The stage had seen several underwhelming performances already.

Some contestants froze mid-act, their minds going blank, forcing an abrupt end to their routines.

Yet even the worst performances received at least sixty points—a consolation score.

No one had ever been given a zero.

Until now.

Gasps erupted through the auditorium, whispers spreading like wildfire.

"What just happened? Why did they get zero?"

"Does anyone understand French? Did they make some terrible mistake?"

"That can't be right—they completed their performance flawlessly. That alone should be worth eighty points at minimum."

"Honestly, Oliver's group was better than Liam's. I thought they nailed it."

"I speak French—they didn't make a single error."

On stage, Oliver stared at the glaring zero on the scoreboard, his stomach twisting with dread.

Had he messed up? Had he ruined everything for Amy?

Amy Sinclair glanced down at him, her gaze steady and reassuring.

Slowly, Oliver's racing heart calmed.

The judge who had given them the zero was a man in his thirties with sharp glasses perched on his nose.

He lifted his scorecard and announced coldly, "Ms. Sinclair, I accuse you of cheating!"

"Cheating?!"

The audience erupted in shock.

Even the other judges beside him looked stunned.

This was a children's competition. Cheating here was unthinkable—what kind of message would that send to the kids?

Amy's eyes flicked to the nameplate in front of the judge—Dominic Laurent.

Her expression didn't waver.

"Suspicion isn't proof," she replied calmly.

Dominic hadn't expected such composure.

He smirked. "I've heard you only have a middle school education. And yet, you expect us to believe you speak French fluently? If you didn't cheat, explain how that's possible."

Amy arched a brow. "Heard? From gossip, then?"

"Since when does education level determine skill?"

"Mr. Laurent, are you being prejudiced?"

"Shall I list historical figures with humble beginnings who achieved greatness?"

Dominic's jaw tightened.

He had gone too far. His words had been sharper than intended—he was only supposed to rattle her, not spark a debate.

But she wasn't backing down.

It infuriated him.

His glare darkened.

He had planned to let her off with a warning, but now? She'd forced his hand.

A cold smile curled his lips. "My apologies—you're right. I shouldn't have judged your abilities based on education."

He leaned forward, voice icy. "But answer me this, Ms. Sinclair: you've been a housewife for five years with no career. What makes you think you can compare yourself to legends?"

Amy didn't flinch.

Not a trace of shame crossed her face.

She met his gaze evenly. "I never claimed to be their equal. But tell me, Mr. Laurent—does your degree make you one?"

Dominic froze.

In a battle of wits, he was clearly outmatched.

Where he had been aggressive, Amy's voice remained calm—steady as a river, impossible to ignore.