Chapter 153
Since the press hadn’t arrived yet, Isabella Sinclair took her time browsing through the mall, her fingers trailing over various trinkets and displays.
A soft voice caught her attention from a dimly lit corner.
“Excuse me, miss… Would you like to take a look at my comics?”
Turning, she found a young man crouched on the floor, his boyish face hopeful. In front of him lay a small spread of hand-drawn comics, neatly arranged but largely ignored by passersby.
“You don’t have to buy them,” he added quickly, his smile wavering slightly as his gaze flickered toward Xavier Delmar’s polished booth nearby. “If you like one, I’ll give it to you for free. Just… take a look?”
Curious, Isabella crouched down and picked up one of his comics. The cover featured an adorably clumsy cat, its round body perched on a windowsill, trying—and failing—to look dignified.
A warmth spread through her chest. It was undeniably charming.
“This cat was inspired by one I used to have,” the young man explained, his eyes softening with nostalgia. “Back in the countryside, it was just me and him. I try to capture that feeling in my work—hoping it brings a little joy to whoever reads it.”
Isabella flipped open the comic and spotted a name scribbled inside: Gabriel Sterling.
“Your art is incredible,” she said, surprised. “Why hasn’t anyone bought these? Have you tried submitting to a publisher?”
Gabriel ducked his head, sheepish. “My transitions aren’t smooth enough. Publishers say my stories won’t sell—people want action, not quiet moments. I printed these myself, just to give to friends… hoping someone might notice.”
Isabella studied the pages again. The artwork was vibrant, full of life—but he was right. The shifts between scenes were abrupt, disrupting the flow.
“The problem isn’t your style,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s the rhythm. If you smooth out the transitions, your work could stand out.” She pointed to a panel. “Here—imagine your pen is a camera, slowly panning to the next scene. It’ll guide the reader naturally.”
Gabriel frowned, struggling to grasp it. “I think I understand… but how?”
Isabella smiled. Maybe this meeting was fate. If she could help refine his talent, he might just be the key to countering Xavier’s influence.
Spotting a stray pencil, she picked it up and grabbed a scrap of paper. With a few swift strokes, she sketched a playful Persian cat, its large eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Look,” she said, handing it to him.
Gabriel’s jaw dropped. “That’s—how did you—?”
Her lines were fluid, effortless. Behind the cat, she conjured a serene countryside path, golden wheat fields swaying in the breeze, a babbling stream winding through the scene. It wasn’t just a drawing—it was a memory, alive with warmth and familiarity.
Gabriel stared, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over him. He’d seen this style somewhere before…
Just then, a woman with short hair paused, intrigued. “Is this yours? What’s it called?”
Isabella handed her Gabriel’s comic. “Oh, this is just a quick sketch. The comic is his—feel free to look.”
Within minutes, a small crowd had gathered—people who had ignored Gabriel all day now drawn in by the energy of the moment. His face flushed with excitement.
“You’re the real artist here,” he whispered to Isabella.
She chuckled. “Just giving a little spark.”
As she spoke, she glanced up—just in time to see a swarm of reporters descending, cameras flashing.
Calmly, she set down the pencil, watching the scene unfold.
Gabriel scrambled to gather his things, hurrying after her like an eager apprentice. “Um, miss… could I—maybe—get your contact info?”
Isabella didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned to him with a quiet smile.
“Tell me, Gabriel… do you want your work to be more famous than Xavier Delmar’s?”
