The movie continued.
Amidst the dazzling colors, the plot had reached its joyful segment.
Scattered laughter echoed through the theater, as if these exaggerated visuals had completely washed away the unspoken sorrow and hesitation from before.
Kiana was laughing too, shoving popcorn into her mouth as she smiled.
But Shu calmly watched those cheerful scenes, watching the absurd comedy without a single change in his expression.
Were those scenes funny?
Of course they were. After all, whether it was the plot, the performances, the use of color, or the musical accompaniment—every single frame was trying its hardest to convey a sense of joy to the audience.
Even if it was still trying a bit too hard...
Shu simply couldn't bring himself to laugh.
Because he knew exactly what this desperately performed joy really was.
It was a bubble that would pop at the slightest touch. It was a flimsy layer of color—paper-thin, almost transparent—trying with all its might to contain the underlying anxiety and depression.
Drop-framing, snap zooms, continuous one-shots.
Distortions, vocal tracks, contrasting inversions...
The film's techniques were remarkably complex, stinging the audience's eyes just as effortlessly as its color palette did.
The explosively rich details were stealing the show, and the sheer volume of blatantly metaphorical plot points was suffocating.
Then, amidst this visual "fatigue," Shu scrutinized every detail, watching as the imagery finally returned to "uniformity."
The colors onscreen reverted back to that gloomy, gray world.
The dreary Red Phantoms churned like a person's turbulent emotions, attempting to drown everything in their wake.
The cheerful atmosphere it had painstakingly built up suddenly felt like a dream itself. Everything played out within that "dream" was as fleeting as a real dream, leaving almost no lasting impression on the audience.
And with a flashback sequence that practically confirmed all of Shu's suspicions, the dream returned.
The brilliant colors, the exaggerated, distorted movements, the joyful and relaxed atmosphere...
Only this time, it was even "more excessive" than before.
The clouds, the ocean—almost everything had transformed into splattered, dazzling paint.
The kaleidoscopic visuals reached their absolute zenith at this moment. But at the same time, the metaphors became increasingly blatant and direct. It sparked a sudden realization, yet made it incredibly difficult to extract any useful information from the chaotic "dream" that had preceded it.
The Deep Sea Restaurant sailed through the storm.
Countless colors morphed into the purest manifestations of imagination around the restaurant, barely maintaining their basic physical forms.
The imagery was becoming increasingly "stream of consciousness," bizarre and inexplicable.
Yet, Shu found himself perfectly capable of fully immersing himself in this stream of consciousness. He took in all the details and all the emotions at once, which were then further amplified by his own heart, unleashing a 200% emotional impact.
And the emotions in this movie... they were already laid on too thick, nearly exceeding the instantaneous perceptive limits of a normal person.
In the final moments of tranquility before reaching the Eye of the Deep Sea, the metaphors had practically laid the truth bare for everyone to see. Even the most obtuse viewer could feel the transmission of that profound melancholy in this moment.
The dream was about to end...
The storm at the Eye of the Deep Sea was simply too violent.
All the colors went mad. They lost control, surging desperately across the screen, carrying that raw emotion with them, threatening to drown the audience.
The erratic colors flying across the screen were as viscous as life itself, forcefully holding a living, breathing person down in the dark, abyssal sea, suffocating them.
But in the end, people need to breathe.
People have to breathe!!
"I—have—magic!!"
The moment that all-encompassing shout exploded, Shu's consciousness—which had absorbed nearly all the details and emotions—"exploded" right along with it.
He didn't care about the dazzling splendor that followed the bittersweet climax.
He simply let those "real" colors wash over his pupils.
Colors that were worlds apart from the "dreamscape," colors that were bleak and devoid of light in the memories.
A birthday scene frozen into a peeling photograph. The shattered glass from an argument reflecting the light of a mother walking away. A toddler's cries mingled with the parents' self-righteous "lectures."
And then...
"I understand."
Expectations dashed time and time again. Memories painstakingly stitched back together to look perfect. The naked details turning those memories into bone-deep blades, tearing away the last shreds of self-deception over and over.
The memories came to an abrupt halt here.
The heartbeat of reality and the genuine feelings of her parents flooded into her consciousness.
Actually, they had always loved her. They always had...
She had never denied their most sincere love for her. What she had been denying... was always herself.
"I'm sorry..." That was the phrase the little girl always kept on her lips.
"Just leave me alone..." That was the little girl's silent plea.
The "dream" was projected onto the silver screen. It seemed like just another disconnected movie—as long as you waited for the theater lights to turn on, you could get up and walk away.
Because it was just an insignificant dream. It was two-dimensional; it would soon be forgotten.
It might leave some kind of impact on you, but ultimately, it was only two short hours—a mere fleeting instant in a person's long life.
It was something ephemeral.
Forgotten the moment you wake up.
Those colors surging forward so desperately, those scenes pleading to be remembered—in the end, they would all be digested by the long passage of life.
Just like—
Just like his own suppressed emotions.
After every sudden spike of agitation, he would use his self-control to push them down, down, and further down. Down into the deepest depths, down to a place where they couldn't be seen.
But they hadn't vanished... because Shu clearly remembered every single moment he "lost control." He clearly remembered what every "out of control" emotion felt like.
That was why Shu didn't dare to reminisce, because his past was entirely made up of suppressed emotions.
Therefore... there would always be someone who wanted to tear through the curtain, to drown themselves in that fleeting fantasy.
Because that was your dream crying out to you for help.
I'm begging you... save yourself.
It shows you the most beautiful things you can possibly imagine, and then tells you—
"Sometimes, this world looks gray. But even so, there must be some light waiting for you."
...
The ending theme song began to play.
The theater lights abruptly flicked on, urging the audience to leave.
The people around them naturally began getting up to exit.
Some whispered about the plot, holding differing opinions. They debated, but fortunately, they didn't seem to care all that much.
Kiana remained in her seat, unmoving.
Her eyes were rimmed with red, and the popcorn bucket she held was completely empty—who knows when she had finished it.
Moreover... Shu was gripping her hand a little too tightly.
She turned her head and saw Shu, sitting perfectly still in his seat with his hands covering his eyes.
"Shu."
"...Yeah."
"Are you... crying?"
Shu stayed silent for a second. He didn't answer, merely taking a deep breath and forcefully suppressing the multiplying emotions in his heart down to the very bottom, stifling his own breath.
By the time he exhaled, he had already lowered his hands, hiding his damp palms.
"Let's go. We should head home," Shu said, flashing Kiana a completely flawless smile.
Kiana gently squeezed Shu's "overly tight" hand in return, smiling back.
"Mhm, let's go home."