SUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS

Chapter 0003: Who are you?

"Burn it!!"

Nooo!!! The scream tore from his throat.

He lunged for the suit, Security shoved him hard. He stumbled back, falling heavily against the marble with a sharp crack.

The security squeezed the cloth and moved. Rowan's heart slammed against the ribcage. It was as though it was his heart getting wrenched in the hand of the security.

Every instinct overrides pain. Rowan lunged for the suit, dragging it with the security.

"No. No please don't burn it. Please..it's my design.. please don't do this sir."

"Take him out." Mr. Grant said, irritated already like he's causing a nuisance in the hall already.

The second security gripped his wrist, dragging him out of the hall against his resistance.

"P— please, sir. Please don't burn the design.." Rowan cried.

The entire thing turned into a spectacular. Patrons laughed at his hurt, some raising their phones to record the whole for I*******m view, some staff members giggled, some shaking their heads.

"Wait.. I'll do whatever you say." The words slipped from his mouth in desperation.

Mr. Grant paused at the door and turned back to him with a raised brow.

With chest heaving, Rowan said again, "I will do anything you say just don't burn the cloth, please."

Mr. Grant's expression softened, almost pity. Rowan thought his words had touched somewhere deep in his heart. The man stepped forward to him.

"You'll do whatever I say?"

Rowan nodded his head frantically.

"Let him go." Mr. Grant waved at the security. He stared at Rowan, a faint unkind smile at the corner of his lips.

"Give him the Suit."

The security handed the Suit back to Rowan. Relief flooded his face instantly, thinking Mr. Grant had really changed his mind.

"Burn it. With your own hand."

Rowan's heart dropped. The command was worse than an execution.

"Sir.. please..I can't..this is my work.."

The manager stepped forward further, Rowan's words sounded like an insult to his authority as the manager.

"If you, Rowan can't follow the instructions then you're expelled from this institution." He said.

Rowan's jaw dropped as the words hit him like a thunderbolt.

"Throw him out." Mr. Grant delivered with finally turning away to leave. "And make sure the design is burnt. "make sure the sample is burnt." The security nodded.

The first security yanked the design from him, the other gripped him again on the wrist, dragging him out of the hall despite his restraint.

Rowan stumbled after the security with the suits along the corridor.

"Please don't burn the sample.... please.." His voice echoed with plea and desperation. Students came out in one, two that formed a small group some laughing at him, some video recording.

The security turned a corner that leads to the garden court, the crowd pressing after them, filming the whole thing at the trash refuse.

But it was too late. The security set the cloth ablaze instantly, the fire reflecting on Rowan's face, his efforts, his design, it was burning right to his face, cracking with sound that tore through his heart.

His hand shook as the side in rage, tears welled in his eyes, battling against restraint to burst out.

"Do some, Starter boy. Do something.." Charles jabbed finger at his back, phone in his hand filming the scene.

Two years of frustration of holding back anger, every insult, every mockery burst like a saturated dam.

Rowan didn't warn him. He spun around, slamming a punch against his face. A sharp crack of jaw displacing echoed.

Charles's head snapped to the side, blood flying from his mouth, his phone clattered to the ground.

He paused, touched his jaw to see blood dripping from it. His eyes widened in panic and shaking.

"What...you idiot."

Anger rose inside his chest.

The students screamed.

Rowan just stood at the centre, his chest rising and fell from as two years of anger burst inside.

Charles lunged at him with a scream. "I'm going to kill you, bastard!"

The punch cracked on his face, sending Rowan staggering backward before collapsing heavily to the floor.

The crowd went wild.

Charles in a fit of rage rushed to Charles on the floor, punching him continuously on the face.

Securities didn't intervene immediately till Rowan's face was covered in blood. They gently pulled Charles away from him seeing Rowan was losing his breath.

"Let me go..I'm going to kill you, miserable bastard!"

Rowan laid still on the floor, his face bleeding from multiple cuts, his chest rising and falling rough and shallow.

The excitement in the air completely vanished, replaced with the look of horror, some pity, but no one moved to help him.

Securities took him away. The school disciplinary panel made a decision that only favoured entitled student and ruined Rowan's dream.

"You're Expelled!" It was final.

He was expelled.

And only one thing was on his mind.

Suicide. To end everything as his world crumbled around him.

Going home would only make things worse. No one loved him. No one believed in his dream and that dream had just been shattered.

Rowan just kept walking along the road, his mind lost, his knuckles hurting, his eyes redened with tears, face bleeding from cuts from Charles punches. He didn't know when he reached the outskirts of the city that had fewer residential buildings and abandoned buildings where people hardly come to.

He crumbled to his knee in an alley, eyes blurry with tears.

He pulled out a small vial bottle from his pocket and removed the cover. The smell spreads through the air. Sharp. Toxic acidic.

Rowan held the bottle with shaking fingers.

A tear drop slipped down his eyes.

Slowly, he took the bottle to his mouth—

Screeches!!!

The sound of tyres against asphalt cut through the air. Collective Headlights flooded through the night.

The bottle slipped from Rowan's grip to the floor as he jerked in shock.

Footsteps. Collective.

Then a leg appeared before his face. Crisp white trousers, black heels.

Rowan raised his head.

"You're giving them a chance to laugh on your grave." A powerful female voice came from his front. "It's time you stand up for yourself, Rowan."

Slowly, Rowan met her face. A woman older than him, thirty, maintained with wealth that wasn't instant, dressed in a crisp white blazer looked down at him. Her long curly hair lashed in the wind.

"Who are you?"

The woman smiled and crouched in his front. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave out a warm smile.

"Follow me, Rowan" she said,

"I have seen your talents and i want you to inherit half of my wealth to show the world what you're capable of doing."