Wednesday morning at Wolven High usually began with a drowsy, predictable rhythm. But today, the hallway outside the Delta Stream building was vibrating with a chaotic, electric energy.
The back door of Class 9, a place typically avoided by the elite students, was currently the center of a riot. A massive crowd had gathered, blocking the corridor completely. Students from the Alpha Stream upstairs had descended, pushing and shoving to get a better look, their phones held high to capture the spectacle.
"My God, is that really chalk?"
"It looks like a movie poster! Look at the lighting!"
"It's him! It's absolutely 'Flame'! That's his debut concert look!"
Faye walked down the main hallway, clutching a stack of music sheets. She held her head high, her mood excellent. Yesterday, she had inspected Class 1's blackboard. It was a masterpiece of traditional calligraphy and ink-style landscape art—refined, elegant, and perfectly suited to the school's conservative tastes. She was certain Class 1 would take the gold medal.
As for Class 9? She smirked. She heard their art representative had quit. They had been forced to rely on Ren, the "useless" sleeper who failed every exam. Ren probably drew stick figures.
"Faye! Senior Faye!"
A junior girl ran up to her, breathless. "You have to see this! Class 9's blackboard... it's insane! They drew the superstar 'Flame'!"
Faye frowned. "A pop star? How tacky."
"No, you don't understand," the girl shook her head. "It's real art."
A cold knot formed in Faye's stomach. She pushed past the junior and made her way toward the crowd. As she approached, the students parted, whispering. Faye looked inside.
The music sheets nearly slipped from her fingers.
The blackboard had been transformed into a portal. Ren had used deep blue and purple chalk to blend a background that looked like a nebulous, starry night sky. Against this backdrop, four distinct Q-version figures stood out, telling a silent story of evolution.
On the right, a young boy in tattered clothes clutched a cheap guitar, his eyes wide with ambition. In the center, he performed on a lonely street corner. Further left, he stood on a small stage, bandaged and bruised but defiant.
And on the far left was 'Flame' as the world knew him today—dressed in his iconic punk jacket, bathed in a blinding spotlight created by aggressive strokes of white chalk. He looked like a king returning to his throne.
It wasn't just a drawing. It was a biography written in dust. The perspective, the lighting, the emotional weight—it was professional concept art.
"Who..." Faye's voice trembled. "Who drew this? They must have hired an outsider."
"It's not an outsider."
Xavier walked through the crowd, holding the grading clipboard. As the Student Council President, his word was law. He stopped in front of the board, his eyes tracing the lines. The image of Ren from the night before—wearing headphones, casually creating a masterpiece—burned in his mind.
He turned to Faye. "I saw it. Ren drew it. Alone."
He uncapped his red pen and looked down at the grading sheet. Usually, the maximum score was 95.
Xavier wrote a single number: **100**.
It was the first perfect score in the history of Wolven High.
A gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a roar of approval.
Faye stared at the red number. It felt like a slap in the face. Compared to this raw, explosive talent, her class's traditional landscape looked lifeless and boring.
And the artist?
Ren was currently asleep at her desk in the back row. She had pulled her blazer over her head like a tent, blocking out the world. The adoration of the crowd seemed to mean nothing to her.
Joey, sitting on the desk in front of her, poked the lump of fabric. "Ren! Wake up! You got a 100! You're famous! How did you draw Flame so perfectly?"
Ren's hand shot out from under the jacket, shoving Joey away. "Shut up. I'm sleeping."
Under the darkness of her makeshift tent, Ren's phone vibrated. She cracked one eye open.
**[ Message from: That Noisy Singer ]**
**[ Noisy Singer ]:** *Boss! Q-God! I saw the trending topic on Weibo! A student posted a blackboard drawing from Moon City. Is that me? It's too handsome! That's your style, right? Which school are you at? I want to come take a selfie with it!*
Ren rolled her eyes.
**[ Ren ]:** *If you come here, I will break your legs.*
**[ Noisy Singer ]:** *So cruel! But seriously, the fans are going crazy. Can I repost it?*
**[ Ren ]:** *Copyright fee. Five million. Transfer it now.*
**[ Noisy Singer ]:** *...You are a greedy demon. But okay.*
Ren locked her phone and closed her eyes again. If the screaming students outside knew that their idol, the untouchable superstar 'Flame', was currently begging this "sleeping dropout" for permission to repost her art, the school would implode.
Outside, Faye stood frozen. Her nails dug into her palms.
It was happening again. Ren, the failure. Ren, the Dormant. Yet, whenever Ren touched something, she did it with a terrifying brilliance that eclipsed everyone else.
"Faye, let's go," a classmate whispered. "We lost this one."
"No," Faye took a deep breath, forcing a mask of indifference onto her face. "It's just a drawing. It's a parlor trick."
She turned away, chin high. "In this world, drawing cartoons doesn't determine status. Spirit Power and classical art do. A drawing won't help her get into the Royal Academy."
She looked at Xavier, softening her voice. "Xavier, I'm going to the music room. The Founder's Day assembly is next week. My violin solo has to be perfect. It's the only way to catch the attention of Master Wei."
Xavier nodded slowly. "Go ahead. Your music... it has soul."
Hearing the word "soul," Faye's heart skipped a beat. A flush of excitement returned to her cheeks.
She thought of the secret she had locked away in her drawer. The handwritten music score she had found in the trash can of the guest room weeks ago. It was crumpled and stained, but the melody was haunting. It was raw, wild, and technically complex—far beyond anything she could compose herself.
Faye had taken it. She practiced it in secret. She claimed it was her own.
That music was her ticket. As long as she played that piece perfectly, she would become Master Wei's disciple. And Ren? Ren would stay here, drawing cartoons on a chalkboard, rotting in the mud where she belonged.
"I won't let you down," Faye said, her voice filled with renewed confidence. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking rhythmically down the hall.
Back in the classroom, under her jacket, Ren's lips curled into a cold, amused smile.
She had hearing sharper than a wolf's. She heard every word.
*Master Wei? The violin solo?*
Ren found it hilarious. Because the "original composition" that Faye was guarding like a national treasure... the masterpiece she planned to use to impress the world... was nothing more than a rough draft Ren had scribbled on a napkin three years ago and thrown away because the transition was "too clunky."
"I can't wait," Ren thought, drifting back to sleep. "I really can't wait to see your face when you realize your crown is made of my trash."
**[Chapter 19 End]**