Chapter 199: Stunning Everyone
Sophia's POV
"The theme for Round Two is 'Rebirth'!" The host's voice cut through the noise. "Use these discarded garments to deconstruct and reconstruct. Four hours, we want to see real upcycling!"
The giant countdown clock struck with a boom.
The contestants rushed the communal clothing racks like a pack of wolves, frantically grabbing anything with decent fabric, bright colors, or easy potential for reworking. A few well-preserved silk blouses and cashmere coats nearly sparked full-on fights.
I didn't rush.
Hands tucked in the pockets of my cargo pants, I walked at my own pace, skirted around the thickest part of the crowd, and headed straight for a pile of scraps and worn-out clothes that nobody had touched.
I picked out a few pieces with clashing, oversaturated colors, a faded denim jacket full of holes, a tacky red floral cotton skirt, and even a fraying fluorescent green chunky knit sweater.
"Sophia, these fabrics are all over the place, different materials, different colors, and they're pretty beat up. Won't it look too jarring if we put them together?" Lisa stared at the pile of junk I'd dumped on the workstation, swallowing hard, her voice edged with doubt.
I tossed the old clothes onto the table and let my eyes drift over the worn, patchy fabrics.
"If the theme is Rebirth, there's no point hiding their broken past." I pulled out a sharp pair of tailor's scissors and gave them a quick spin between my fingers. "We're going for a deconstructed abstract style."
Lisa blinked, then her eyes lit up slightly.
"You handle the deconstruction." I sliced cleanly through the seam of the denim jacket, splitting the fabric in two. "Cut everything into irregular geometric shapes, don't follow the original pattern, just piece together a basic silhouette. Leave the stitching and details to me."
"Got it!" Lisa snapped into focus. After the perfect score in Round One, she trusted me with something close to blind faith.
She picked up her scissors and, following my lead, started tearing through the old clothes at full speed.
The floor was electric.
Every other designer was pulling out all the stops to hide the cheapness of their materials.
By comparison, Workstation 7 in Section D looked almost sad, even a little ridiculous.
Lisa had pinned the red, green, and blue fabric scraps onto the dress form with straight pins, barely holding together a rough shape. No rhinestones, no delicate lace trim. From a distance, it looked like something a talentless seamstress had thrown together at random, a chaotic patchwork with no sense of direction, completely unremarkable, and dripping with a cheap, bargain-bin feel.
Quite a few audience members and media people who'd been watching us shook their heads, their expressions openly pitying.
"What a shame. Looks like that perfect score in Round One used up all their inspiration."
"This kind of rag-patchwork design would've looked dated ten years ago. No aesthetic value whatsoever. In a cutthroat qualifier like this, they're done for."
"Upcycling vintage pieces really does separate the real talent from the rest. They made a sloppy call on this one."
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Vivian's POV
Not far from Section D, I stood at my own workstation watching all of this with cold, detached eyes.
I was technically listed as the "assistant" to a moderately well-known designer, but in reality, I'd paid that designer off a long time ago.
Now, looking at the stunning gown on our workstation, recut from several old silk evening dresses and dotted with expensive pearls, a sharp, twisted satisfaction flashed through my eyes.
I tilted my chin up and swept a contemptuous glance over the pile of rags in front of Sophia, a smirk pulling at my lips.
I could already picture it: Sophia's work getting torn apart by the judges, and Sophia slinking out of the competition in disgrace.
This time, I was going to grind her into the ground and get my revenge.
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Lisa's POV
Back at the workstation, I'd just finished piecing together the basic silhouette.
I set down my scissors and stared at the dress form, a patchy, directionless mess of color, as a thin layer of cold sweat broke out across my forehead.
It's too chaotic. There's no visual center at all. The hard contrast between red, green, and blue makes the whole thing look like a disaster.
"Sophia, the silhouette is done, but… it looks kind of all over the place." I bit my lower lip, my voice shrinking with every word.
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Sophia's POV
"Move."
My voice was calm. No trace of panic. I stepped forward, holding several embroidery needles already threaded with different colors of silk.
I didn't touch the silhouette Lisa had built. Instead, I picked up some rough, textured wool fabric cut from the old clothes, along with a few pieces of reflective faux leather.
I tilted my head slightly, eyes sharp and focused. My long fingers moved fast, layering these completely different materials over the messy seams in a bold, deconstructed way.
I didn't use standard invisible stitching to hide where the fabrics met. I did the opposite.
Drawing on years of deep needlework skill, I deliberately used thick, heavy thread in high-contrast colors to embroider jagged, crack-like lines along every seam.
Red thread ran through the rough blue denim like veins. Gold thread, cold and metallic, stitched together black leather and garish floral cotton.
Every stitch was fast and intentional.
The color blocks that had looked so jarring and random before, pulled together by these raw, wild lines, began doing something unexpected. The unrelated scraps of old fabric were being forced into a single body under my needle.
This wasn't just a piece of clothing. It was a three-dimensional, postmodern abstract painting.
Broken. Torn. And yet, out of all that chaos, something strangely harmonious had emerged.
When the last stitch dropped, I bit the thread clean.
What had been an unremarkable, almost laughable, garment moments ago had undergone something close to a transformation. The clashing colors no longer felt cheap. Instead, the whole piece radiated a raw visual power and abstract beauty, like a totem reborn from fire.
The audience members and media who'd been writing us off in the live stream went dead silent the moment they saw the finished piece.
"How, how did that happen? It was just a pile of rags a minute ago!"
"Those heavy seam lines are pure genius. She turned all that chaos into something with real artistic tension!"
"This is incredible. This is what 'Rebirth' actually means. Scars, cracks, and all, and it's breathtaking."
The showcase was about to begin. The calls from backstage were getting louder and more urgent.