She bit her lip, her face a mask of anguished sympathy.

"You're just too strong for your own good. I've told you a hundred times—I can help you, financially, with connections, anything. But you insist on doing everything yourself." Her voice trembled with admiration. "You're nothing like those spoiled trust-fund brats who've had everything handed to them..."

The bullet comments exploded:

【Can the ex-boyfriend seriously not tell the FL is throwing shade at him?! Just forfeit already and give first place back to our precious ML!】

【The FL only sponsored this whole competition so she could be a judge—all for the ML's sake!】

【Doesn't matter how much he lies. Once they pull the security footage, his "pure moonlight" image is going straight into the gutter!】

【The ML comes from such a poor family and has to work his way through school. He's been through so much!】

I stared at Cliff.

At the hundred-thousand-dollar watch on his wrist. The eighty-thousand-dollar Dior suit. The six-thousand-dollar leather shoes on his feet.

My brow furrowed.

Poor family?

Working his way through school?

Were we talking about the same person?

He was dressed more like old money than I was—and I was the actual rich kid here.

Anyone who'd ever painted knew how easy it was to get pigment everywhere. That's why most artists wore cheap, stain-resistant clothes to work in.

But Cliff...

I watched the comments continue to gush over his "admirable work ethic" and "humble circumstances."

I had no words.

Before I could even respond, tears began streaming down Cliff's face.

"I know you're some wealthy heiress who doesn't care about prize money this small," he choked out. "But for me, this award is an entire year's tuition. I need this money. I can't survive without it."

His eyes were red-rimmed, glistening. Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees before me.

Thud.

"I know you switched the paintings because you wanted first place. Fine—I'll give you the title. You can have the championship. But please, can you at least give me back the prize money?" His voice cracked. "If you want me to ghost-paint for you in the future, just ask. You don't have to steal my work."

Bonnie rushed forward, cradling him protectively. "A man's knees are worth their weight in gold! You're the victim here—why should you kneel to him?!"

If I agreed with anything Cliff said, I'd be confessing on the spot.

I kept my voice level. "As far as I know, tuition is twelve thousand a year. You could sell any single item you're wearing and cover that several times over." I paused. "And for the record—I have zero interest in winning a traditional painting competition. Why would I swap anyone's work?"

Cliff's expression flickered, freezing for just a moment. Then he turned to Bonnie, wounded and helpless.

"These things aren't mine. They're gifts—from people who care about me. They have sentimental value. I could starve to death before I'd ever sell someone's heartfelt gesture for money." His voice rose with desperate conviction. "All I want is to earn my way through my art. Through my own two hands."

"I'm not trying to steal the championship from you. I'm begging you—just give me back the prize money."

His voice was raw, shredded, barely a rasp.

Bonnie's eyes shimmered with emotion. "You sweet, foolish girl..."

The other contestants closed in, accusations flying:

"Cliff is literally kneeling and begging you. What more do you want?"

"I can't stand these trust-fund parasites—thinking money means they can steal other people's work."

"Making him return the prize money isn't enough. He needs to be disqualified!"

The bullet comments erupted in righteous fury:

【Can this piece of trash just DROP DEAD?! He's forcing our precious ML to KNEEL. I'm sobbing, our poor baby ML!】

【Thank god the FL will expose him for switching the paintings and give the championship back to the ML!】

【The best part comes later—the FL never forgets how the ML was humiliated. She pretends to pursue the ex-boyfriend, then ditches him AT THE ALTAR on their engagement day! The supporting male's whole family is disgraced, their stock price tanks! The FL buys up their shares and drives his accomplice parents into bankruptcy until they jump off a building!】

I stared at that last comment.

My vision went red at the edges.

The bullet comments shrieked:

【WAIT—can he actually SEE these?!】

I wrenched my gaze away, pretending I hadn't seen a thing.

The comments calmed down when they saw I showed no reaction:

[There's no way a side character can see the comments. The person above must be crazy.]

[He's just a stepping stone for the main character. His whole family deserves to die!]

Rage churned in my chest.

I'd never hurt anyone in my life. So why should I have to pave the way for Bonnie James and Cliff Fox's love story?

Why should I be framed until my family's company goes bankrupt and my parents jump off a building?

The crowd helped Cliff to his feet, all clamoring to report me for stealing someone else's work.

Bonnie went straight for the kill, summoning the Organizing Committee: "I want to file a complaint! Someone swapped the artworks and stole another contestant's achievement!"

Cliff hung his head pitifully, the picture of wounded innocence.

The judges' expressions turned grave.

"The entire painting process was conducted under surveillance," one of them said. "It's impossible for anyone to have swapped the works."

Cliff's eyes reddened as he lifted his head, glaring at the long-haired female judge at the front. "Ms. Chavez, you're friends with Jack Gilbert's mother. Of course you'd side with him. But none of us even said who did this, and you're already rushing to cover for him. Don't you think that's a bit much?"

Bonnie piled on, her voice cold as ice: "Ms. Chavez, I donated five million dollars to this competition. Not so I could watch you play favorites and pull strings behind the scenes. My prize money needs to go to someone who actually deserves it."

The other contestants joined the chorus:

"So the judge is friends with Jack Gilbert's mother? No wonder he had a chance to swap the paintings!"

"What a dirty trick. And he calls himself old money? More like a parasite feeding off ordinary people!"

Cliff fixed Delilah Chavez with a stubborn stare. "I demand a review of all competition entries! And I demand that Ms. Chavez—who's clearly covering for him—step down immediately!"

Delilah didn't speak. I beat her to it.

"On what grounds are you demanding a review?" My voice cut through the noise. "On what grounds are you demanding Ms. Chavez step down?"

"Based on nothing but your baseless accusations? Do you have any idea how much extra work you'd be dumping on the staff?"

"You keep talking about being some poor kid who had it rough, but you sure don't hesitate to make life hell for people who actually work for a living."

"Yes, Ms. Chavez is my mother's friend. But she hasn't done a single thing to cover for me. If you want her gone, you'd better come up with some actual evidence."

I could tolerate Cliff slandering me—after all, it was nothing but speculation.

But dragging an innocent woman like Delilah into this? That was unforgivable.

Her husband, Marcus Chavez, had kidney failure. He survived on dialysis.

She'd refused my mother's offer to help pay for his treatment, insisting she'd handle the tens of thousands in monthly medical bills herself.

That was why she treasured every job, every side gig. She never complained. Never asked for pity.

I wasn't about to let Cliff destroy her.

The moment I defended her, Bonnie let out a mocking laugh. "Touched a nerve, did we?"

"What's wrong—afraid we'll find proof of your little artwork swap once we dig deeper?"

Cliff clenched his fists, his expression twisting as though he'd finally reached his breaking point.

"All I wanted was for you to give back the prize money so I could pay my tuition and stay in school. That's all. But you've pushed me too far. Now you have to pay."

He pulled out his phone and dialed the Art Integrity Review Unit.

"I'm filing a formal complaint. Jack Gilbert colluded with judge Delilah Chavez during the national competition to swap my artwork and steal first place in the preliminaries. I demand her immediate termination and the return of what's rightfully mine!"

The other students erupted in cheers, eager to watch my downfall.

The comments exploded:

[This is peak fiction! The MC is so badass!]

[Finally made the call! The higher-ups are sending investigators!]

[The side character's about to be ruined!]

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?"