The sun spilled softly through the tall windows of the noble courtesan classroom. The scent of fresh paint and polished floors lingered faintly in the air. Harper sat beside her easel, still healing, but sitting upright with a quiet determination. The room was buzzing with activity and chatter when the door creaked open.
"Blue, I'm back now!" Freya announced, a slight bounce in her step as she entered.
"Here," Harper said, handing her the phone.
Freya scrolled through the image on the screen. "What's this painting?"
"The courtesans will hold a painting auction in a week," Harper explained, her voice calm but focused.
"Oh, is this the one you want to paint?"
"No. We have to create our own ideas and paint them out. That's why it's an auction—our clients will show up to buy the best ones chosen by the professor." Harper crossed her arms. "I've worked with the courtesans, and only a few are actually good artists—and they're all regular courtesans."
"But I thought it's the noble courtesans that always get their paintings auctioned off?" Freya frowned.
"They steal the regular courtesans' work," Harper said plainly.
"What?" Freya gasped.
"Angel, Olivia, and Jade do it mostly. Violet is a true artist, so she doesn't like to take any painting to the auction aside from hers."
"What do you plan to do now?"
"They'll submit the paintings in three days. I asked one of the regulars, and she told me their artwork can be found on their page. That's where the nobles pick them from. I'm sure Angel will take one from there."
"Then you'll report it?"
"The regular courtesans will. I'll give them backup."
"How about your own painting?"
"I'll paint mine. I can try it out."
"Good!" Freya grinned. "I'll prepare your canvas."
"Thank you."
Presentation Day…
The class was packed. Paintings lined the walls and easels, each covered and ready for reveal. Excitement and nerves filled the air like static. Then the door burst open and the moment soured.
"Yah! Isn't this the flower of the courtesan house?" Angel sneered as she strutted in with her usual entourage. "I thought you lost your legs!"
Laughter erupted around her like a ripple.
"I can't believe you still have the energy to paint. Did you pay some artist to do it for you?" she mocked.
Harper's face didn't flinch. Her lips curled slightly. "I'm not like you, Angel. I believe in myself. I don't copy others."
"You—!"
"Having low self-esteem is a serious disease," Harper continued coolly. "I should move far away from you before I catch that."
"Blue!"
"Get out of my way," Harper snapped, pushing past her with a quiet but firm strength. Freya followed close behind, placing Harper's painting gently with the others.
At the far end of the room, Celine stepped up, holding Angel's painting. Harper, sitting now, eyed her sideways, watching every move.
"She's doing something to your painting," Freya whispered.
"I know," Harper muttered. "Leave her alone."
"Okay…"
Soon, everyone had submitted their artwork. The heavy door opened and silence fell as Madam Fransisca walked in, regal and unreadable. Jesse followed behind her, carrying a sleek iPad, and the professor—stern and exacting—took her seat beside them.
"You can start your presentation," Madam Fransisca announced.
One by one, the courtesans walked to the front, unveiled their paintings, and spoke about their meanings. The professor nodded at some, frowned at others.
Then she picked up a canvas and recoiled.
"What the fuck is this?!" she snapped, her voice sharp like a whip. Her palm was stained with wet paint. "What kind of nonsense—?!"
She slammed the painting down.
"Whose painting is this?"
Gasps filled the room. Some turned toward Harper instinctively.
"Is that not Blue's painting?" someone murmured.
"Did you use fake materials to paint? It's ruined before you even presented it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Blue, what happened to your painting?" someone else hissed. "What the hell did you use? This is what you prepared for an audition?"
Harper stood, lips tight. "Professor, I did my painting very well. There should be a mix-up somewhere."
"A mix-up?" the professor narrowed her eyes. "Explain then."
Harper's gaze sliced across the room until it landed on Angel. "It was you, right?" she said, pointing directly at her. "You did something to my painting."
"Me?" Angel laughed, stunned. "What the hell are you talking about? The painting was already looking trashy. How could I have done something to it?"
Harper's eyes narrowed. "I didn't open the painting until now. How did you know it was trashy?"
A hush fell over the room.
Angel scoffed. "It's quite obvious that someone like you wouldn't know how to paint something good."
