SUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS

Two years of patience, two years of everyone placing him at the bottom, while he watches people who came barely two weeks, promoted for improvement at the Elite department.

Golden thread is one of the top fashion Institutions in the Ivory city with more of students from Aristocratic families. It is not a place for people that belong to the lower class. Hence, Students like Rowan, who had the rare chance, scoring scholarship into the school are constantly faced with oppression.

Rowan had been at the Starter class for two years despite his hard work, a place basically meant for newbies and those who had failed and failed.

He hurried along the walk way, sweats dripping from his collar shirt. Pressing closer, he could hear the voice of a teacher echoing through the window of the Starter class.

"Damn," He muttered. "I'm late for Mentor Kai 's class." He quickened his pace. Getting to the heavy oaks door, he paused and took a deep breath, bracing for whatever the morning had in place for him. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The hall shifted instantly. Mentor Kai paused mid-speech. The students turned to the door. Seeing Rowan at the door, silent laughter spread through the Students.

"Are you for the class?" Mentor Kai toned in his twisted Chinese accent, perching down his full-rimmed glasses on his nose like he was second guessing a failed experiment.

"He's defined for this class, Mentor Kai," Someone chipped in, demeaning. Rowan didn't need to turn to know the speaker— His biggest bully, Charles Peterson, the institution's most entitled kid. "either he's late patching rags with thread and needle or stitching his weathered pants."

Laughter echoed the hall.

The jab hasn't settled when another person added, voice dripping with mock sarcasm.

"Dude still wears ripped pants in this century?"

"That's why he's the reaper." Another jested.

Another wave of laughter erupted.

And Rowan stood at the door, eating it up. It wasn't new, but particularly today, he cared less. The art piece in his bag felt heavier than their insult, and when he finally displayed the craft, his assignment, the mockers would quiet and maybe he would finally earn his spot.

"Enough!" Mentor Kai's voice finally cut through the hall, barely hiding the amusing smirk at the corner of his lips.

He leaned in, elbows resting on the sleek lectern. "Now, Mr. Rowan," he started, his voice dropping sarcasm, "do you mind telling the whole class why you're coming into my class like you put everyone here?"

Rowan's lips moved. To say something. To say he had been working two weeks, pouring his energy, depriving himself of sleep to create the master piece inside his bag. Maybe he'll finally get the respect he deserves.

"I had.."

And Mentor Kai shut him up. "I wasn't asking a question," He sneered, his expression hardening. Immediately, Rowan knew what was coming next. "Go to the Elite department, the stitching section, and bring in enough offcuts. I need thirty yards stitched with needle and thread before midday."

Rowan's stomach twisted.

"Sir..thirty yards..."

"It's too small, Huh?" Mentor Kai cut through his protest, his voice dripping sarcasm. "I should make it a hundred yards?"

Helpless, Rowan slowly turned around, walking the hallway while Mentor Kai continued lecturing about taking the students to the practical room.

The Elite Department consists of two sectors: the Stitching class where designs are crafted by experts, and the Grand Show room which is completely prohibited for students in the Starter Class.

As Rowan headed towards the stitching section to get the offcuts, a rich voice came behind him.

"Hey, good morning."

Rowan paused, waiting to hear another jab. He then turned, surprised to see a man dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit. His eased up. "Good morning, Sir." He responded.

"Do you mind showing me the way to the Grand Show room," The man asked kindly. "I'm new here. I suddenly lost connection with the organization map on my phone." He waved the device.

Rowan went silent for a second, his hesitation clear. Walking into the Grand Show room as a Starter comes with consequences.

"It's fine if it will take your time," The man quickly said on seeing his hesitation.

"It's just against the Institution regulations for students like me..." he quickly corrected, "I mean not everyone is allowed to enter the show room."

The man narrowed his eyes on him, but he didn't ask.

"But since you're a new client, and you need to get to the show room without the navigator, I'll take you there."

"That'll be perfect." The man said in relief. "Thank you."

Getting to the door of the Grand show room, two Securities stopped Rowan.

"Starters are not allowed here." One stared hard at him, blocking the way.

"He's with me," The man stepped forward. "do you mind?" He stared between the two Securities.

The two Securities exchanged glances before turning to the man.

"Your access card, Sir." One security demanded.

The man pulled out a green card. It was scanned and he was immediately granted access.

The security let out a smile. "Check. You're welcome to the Golden thread, Sir." He gave a gentle bow.

The man simply smiled, tucking back the access card into his suit.

"Let's go in." He said, taking Rowan inside to his surprise.

His confusion was instantly forgotten when he stepped into the exclusive space. Transparent glasses lined the wall, encased inside were expensive designs of styles, some embroidered with diamonds. Real diamonds that catch the roof light and scattered the crystal.

"Wow." Rowan gasped.

Mr. Grant, the manager quickly rushed to meet the man. "Mr. Moore," he gushed, his voice heavy with reverence. " I didn't know you'll be coming yourself. You're welcome, sir."

His gaze flicked to Rowan Uniform and disgust replaced the smile instantly.

His brow scrunched. "Who allowed you, a Star..."

"He's with me," Mr. Moore chipped in, his voice impatient. "Is the design ready?"

The manager looked away from Rowan. "Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. Please come with me, Mr. Moore." He led him to one of the glasses, gesturing at a complete Navy suit design inside.

Mr. Moore looks unimpressed after observing the design. "Was this the sample I sent?"

The manager quickly began to explain, his voice cracking slightly. "You see, Mr. Moore....the style, it's not something that can.."

"You can't make a simple style," He cut the manager off, shaking his head in disappointment. "My wedding is supposed to be tomorrow. I paid a million dollars for you to make this suit and the only thing you can produce is an excuse?"

The manager's face paled.

Rowan turned his attention to them, staring at the suit design.

"I can make something better," he simply said, "It won't take more than twenty hours."

The room shifted. Mr. Moore stared at Rowan with a raised brow, agitated but curious.

"You mean you can do something like this?" He repeated.

Rowan nodded confidently.

"In fact, I made something more peculiar. Just a prototype. It's my life work..." He zipped his bag pack, retrieving a suit design, stitched with needle and thread. It isn't the kind that has diamond embroidery all over it, but the style, the perfection, and the neat stitching, it captivated both the manager and Mr. Moore. It was the one he burned on cheap caffeine, working two weeks, pouring all his efforts to make it top-notch.

Mr. Moore took the suit, eyes widening, his voice breaking in disbelief. "How did you make this," he said, "I need two of these. Can you make it within that twenty four hours? I'll produce all the material. Tell me the Bills."

The manager's eyes darkened instantly. "Mr. Mo..." Mr. Moore shut him up with a dismissive wave.

"I'll do my best, Sir." Rowan said, confident, excitement bubbling inside. Maybe this was his chance to prove everyone wrong.

The manager shot him a dead glare. Like you're dead! Very dead!

Mr. Moore nodded, satisfied. "Good. I'll wire $3 million into your personal account...that's just for doing your job. I'll handle the other expenses."

Rowan's jaw dropped.

"$3 million grands?!" He choked.

That was more than he had seen in his entire life.