The school festival ended with cheers, applause, and compliments that echoed through the halls even days later.
Class 2B's maid café was declared "Most Visited" and "Best Decorated" by the student council, and somehow Jay claimed full credit, even though he'd spent most of the event taste-testing parfaits and flirting with any girl who made eye contact.
Eli, meanwhile, tried to return to normal life.
But "normal" had changed.
He couldn't walk down the hallway without someone calling his name, or girls from other classes asking, "Can you draw me too?"
He kept his sketchbook hidden. The last thing he needed was another emotional rollercoaster from one more face he accidentally captured too well.
He thought he had a handle on things.
Until Monday afternoon.
It started in the art room.
Eli had just finished helping Emma box up the leftover supplies from the festival. She was labeling paint jars with her usual sharp handwriting while he stacked sketchpads into a crate.
The door opened.
And in walked someone Eli had never seen before—but everyone else in the room seemed to recognize immediately.
Tall. Sharp features. Neatly styled black hair with a single silver streak. His school blazer was unbuttoned in a way that looked intentional. And when he stepped in, the girls in the room practically froze.
"Ethan Stone," Emma whispered under her breath.
"Who?" Eli asked.
She didn't look at him. "Third-year. Art prodigy. Half the upperclass girls like him. The rest envy him."
Ethan's gaze swept the room before settling on Eli.
"You're the second-year everyone keeps talking about," he said.
Eli blinked. "Um… I guess?"
Ethan walked over, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but eyes focused.
"You're the one who did the festival booth sketches. And that mural outside the art room."
Eli nodded slowly.
Ethan tilted his head. "Not bad."
"Thanks," Eli said carefully.
Ethan leaned closer. "But it's a little amateur. Too sentimental. Too soft."
Eli felt something twist in his chest.
Emma frowned. "He's self-taught."
"I can tell," Ethan replied. "I've seen people like him before. Good eye. Weak discipline."
"Hey—" Eli started, but Ethan cut him off.
"I'm not here to insult you. I'm here to challenge you."
"Challenge me?"
Ethan pulled a folded flyer from his blazer and handed it to Eli. "Interclass art exhibition. End of the month. I've been undefeated two years running. You'll be representing Class 2B now."
"I didn't agree to that," Eli said.
"You don't have to. You've already been nominated by the art club. Your name's on the roster."
Eli looked at the paper. His name really was listed—next to Ethan's.
Emma stepped forward. "That's not fair. He didn't even know."
Ethan ignored her. "I'll see you at the exhibition."
He turned, paused just before leaving, and added, "Bring your best. Or don't come at all."
Then he walked out.
Eli stood frozen, heart thudding.
Emma grabbed the flyer from him and glared at the door.
"He thinks just because he's popular and paints like a machine that he gets to intimidate people."
Eli didn't speak.
Emma looked at him. "Don't let him get in your head. Your art speaks more than his ever has."
Eli smiled faintly. "Thanks… but I don't even know if I belong in a contest like that."
Emma stepped closer. "Then let him find out why you do."
The next few days felt heavy.
Lila noticed first.
"You've been quiet lately," she said during lunch. "More than usual."
"I've got a contest coming up," he admitted.
She leaned in. "Is it serious?"
"Pretty."
She rested her chin on her hands. "You'll do great. Your art has heart. People feel things when they look at it."
He gave her a tired smile. "That might not be enough."
Brooke overheard from the next table.
"Is this about that Ethan guy?"
Eli nodded.
Brooke stood, walked over, and poked his forehead.
"Listen. That guy might win contests. But you're the reason our café didn't crash and burn. You made people care. That's more impressive than painting something a judge likes."
Mia chimed in quietly from the side. "Do you want help practicing?"
Eli looked at her. "Help how?"
"I can pose," she said softly. "If you want."
He blinked. "You're ready?"
She nodded. "I want to be part of whatever helps you win."
Eli looked around at the three girls—four, counting Emma from across the room—and felt something shift inside him.
Maybe he didn't ask for this contest.
But he wasn't walking into it alone.
The practice began that evening.
Mia sat in the center of the art room, sunlight pouring through the windows behind her, her hands gently folded in her lap. She didn't say much. She didn't need to.
Eli sketched slowly.
Lila watched from the side, sometimes passing him a sharpened pencil. Brooke adjusted the curtains to get the right light. Emma quietly set up a second easel and began painting something of her own, only occasionally glancing Eli's way.
The room was quiet except for the scratch of pencils and soft conversation.
It was… peaceful.
Safe.
But deep down, Eli knew the contest wouldn't be.
One week later, it was time.
The interclass art exhibition was held in the school's main hall. Long tables lined with student artwork ran along the walls. Paintings, sketches, sculptures—all labeled and neatly displayed.
A panel of guest judges sat at the front. Students filed in and out throughout the day, viewing, whispering, admiring.
Eli's piece was set up near the end of the right wall. A full-sized charcoal sketch titled "The Moment Between."
It showed a girl—Mia—sitting in sunlight, hands resting calmly as her hair lifted slightly in the breeze. There was something gentle about the way her expression held quiet strength, a soft resilience you could feel just looking at her.
Ethan's piece stood at the opposite wall.
A massive, hyper-realistic portrait of a dancer mid-spin. Muscles sharp. Shadows intense. Technically flawless.
It looked like it belonged in a gallery.
Eli looked at it and felt small.
Emma appeared at his side.
"He's good," she said, "but he's cold."
Eli didn't answer.
Emma turned to him. "Your drawing… it's warm. People won't forget it."
She walked away before he could reply.
Judging began.
Each judge walked slowly, murmuring, scoring silently.
Eli kept his eyes on the floor.
He didn't even notice when the scores were announced.
He only heard Jay yelling, "Second place?! That's rigged!"
And then Ethan, casually accepting first place, with a fake humble smile.
Eli stood quietly near the back of the room.
Ethan approached.
"Not bad," he said. "Better than I expected."
Eli nodded once. "Congratulations."
Ethan's smile faded. "You're too calm. You didn't even care about winning, did you?"
Eli looked at him. "Not really."
That irritated him more than a hundred insults.
"You're not serious enough for this," Ethan muttered.
Emma walked up behind him.
"I liked Eli's better."
Ethan turned.
She stood tall. Calm.
"Yours was flawless," she said. "But Eli's was alive."
She looked at Eli, then back at Ethan.
"You should know—most people didn't cry in front of your piece."
Then she turned and walked off with Eli.
Ethan stood there, eyes dark.
Outside, Eli finally exhaled.
"I didn't win," he said quietly.
"But you didn't lose either," Emma replied.
He looked at her.
She added, "Some victories aren't trophies."
They stood in silence.
Then Emma said something that made his heart stop.
"I hope I'm next."
"What?"
"To be drawn. Like that."
She met his gaze.
"And I hope… it makes me look like how you see me."