SUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS

Chapter 0003: Who are you?

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"Burn it!!"

Mr. Grant tossed the suit to one of the Securities.

"Yes, Sir." The security moved immediately to carry out the instruction.

Rowan's heart twisted.

"No..no.." He struggled to break from the other security's grip, but he was overpowered. "please don't do this...Sir.."

"Take him away," Mr. Grant sneered, "he's causing a nuisance in the hall already." He dusted his palm, like the sample had left maggot on his palm. He turned, walking out.

The security's grip tightened on Rowan to throw him out of the hall. Rowan's scream became louder and desperate, his struggles restraining against the security push.

"P— please, sir. Please don't burn the cloth.."

A kid in an expensive suit, maybe eight or ten years, laughed like he was watching an anime character on display, one woman intentionally lounged on a pew, swirling champagne like she was getting the best entertainment in a long time.

"Move now, or I'll drag you out!" The security threatened.

But Rowan didn't bother. Desperation burned in his scream. His voice shifted, "I'll do whatever you say. I will." His chest heaved. and Mr. Grant stopped, then turned. He stared at the young student for a moment before smirking viciously.

He took one step forward. "You'll do whatever I say?" He repeated.

Rowan nodded frantically. Seeing the manager finally turn gave him some hope.

"I'll do anything you say, Sir," he said firmly, "I can make Mr. Grant accepted your offer..but please, don't burn my assignment."

Mr. Grant let out a low chuckle, amused by the young man's enthusiasm.

"Let him go." He waved at the security.

Rowan stood free at the centre, every eyes in the hall punching hole to know what will happen next.

"Bring the suit." He waved at the security.

A light smile formed on Rowan's face. Maybe Mr. Grant wasn't really cruel like he had imagined, but the next second, Rowan's hopeless expression turned ashes.

"Burn it. Yourself." Mr. Grant said, stretching out the sample.

"Sir..." Rowan's voice caught. Despite the functioning air system that continuously reduces the temperature of the hall, sweats rolled down his collar. His eyes stung with tears that didn't fall yet.

He shook his head firmly. "Sir...I can't..i can't do that... Please." Rowan gripped the cloth tightly.

"If you, Rowan can't follow the instructions of your superior, then... you're expelled," he said authoritatively. "and I'll make sure no Academy...no damn academy in this city takes you in!"

"Throw him out!" The manager commanded, tugged his suit and turned to one Security, whispering, "make sure the sample is burnt." The security nodded, while the manger continued to walk away casually like he hadn't just shattered a poor boy's dream.

Rowan's heard lurched.

Before he could protest, the two Securities held his arms, dragging him out despite his restraint.

"Please..please sir..." Rowan's cry came from the bottom of his throat, echoing with the desperation of a man that knew what would be the aftermath of his own fall.

The Securities threw him out. One blocked the entrance, crossed arms on his chest, staring him hard and daring Rowan to make one stupid move.

The other security yanked the suit sample.

"Give it back! No!!" Rowan ran after him, his voice both pleading and fervent. Students along the hallway paused to glance, laughing hard over the spectacle.

"If it isn't the starter guy, who could make such hell of a noise." One jeered.

Laughter.

Phones were already dancing mid-air, filming the whole humiliation. Students from the Elite stitching section and the Starter Class formed small clusters along the Hallway, recording the whole thing.

Rowan caught the security arm mid-motion. "Let go of me." The security sneered, shoving him back with a single push. Rowan stumbled back, cracking his butt on the hard marble.

"Ohhhhh!!" The hallway burst into laughter.

The security turned the corner that leads to the garden court, the place where trash is mostly burnt. Seeing his intention, Rowan jumped up, racing after him. The crowd pressed forward at his pace, phone filming his humiliation.

But it was too late. Rowan froze mid-steps, flame dancing in his eyeball, watching his sample, his sleepless effort burn away in the dump.

A single tear slipped down his eyes. It was as though his body was the one on fire rather than the sample that cracked, turning molt, and filling the air with rubber smell. His fist trembled at the side as anger turned into rage.

"Do some, Starter boy. Do something.." Charles poked him at the back, filming the shit.

Two years of frustration and anger burst out once. Everything Rowan was holding back exploded into unrestrained rage.

He didn't plant a warning. He just spun, his fist cutting dangerously through the air.

PAW!

It slammed Charles jaw. The insufferable bully crumbled into a crate, rocking it violently. Sack filled with pieces for recycling tilted, raining down on him like confetti.

Pain and blood exploded at once from his broken jaw.

"Eyyyyyy!!!" The students screamed. Their voice resonated as one. Exciting.

Charles didn't have the chance to nurse his pain before Rowan charged forward again. "I'm gonna kill you I swear." His fist cracked.

He sat on the bully, pulled him close with his uniform, punching blood from his face continuously. Two years of frustration, holding back his anger, and watching everyone place him at the bottom, exploded once.

Charles face was filled with blood, his breath slowed, almost unnoticeable. His head slumped back as each blow reconstructed his face.

The excitement in the air drained slowly, replaced with horror looks. Phones tilted, the murmurings died.

Securities stormed the scene, pulling Rowan away from Charles. His body laid motionless on the floor, his breathing coming out low, with efforts.

Rowan stood over his body, his chest rising and falling violently. His fist still tightened, glowing with blood. But he cared less.

With immediate effects, Rowan was expelled

And only one thing was on his mind. Suicide.

Going home would only make things worse. No one loved him. He just wanted to end things. He dragged himself through the night, still feeling his heart simmering.

He walked and walked, till he was at the outskirts of the city. Here, no one is going to see him. And once he's gone, what would remain would be his body. The humiliations and mockery would be left behind the unfair world.

He crumbled to his knee, tears stinging his eyes. The night air howled violently as though it was singing a goodbye song.

He pulled out a small bottle from his pocket and removed the lead. The smell was toxic. Acidic.

A tear drop slipped from his eyes.

Shakily, his hand moved the bottle to his lips.The smell was toxic, sharp.

Screechess!!!

The sound of tyres cut the air. Harsh light flooded the night. No. Maybe three. Or more, casting Rowan's shadow on the floor.

The bottle slipped from his hand in shock.

Heels clicked behind. Sharp. Blending with other footsteps.

The figure stopped behind him, casting a long shadow on the alley road.

"You think hurting yourself is going to end things on a good note for you?" A powerful feminine voice came behind. "It's time you actually stand for yourself and fight."

Slowly, Rowan turned and looked up from the floor. A woman in a red dress towered over him, her long hair lashing in the violent air.

"Who are you?" His eyes narrowed.

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

"Follow me, Son," she said, "I have seen your talent and i want you to inherit half of my wealth to show the world what having a talent really means."