SUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS

Chapter 0002: Burn the sample!

In 5 minutes.

Rowan, the most looked-down Student in the Academy, had just secured a ground breaking deal, the boy who was always patching pieces with needle and thread, while the entitled rich students hold real fabrics and machines.

And yet, he just stamped a $3 million dollars deal!

The stunning reality of it felt surreal.

Mr. Grant, the manager couldn't hold back his anger. His loafer clicked the marble, hard and frantic like bullet hammering steel.

"What have you done, you buffon," he sneered, "you really think you can just walk inside a room and snatch a customer?!!"

"This place has real protocols and no exception is made for people like you. Not a chance!"

Rowan only caught the glimpse. Mr. Grant's palm cut through the air like whip, slamming against the poor boy's face.

The impact was sickening, echoing across the hall. Customers spun head in the direction, staff workers paused, watching the igniting fire.

Rowan stumbled back two steps. He froze. He couldn't his cheek. It was burning like inferno, blooming with five finger prints.

The sample suit which Rowan had broke all his sweats to bring to life, it sprawled on the floor, and Mr. Grant stepped over it like it was nothing more than a rag.

"Next time, your dumbskull will know just when to speak!"

Rowan raised his head, tears threatening to break from his eyes. His voice trembled "It isn't my fault..you're getting it all wrong..you can ask the Securities. I only led Mr.."

"Are you trying to lecture me now, huh?" The manager cut him off with a hiss. "That's why you've never amount to nothing, rotting at the bottom of the Starter class! Because you believe having talents will take you places— Of course places like the bottom of people like us."

Rowan felt the blow.

His jaw tightened. Something he'd been holding back threatened to break. The humiliations, the filth..and now Mr. Grant had just slapped everything on his face.

He wanted to scream, to say he was doing his damn best to be at the top of the Academy, to let everyone know that the system is corrupt, dismissing all his efforts. Two years. Two years of being placed at the bottom where the Academy trash is emptied on his head.

But he bit his tongue. Knowing very well that sparking would only bring more blows.

"You broke rules," Mr. Grant continued, his voice cutting like blade. "You stole the company's design and you had the gut! The teremity to claim ownership!"

The accusation cut Rowan deep like a dagger to his skin.

Rowan's vein bulged. His finger snapped to the sample. "This. It is my design." He snapped. "My sweats. I built the sample from scratch! With my hands!"

The hall silenced.

Rowan's breathing turned ragged, his chest falling and rising with efforts.

The hall stared, watching what would go down next.

Mr. Grant let out a knowing sarcastic laughter. "You.. your design?" He squatted and picked up suit samples with two fingers like it was rotten trash.

"Securities!!" His voice resonated the air.

Two securities stormed the hall.

Mr. Grant held up the Suit sample, the one Rowan burned spent his last dime to bring to life, like it was a piece of trash.

"Burn it."