Bonnie fixed me with an icy stare.
"Before the investigators get here, I'll give you one last chance to come clean."
Cliff adopted that insufferable I'm-only-trying-to-help tone. "Once this blows up, you'll lose a lot more than some little preliminary title."
The comments flooded in, praising him:
[The ML is too kind—even now he's giving the second lead a chance to confess.]
[He's SO pure-hearted. That's why he keeps rejecting the FL, because of her engagement to the villain.]
[These two angels can't be together because of that TRASH. The FL has to practically beg him to accept her gifts!]
[Can this simp just explode already?!]
I was starting to question these viewers' collective IQ.
If Cliff were really the saint they imagined, why was he tangled up with Bonnie when he knew she was engaged? His so-called "rejections" were textbook playing-hard-to-get.
One glance at his wardrobe—not a single item under four figures—told me everything. Bonnie had been bankrolling him for God knows how long.
And they actually believed he needed prize money for tuition? The stupidity was dragging down the average intelligence of our entire circle.
I regarded them both with cold indifference and stated again, "I don't need to swap paintings to win. Especially not for some preliminary round."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Wait, yeah—this competition is just domestic. Jack's always competed internationally."
"His family's loaded, and he's already established. Why would he cheat?"
"What would he even gain?"
Doubt flickered across Bonnie's face. Her gaze slid toward me, uncertain now.
But Cliff's lips curled into a mocking sneer. He jabbed a finger at my face.
"Need me to spell it out for you?"
"It's for the guaranteed admission spot!"
His voice turned razor-sharp. "You all think this competition is just about rankings and prize money. But the grand champion gets a guaranteed spot at a top international art academy."
"That's something no amount of competitions can buy!"
Gasps swept through the room.
Bonnie's eyes filled with disgust. "Even if you worm your way into an elite school through dirty tricks, you won't last. And besides—" She smiled coldly. "Your true colors are about to be exposed."
When my expression didn't waver, she pointed at me, voice dripping venom.
"We'll see who's crying when the coffin lid closes!"
A group of uniformed investigators approached, one of them holding up a USB drive.
"This contains the complete footage—the painting process and the submission procedure. We're here to settle this once and for all."
The lead investigator turned to me. "You're Jack Gilbert, the one who was reported?" His tone was clinical. "I'll ask you one final time: Did you swap someone else's artwork to secure guaranteed admission?"
Cliff and Bonnie exchanged gleeful looks, practically vibrating with anticipation as they waited for the footage to destroy me.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain.
"I was granted exceptional admission last year," I said flatly, spreading my hands. "Why would I swap paintings to get admitted... again?"
