Chapter 157
Xavier Delmar stood frozen, blindsided by the relentless interrogation.
Cold sweat beaded along his forehead, tracing jagged paths down his flushed cheeks.
“I just forgot, alright?” His voice cracked, desperation lacing every syllable as his gaze darted wildly for an exit.
“The comic has hundreds of pages! You expect me to memorize every detail?” His excuse withered midair, dissolving into the thick tension.
No one bought it.
The crowd knew better—they understood the painstaking effort behind each panel, every stroke of ink a testament to the artist’s soul.
Forgetting a minor illustration? Maybe. But the core theme? The story’s beating heart? Unforgivable.
“You’re spouting baseless accusations!” Xavier’s shout bordered on hysterical as he frantically waved at security. “Get him out!”
But the crowd erupted. Reporters lunged forward, cameras flashing like strobe lights, microphones jabbing toward him like weapons. Even fans began whispering, unease rippling through them.
“I thought it was a misprint at first,” one muttered, brow furrowed. “The chapter was titled ‘Boundless Loyalty,’ but the content reeked of cheap romance tropes.”
“And now he claims he doesn’t remember?” another scoffed. “The tonal shift between volumes was jarring. I assumed burnout, but this…”
“A comic’s theme is its backbone,” a third voice cut in, sharp. “No creator forgets their own story’s soul.”
Doubt spread like ink in water. These readers had loved the series—admired the artist behind it. Now, faced with Xavier’s flimsy deflections, their faith splintered.
“Mr. Delmar,” a reporter challenged, voice steely, “care to explain? Or better yet—prove it. Sketch something now. Right here.”
A beat. Then the damning follow-up: “Unless you’re guilty of stealing someone else’s work to climb the industry ladder. In which case—who’s the real artist?”
Xavier’s pulse hammered in his throat. One misstep today, and his career would implode.
“The series is ongoing,” Gabriel Sterling taunted, locking eyes with him. “If you’re innocent, draft the next plot twist. Show us your ‘vision.'”
Guilt clawed at Xavier’s ribs, but he smothered it. He’d reviewed discarded drafts yesterday—how hard could it be? Years of mimicry had honed his forgery skills.
“Fine.” He exhaled dramatically. “But I’ve been ill. My hand isn’t steady—forgive any imperfections.”
Inside, he sneered. Even at 70% accuracy, it’d suffice.
The room held its breath as he lifted the pencil. Sweat slicked his palm, but he forced focus.
Then—disaster.
Once, as an editor, Xavier had tweaked artists’ drafts with ease. But complacency had dulled his edge. These days, hired hands did the work.
Now, his fingers trembled uncontrollably. The resulting sketch was a grotesque parody—lines shaky, composition clumsy. The “heroine” resembled a simpering caricature, the iconic Sunset Tower missing its signature windows.
Sophia Kensington stepped forward, voice strained. “Xavier’s unwell, and he despises public drawing. That he attempted this under pressure proves his authenticity!”
The crowd wavered. True, the draft was rough, but the plot bones remained. Artists were eccentric, after all.
Yet the seed of doubt had sprouted.
“Wait—the heroine’s a warrior, not some lovesick fool!” a fan protested. “And the waves lack their usual fury. This feels… hollow.”
“Like a rushed imitation,” another agreed.
Xavier’s facade crumbled. “It’s a rough draft!” he blustered. “The style’s identical!”
Gabriel, listening to his earpiece, slowly unfolded a sheet. “My mentor anticipated this.” He revealed a flawless sketch—every line fluid, every detail precise. “Let the audience decide.”
The room erupted.
Side by side, the difference was undeniable: Xavier’s hack job versus a master’s touch. The truth, laid bare.
