitable replacement, and attended rehearsal on time.

As the selection day loomed, Yara’s tactics grew even more dangerous.

During a group practice, while Clara was deeply invested in her performance, Yara deliberately tripped her from behind.

Caught off guard, Clara pitched forward. Her knee slammed into the floor with a heavy thud, and the pain turned her face deathly pale.

A chorus of gasps filled the room as the leader rushed over.

"Clara, are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

Clara gritted her teeth, forcing back the tears. "Leader, I’m fine. I can keep going."

The leader looked into her determined eyes and nodded, then cast a severe look over the crowd.

"I don't care who is behind this. If I find anyone playing these petty games in this troupe, they will be punished without mercy!"