Chapter 38

Chapter of her life. Though always proud, she'd found herself suffocating in the mess of a crumbling marriage and family duties. Each day chipped away at her until she barely recognized herself anymore.

The painting wasn't just art-it was a scream, a raw eruption of every injustice she'd swallowed. A need to rip apart everything that had broken her.

Marilee sat among the murmurs, rolling her eyes internally at the praise. She never liked these so-called prodigies. "What's so amazing about Sirius way? Looks like she's just doing it for attention.Don't youI think so, Roger?"

She turned to him with a light smile, expecting agreement, but froze. His entire expression had shifted. The gloom was gone. He was now staring at the painting on stage with a sharp focus and a spark in his eyes she had never seen before.

"It's her..." Roger whispered in a low voice.

Marilee's smile faltered. A faint unease crept in."Roger, do you know her?"

He gave a slow nod, then shook his head,almost mocking himself. "I did once. I had the chance, but l ruined it."

Back when he was taken in by the Gibson family,Roger had carried the weight of his humble past like a curse. Surrounded by judgment, he assumed the world saw him as less, and so, he returned the sentiment.

Allen never eased up on him. The rules were rigid, the pressure suffocating. Roger had turned to boxing as an escape, something he could control. After putting in a lot of effort, he finally got into competitions, but he kept losing. There was even a time he got beaten so badly his face was left bruised and swollen. It was only when he was completely pushed to his limits that he managed to win a match or two.

He remembered those days all too well-walking into school bruised and disheveled, only to see Waylon's name gleaming on every honor board. He was always surrounded and admired by students and staff alike.Compared to Waylon, everyone else seemed to vanish into the background.①

It had felt brutally unfair. Some people didn't need to try-they just were, and the world couldn't help but be drawn to them.

Allen, bitter over Waylon's success, pushed Roger endlessly. If he wasn't berating, he was mocking.

"Boxing? What a joke! You should be hitting the books instead! Waylon's score is miles ahead of yours. I brought in top-tier tutors for you, and this is how you thank me?"

The butler tried to calm Allen. "Please calm down,Mr. Gibson. Roger is already quite intelligent, but Waylon has always been something else. A born genius..."

"So others can be geniuses, but not Roger? Look at him! Can't even win a fight. What use is that?"

Surrounded by sneers and criticism, Roger had no choice but to silently close the door and throw himself back into training.

He first crossed paths with Sirius during an early elimination match. That day, everything felt off-his body was sluggish, his mind filled with doubt. Every hit he took seemed to echo with Allen's biting ridicule.

By halftime, he was exhausted-physically and mentally. He shuffled toward his coach, tempted to call it quits, when a girl suddenly appeared and handed him a sketchbook.

"Hey, you're Roger, right? Someone wanted you to have this," she said casually.

He took it without much thought, but the moment he flipped it open, his breath caught.

Page after page held rough yet vivid drawings of him.His form captured in various matches-win or lose,battered or proud-each sketch held something more than lines.

No matter the outcome-victorious or defeated,bloodied or determined-she had drawn him like a hero, as though he were the centerpiece of his own story.

At the very end, a single name was scribbledd: Sirius.

Back then, the name meant nothing to him. The girl explained, "Sirius had to leave early and couldn't stay to watch the rest of your match. But she asked me to pass this on to you-life is like a game. There are no forever winners or losers. If y/ou give your all every time, you've already won. Keep giving it your best in the matches ahead!"

Looking back, it wasn't dramatic to say-she was his salvation.

It felt like being pulled from the depths just as he was about to drown-her words, that sketchbook, gave him the air he desperately needed.

He stepped back into the ring as if something had changed. It was like victory herself had taken his side. That round, he fought like a man reborn and won.

It wasn't long before he discovered the truth that Sirius was no ordinary girl. She was a rising star in the art world, already famous by the time they met.The first time he ever walked into an art gallery was for her.

When he walked into the gallery, his footsteps stopped in front of a massive painting.Around him,people whispered in awe about how much it had sold for-an outrageous sum.①

But none of that mattered. The moment he looked at the canvas, every other sound disappeared.

He had never met Sirius before, and he didn't know the first thing about art, but standing there, he felt it deep in his gut-Sirius was born for this. She belonged to the world of art, a world full of brilliance and creativity.

She was part of that rare group of geniuses, and someone like him could never truly reach her.