Odin Clark smiled, a trace of a cold sneer hidden in his eyes.
Since he participated in this competition, then he should just wait for his makeup artist career to be over on this stage.
It was as if it was intentionally targeting Malcom Owens.
On the vast T stage, there were no changing lights, no music at all.
Even the screen, which was supposed to show a beautiful and romantic background, had turned into a barren desert with obvious intent.
Occasionally, the sound of the wind whistling could be heard.
After the screen changed, everyone in the venue burst into laughter.
This was a blatant mockery and insult.
Others had a grand finale, and so did he.
How could they not differentiate them?
Others had melodious romantic music, with a beautiful, dreamy background of a palace and sea of flowers.
But when it came to Malcom Owens, it was a desolate wind sound, a barren, uninhabited, dusty yellow desert.
