Hua Rong placed the paper on the desk with a determined thud. "So, basically, if I earn enough points, I can leave this place before my mama comes back!" She declared.
Across from her, Lin Zeyan and Bai Xinchen leaned in to examine the paper.
Lin Zeyan arched an eyebrow. "Did you even read this?"
"Nope," Hua Rong admitted without shame.
Lin Zeyan sighed and picked up the paper. He scanned the contents before reading it aloud. "For a maximum of 20,000 points—achieve the highest rank in the academy's tests."
He glanced at Hua Rong, who already looked unimpressed. "And for an even bigger reward—40,000 points—win against another school as the solo representative of Blackthorn Academy. But…" He paused dramatically. "The school will be chosen by this academy."
Hua Rong's eyes twitched. "That sounds suspicious."
Lin Zeyan continued. "And for the ultimate reward… 50,00 points per day—become the captain of this academy and take full responsibility for managing it."
Hua Rong didn't hesitate. "Cut that one!"
"Good choice," Bai Xinchen smirked, arms crossed. "Hua Rong, there's no way you can control all of us."
Hua Rong scowled. The way he said it felt unnecessarily personal. But… he wasn't wrong. Herding a pack of delinquents was probably worse than being stuck here in the first place.
Lin Zeyan stretched and leaned back. "Another match is coming up next week. This time, I don't want to go, so I'll politely score points within the time limit and stay out of it."
"Same," Hua Rong nodded. Obviously, she didn't want to participate either. More importantly, she couldn't. She had to focus on collecting as many points as possible—quietly.
"But I want to go!" Bai Xinchen suddenly declared, placing a hand on Lin Zeyan's shoulder.
Both Lin Zeyan and Hua Rong turned to him in disbelief.
"Han Xinyang told me how amazing the last match was," Bai Xinchen explained, practically bouncing with excitement. "And now he wants to join every competition to experience all kinds of sports! I can't lose to him—I have to do the same!"
To emphasize his point, Bai Xinchen threw his arm around Lin Zeyan's shoulders, nearly knocking the other boy off balance.
Lin Zeyan struggled, face twisting in discomfort. "Hua Rong! Why is he with us?!" He gritted his teeth, trying to escape Bai Xinchen's grasp.
Bai Xinchen only grinned. "What are you saying, buddy? We're a team!" He shook Lin Zeyan with so much force that it looked like he was trying to rattle his brain loose.
Hua Rong watched the chaos unfold before calmly taking the paper and walking away.
She had better things to do.
...
Hua Rong was on her way to the studio when her gaze stopped near the art room. At this hour? Normally, the art teacher only showed up after school when everyone had already left. So who could be inside now?
Curious, Hua Rong leaned a little to peek through the door.
Wuhao Li sat on a chair, staring at a blank canvas with an expression that screamed existential crisis. His brows were furrowed, his hand gripped a paintbrush, but no strokes had been made—just a mess of colors smeared across the canvas.
And yeah… Hua Rong absolutely did what no one else would. She stepped inside without hesitation and peered over his shoulder.
"Why is it empty?" she asked, squinting at the canvas.
Wuhao Li was startled so hard that he tumbled off his chair with a loud thud. He blinked up at her from the floor, looking both betrayed and confused.
Hua Rong extended a hand.
"You! What are you doing here?!" he snapped, still lying on the ground
"I should be asking you that," she shot back. "Art class ended a long time ago. What, is this your secret hideout?"
Wuhao dusted off his clothes and collapsed back into his chair. "None of your business."
Hua Rong rolled her eyes before stepping around his desk, peering over his shoulder at the canvas. She squinted. "What exactly are you drawing? Looks like a toddler got into a fight with a paint bucket."
Wuhao shot her a glare. "It's… something."
"Uh-huh. Very convincing."
He sighed, his annoyance fading into something more like resignation. "I'm trying to paint a person."
"Oh?" Hua Rong leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "Who?"
Wuhao hesitated. "I don't know. Just… someone."
She raised a brow. "How can you paint someone if you don't even know who it is?"
Wuhao rubbed his temples. "I'm trying to make one up, but nothing feels right. I can't imagine anything."
Hua Rong tilted her head, thoughtful. "My mother used to say that when she painted, she always drew someone she loved. It made things easier, more natural."
Wuhao snorted. "That's stupid."
She shrugged. "It worked for her."
Wuhao leaned back, arms crossed. "Well, I don't adore anyone, so I guess I'm out of luck."
Hua Rong blinked at him. "What about your mother?"
His jaw tightened. For a moment, his fingers twitched against his sleeve. Then, in a quiet, clipped voice, he said, "I don't like her."
Hua Rong frowned slightly but didn't press. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things.
After a moment, Wuhao turned back to his canvas, expecting her to leave. But instead, she spoke again.
"Then why do you like your mother?" he asked, and she smiled as if readying herself for a speech.
"My mother is the strongest woman I know," Hua Rong said, warmth filling her voice. "She raised me on her own, worked tirelessly to send me to a good school, and no matter how tired she was, she always ensured I had everything I needed. She loves me, adores me—"
She kept talking, her words full of energy and pride, but Wuhao barely heard them.
Instead, his eyes were fixed on her, watching the way her face lit up, the way her hands moved as she spoke as if the sheer force of her emotions wasn't enough—she had to express them physically, too.
For a second, he felt… envious. Not of her mother, but of the certainty in her voice. The way she didn't hesitate, didn't second-guess her own feelings.
Unknowingly, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He rested his cheek against his palm, watching her with quiet amusement.
"And I want to make her happy," Hua Rong finished, her voice softer now, as if the thought itself brought her peace.
Wuhao let out a slow breath. He glanced at his canvas again, the chaotic mess of colors, and muttered, "My mother doesn't have any of those qualities."
Hua Rong's smile faltered slightly. She studied him for a moment as if trying to decide what to say. Then, instead of comforting him or offering empty words, she simply turned away.
"Then forget about drawing."
Wuhao blinked. "Huh?"
She stopped at the door, glancing over her shoulder with a teasing smirk. "Because in art, you need imagination. And to imagine, you need to adore something."
And just like that, she walked out.
Wuhao sat there, unmoving. His fingers tapped idly against the table as her words echoed in his head.
Adore something, huh?
His gaze drifted back to the canvas. For the first time that night, he picked up the paintbrush—not out of frustration, but out of something else. Something he couldn't quite name yet.
But his fingers didn't hesitate this time.