Dominate the Super Bowl-Chapter 839 - 838 Anonymous Floral Tribute

Chapter 839: 838 Anonymous Floral Tribute

Chapter 839: 838 Anonymous Floral Tribute

Sparse applause echoed intermittently within the theater. The space, which could accommodate two hundred people, was less than a third full, and some audience members were already getting up to leave with indifferent expressions.

However, on stage, the actors still dutifully completed their curtain call—

Left side. Right side. Center.

Bowing, curtsying, expressing gratitude.

This kind of scene was completely commonplace in New York’s Off-Off-Broadway theaters.

Broadway actually refers specifically to a street in Manhattan, Broadway Avenue, flanked by countless theaters on either side. This street represents the pinnacle of theater across North America.

But not just any production can grace the stages of these theaters, so around the Broadway theater district emerged a cluster of new theaters, offering a platform for independent plays, experimental productions, and low-budget artistic performances.

Later, this cluster of theaters came to be known as Off-Broadway.

With costs not as prohibitively high, these venues were not only more accommodating to theater companies but also offered affordable tickets, making them friendlier to audiences. Furthermore, theatergoers often unearthed works driven by pure artistic passion—productions that refuse to compromise for commercial success—turning Off-Broadway into a haven for true theater enthusiasts.

Thus, before certain Broadway productions officially debuted, they often tested the waters in Off-Broadway theaters to gauge reviews from professional audiences and market feedback, thereby assessing whether a play was ready for Broadway.

Over time, Off-Broadway blossomed and thrived.

Later still, outside of the Off-Broadway district emerged yet another ring of theaters. Here, productions with even lower budgets, more experimental ideas, and more artistic flair found a stage. This area became known as Off-Off-Broadway.

Compared to Broadway and Off-Broadway, this place was far more raw and unrefined, devoid of any pretense or ceremony—it was all purely organic.

Like a primordial jungle.

So, the scene before them was unsurprisingly ordinary, nothing special.

Yet, while that might be true, the actors’ confidence couldn’t help but take a hit—

Was the play really that bad? Or was their performance lacking?

After the curtain call, the backstage atmosphere was notably downcast.

Some people continued to chatter and complain about the audience’s poor manners or mistakes during the performance, but the responses from those nearby dwindled. One by one, they seemed disinterested, the entire dressing room steeped in gloom. Even gossip and complaints couldn’t lift their spirits as they began to worry about their futures.

Perhaps Talia Ryder was one of the few exceptions—

She felt satisfied, because tonight’s audience was larger than the previous show’s.

Talia still remembered the play’s premiere night.

That evening, since it was the first performance, the actors all invited their family and friends to show support. Adding in media reporters and theater critics who might attend, they had hoped for a packed audience, a strong opening night to propel the play towards Broadway.

And the result?

Twenty-three audience members.

Every single one of them could be counted clearly, scattered sparsely across the corners, their expressions visible from the stage.

The sense of disparity, the shock, was utterly devastating.

And now?

After just two weeks, without the support of family or friends, a full third of the theater seats were filled. This was, undoubtedly, progress.

Talia believed things were slowly improving. Though the process was slow, it was indeed moving in a positive direction. They had every reason to be optimistic.

“…Talia.”

The dressing room door swung open, and a figure walked in holding an enormous bouquet of flowers.

The bouquet itself was so massive that it completely obscured the person behind it—only the flowers were visible, easily seizing everyone’s attention.

The previously somber dressing room instantly erupted into chaos.

“Talia, who? Who’s it from?”

“Talia? These are for Talia?”

“Whoa, someone has a secret admirer!”

“Who knew our little play could catch the eye of some affluent patron?”

“Wait, who is it exactly?”

“Is this really a good thing? There wasn’t exactly a dashing gentleman in the audience tonight. Could it be some potbellied, balding middle-aged man harboring shady intentions toward a teenage girl? Gross.”

Chatter filled the air.

The entire dressing room swarmed forward, preventing Talia from even getting close. The bouquet was intercepted almost immediately, the room buzzing with excitement.

Talia: ???

Honestly, Talia was just as puzzled. She was still in a haze, unable to connect the bouquet to herself.

Yet, she was already swept up in the commotion, with the teasing and uproar showing no signs of stopping. This left Talia stunned but amused, a smile creeping up her face.

“So glad to see you’re all so full of life, transforming from a funeral parlor to a disco in mere seconds.”

This one sarcastic remark effortlessly set off a wave of banter and chaos.

Then, someone finally came to their senses and focused on the critical detail.

“There’s a card in here!”

“Talia, you’re still underage. We, as your guardians, will read this on your behalf, alright?”

Talia rolled her eyes in exasperation—

Come on, she’s already old enough to have her driver’s license!

Talia spread her hands wide open. “If you don’t mind your own age, go ahead, dads and moms.”

Oof!

A collective gasp swept the room as laughter and complaints turned into absolute mayhem.

But it wasn’t enough to extinguish the fire of curiosity and gossip. They pulled the card from the bouquet and read it aloud for everyone to hear.

“Talia,

May this just be the beginning of your acting journey.

Twenty-three.”

Wait, that’s it?

No romantic admirer, no quiet supporter, no glowing praise about tonight’s performance, and definitely no cryptic hotel room number… That’s it?

Everything was so simple, so plain, that the group’s gossip fizzled out quickly.

Everyone exchanged glances, searching for answers but finding none.

The card was passed to Talia. “Who’s this twenty-three?”

Talia was just as baffled—

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No clue, okay?

“I don’t know either…” Her words trailed off as a flash of realization struck her, a figure appearing in her mind.

Could it be him? The Twenty-Three?

No way…

“Talia, what’s going on? Did you figure it out?”

“Who is it? Who exactly?”

Talia didn’t have time to entertain their curiosity. She turned to the person who had delivered the flowers. “Who gave you the bouquet? Where’s the sender?”

“At the back door. He left after giving it to me, wearing a baseball cap—probably a delivery guy…”

Before the words were finished, Talia grabbed the card and bolted, completely ignoring the calls behind her. She burst through the door and sprinted out onto the street.

Looking left, looking right, New York’s night lights were blurry and hazy. Visibility was poor, but Talia didn’t give up. She continued her search meticulously—

If it really was him…

Talia’s heart pounded wildly, though she couldn’t tell if it was the sprint or her emotions causing it. She felt both excited and nervous.

Then.

Talia saw a figure—tall and slender, with a navy blue long coat that couldn’t hide his striking build. Amid the bustling crowd, he stood out instantly.

Talia took off running, chasing after him.

Crossing the street, she finally closed the distance and stood in front of him, blocking his path.

Panting heavily, Talia looked up at the man’s face. A smile spread across her lips, her eyes reflecting the shimmering lights of Manhattan.

“Hey, Twenty-Three, good evening.”