The first-round results were announced during the lunch break.
The notice board had been posted on the stone wall of the chapel side aisle, and the crowd around it was packed tight.
Richard did not squeeze into the crowd. Mr. Holland went in to check, then came back with the rankings.
By the time the bald middle-aged man wormed his way out of the crowd, even his shirt collar was crooked.
"Fourth."
He straightened his collar as he spoke, his tone holding both relief and a trace of reluctance.
"The top three are Montague, Catherine, and Phillips."
It was within Richard's expectations. Compared with the foundations built through one-on-one elite education since childhood, there was indeed a gap.
Pronunciation accuracy, experience with rhythm, overall stage presence... he was a few points behind in every category.
"But." Mr. Holland suddenly smiled. "You got the highest score in the entire field for rhetorical comprehension."
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket.
"Of the six judges, four gave you full marks and two gave you nines."
"You're the only one in the entire field whose rhetorical comprehension crushed everyone else's."
He waved the paper before Richard, unable to hide the pride in his voice.
"Montague averaged 8.5 in that category, Catherine got 8.3, and you got 9.7."
Ms. Grant walked over from the side.
"This means the judges believe your understanding of Cicero runs deeper than that of the other contestants."
"Exactly." Mr. Holland folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. "He didn't just memorize it. He understood it completely."
Ms. Grant looked at Richard. "How is your free speech for this afternoon coming along?"
"I'm still thinking."
"As long as you've got it figured out."
"But honestly, the way you handled those six escalating nihil just now