Chapter 3

It was the high school graduation ceremony and the whole school was gathered at the track field.

Coco, as valedictorian, was giving a rousing speech on stage. "There's no need to fear your college entrance exam, everyone! Just find the right style for you, and everyone could create miracles! Just like how I never studied or worked overnight, but topped the city's rankings anyway!"

Everyone applauded deafeningly, while she paused, her eyes scanning the field as she continued, "Naturally, if you overestimate yourself and insist on competing against a genius, you'd just humiliate yourself."

I know she was talking about me, but I had no time for her.

I stayed crouched in a corner of the field, making my final adjustments to my submission.

It was my primary submission to be submitted to Central Arts, so every stroke and sketch had to be perfect.

I heard footsteps, but didn't look up, presuming it was someone walking past.

However, my palette was sent flying the next moment, and all the paint splattered over the piece I worked on for three months.

Stupefied, I looked up to see Shaun staring at me in turn, with three lackeys behind him.

"Oh, I'm sorry—didn't see you there," he said unapologetically. "Also, know your place—Coco is giving a speech. Trying to steal attention with that silly painting, aren't you?"

I stared at the crumpled paper.

Three months' worth of work, going to waste just like that!

Looking up at Shaun, I asked, "Are you crazy?"

He glared at me in turn and strode up. "Say that again, I dare you!"

That was when Coco 'just happened' to arrive, saw the sketch on the ground and stamped on it, even twisting her heel.

Then, she gasped out loud dramatically. "Oh, I'm sorry, sis! I didn't notice where I was going!"

I stood up, glaring at her when the principal arrived.

Coco was suddenly bursting into tears, "Mr. Smith! She broke my limited edition crystal bracelet! It's well worth over five figures!"

She raised her hand, showing her wrist was bare after hiding her bracelet before anyone saw.

Mr. Smith looked at her and then at me, frowning, "What did you do, Jojo?"

I wasn't even bothered to defend myself—I was too used to this act.

Our parents soon arrived, with Dad glowering.

Mom promptly added insult to injury too. "If you can't afford it, drop out and get a job. And that so-called art training camp? Don't bother."

She promptly called the organizers on the spot too, asking for a refund of my participation.

I stood there as everyone laughed at me, when I noticed an elderly man standing beyond the crowd.

His hair was white and he wore gold-framed glasses, and he had a suave presence to him as he quietly observed everything.

It was Professor Carl Zims, from Central Arts!

I knew him because he answered my emails once before.

Taking a deep breath and picking up the trampled paper, I rushed towards the professor, taking out the drawing tablet from my bag.

I had worked on another submission two days ago, in the dead of night.

As I held out the tablet to the professor, he took it and stared at it for five seconds.

When he looked up again, there was excitement in those eyes behind his glasses. "What's your name?"

"Jojo Jenkins."

"Come to my office tomorrow."

As he turned to leave, there was a spring in his step.

No one noticed our exchange or bothered to find out who the professor was, however, as Coco was still bawling and demanding I pay her back.