"That's why you ruined my painting?"
"I did not!"
"But your escort did."
"What are you saying? Celine wouldn't do that!"
Harper pulled out her phone, her tone as icy as her stare. "What's this all about then?" she said, holding the screen up for all to see. She handed it to the professor.
On it was a clear clip: Celine standing in front of Harper's painting, subtly uncapping something, then brushing it across the edges.
"Why do you slander me, Blue?" Celine gasped.
"Slander you?" Harper scoffed. "Do I need to pay attention to someone like you? You ruined my painting—and you better confess who sent you."
Angel stepped forward. "Are you trying to accuse me, Blue? Just because she was standing in front of it doesn't mean she did anything!"
"Over there," Harper said calmly, pointing to the corner. "Something like that will confirm it."
Everyone turned. A small red dot blinked from the ceiling—CCTV.
Madam Fransisca's expression changed subtly. "Jesse, give me my iPad."
"Yes, ma'am."
She tapped swiftly, then turned the screen, her smirk cold and lethal.
"What did you pour into the painting, Celine?" she asked, still not looking up.
Celine's legs gave out. She fell to her knees.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. It wasn't intentional!"
"It wasn't intentional?" Madam Fransisca's tone grew steelier. "You ruined a whole painting. I'm sure it took several days to get that done. But you ruined it?"
Harper's voice cracked, raw. "Celine, what have I done to you? Why would you ruin my painting? You did it because of Angel, right?"
"No!" Celine cried. "She doesn't know anything at all. It's all my plan! I don't like the fact you were made a courtesan out of nowhere. That's why I planned this—to make you fail!"
Trying to protect Angel, huh? Harper thought bitterly and smiled to herself.
"Send Celine out of the noble hall," Madam Fransisca said firmly.
"Madam!" Angel stood up, alarmed. "You can't do this—how can you send her out? Then who will serve me?"
"You'll get a new escort," Fransisca said coldly. "We can't keep an escort who tries to harm a courtesan."
"Blue is lying on her! She ruined the painting herself!"
Fransisca arched an eyebrow. "How does that sound to you? She ruined her painting herself just to fail?"
"She can do that to gain sympathy!"
"If not because she's been working here for so long," Madam said slowly, "you know the kind of punishment I would give her. I'm already doing her a favor by only sending her out of the nobles' hall. She'll serve underground."
"Madam!"
"Please see Celine out of the class."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"If you want to follow her, you can," Fransisca turned sharply to Angel. "Stop standing around and disrupting the class."
Angel glared at Harper as if she could burn her with her stare alone. Harper merely adjusted her glasses, unbothered, and went to sit down again.
Angel stomped her feet, furious, then dropped into her chair, arms folded and fuming.
"Angel, it's your turn to make a presentation," the professor said firmly, her voice echoing across the quiet class.
Angel stood up reluctantly, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Her face was calm, but her eyes narrowed as if expecting trouble. She dragged her painting forward and stood in front of the class, putting on her best graceful facade.
She flipped her canvas open and started to explain, her voice smooth and calculated.
But before she could finish—
"Ain't you some freaking liar, Angel?" Harper's voice cut through the room like a blade.
The class went dead silent.
Angel blinked rapidly. "What do you mean?"
Harper stood with her arms crossed, her voice firm, face twisted in disgust.
"Why are you presenting someone else's work?!"
Angel gasped like Harper had just accused her of a crime. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Harper didn't even flinch.
"This painting belongs to Dream."
Angel scoffed, flipping her hair back. "Dream?" She turned toward the class and laughed mockingly. "Does Dream look like someone who is smart enough to make this kind of painting?"
Gasps filled the room. Dream lowered her head slightly, but Harper stepped forward protectively.
"And you think you're smart enough to make something as beautiful as that?"
"Blue!!" Angel shrieked.
"What's going on?" Madam Fransisca asked, her brows drawn.
"Madam, this painting belongs to Dream."
Fransisca turned to the quiet girl in the corner.
"Dream, is that true?"
Dream hesitated for a second before nodding. "Madam…" she breathed.
"It's fine. You can speak!"
"It is mine."
The room buzzed with murmurs.
"How did it end up with Angel then?" Madam asked, eyes now cold.
Angel rolled her eyes.
"This is my painting. Are you trying to take credit for my work? Are you supporting her because your painting is ruined already, Blue?"
Harper stepped closer, voice low and dangerous.
"I'm supporting her because you are the thief here, plagiarizing someone else's painting."
"Prove it! Where is the proof that this painting belongs to you?" Angel snapped.
Harper smirked.
"Of course there's a proof." She strode to the front and pulled out her phone, holding it up to Madam Fransisca.
"Look at this, ma'am. Dream painted and uploaded this painting on her Instagram page—three years ago."
The class leaned in, peering at the screen.
Fransisca's expression hardened.
"Angel?"
Angel swallowed. "Madam…"
"How did you get this painting?"
Harper spoke before Angel could.
"She stole the picture and copied everything."
"Don't lie on me!" Angel shouted, visibly shaken.
"Well I'm not! We both know that I'm not." Harper's gaze was ice.
"Just that picture cannot prove that it belongs to her! Things like this can easily be forged!" Angel argued, desperation creeping into her voice.
Harper tilted her head.
"Really? I have another means then. Why don't we bring in a canvas and have you paint it over again?"
Angel flared up.
"You don't tell me what to do!"
"Don't you need to prove yourself?" Harper shot back. "Oh, I also forgot that you don't know how to paint at all. Even the stolen work was painted by someone else."
The class erupted in low gasps and side comments.
"What? You use another artist to create your work, Angel?" The professor raised a brow.
"Professor I didn't—"
Harper raised a finger.
"I can invite the artist over here right now to clarify things. Sage, bring him in!"
"Yes, Blue!" Sage quickly stepped out.
The room tensed.
Moments later, Sage returned with a man holding a portfolio bag.
Harper smiled.
"Hello, Mr.! You know our dear Angel here, right?"
He grinned warmly.
"Sure sure! She is my client."
"What do you do for her?"
"I'm an artist. I help her with paintings."
"Since when?"
"It's been three years since we have been working together."
More gasps. Angel began to visibly sweat.
"She must be a great customer."
"Yeah, she is! She's generous and pays me well. I thought she needed more painting—that's why I was invited here."
"We will definitely get more paintings from you, Mr. We just need Angel to confirm your work for us. You did that painting over there, right?"
"Definitely! She always comes with good samples, and that's one of the best ones I've ever done. It's beautiful and unique."
"Yes, it is. You can go now, sir. My guard will pay for the time wasted."
"Oh, thank you so much, little miss!"
As the artist left, Harper turned and flashed Angel a sinister smile.
"Do you need more proof, Angel?"
The room was stunned. Angel's confidence had cracked.
"Madam, this is not the only time she has stolen my work. She steals them every year."
Angel exploded. "Shut up!"
"You shut up! Shut your freaking mouth, Angel!" The professor roared.
Angel turned to Madam Fransisca in panic.
"I'm sorry, madam! It wasn't intentional! I swear I will never do this again!"
Madam Fransisca remained stone-faced.
"You won't even get to do it again."
"Madam!"
"Jesse, take Angel's name off the auction list. She is not allowed to go into the Shield Museum ever again till she leaves the courtesan house."
"Madam please don't do this! How could I be the only person behind if everyone is going to the museum every year—"
"Next time, do not plagiarize! Please send her out and round up the class."
"Yes, ma'am. Angel, please go outside."
Angel stood frozen, then stomped toward Harper, leaning in close.
"You will pay for this." Her voice dripped with venom.
Harper widened her eyes dramatically.
"Oh my! I'm so scared of you."
"Blue!"
Harper smirked again.
"I only touched the tip of your dress, Angel. I haven't given you the push yet. Do you wanna know what I have in store for you? Guess! Bye bye! You might need to think of an ice cream store to visit while the courtesans visit the museum and make money."
Angel's jaw clenched, her chest heaving in rage as she stormed out.
Harper sat back down, legs crossed, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.
"This is just the starting point, Angel… I'm still doing Justification right now. Wait till I become monstrous and give you a taste of it."