Chapter 62

Delia had just been expelled from her master's tutelage, a record-breaking event, as she had been dismissed by more than one.

"Sirs! Sirs, what is this? Why are you expelling me?" Clara asked tearfully, her voice choked with emotion.

This was wrong. She had only sought their support in punishing Dustin, yet she was the one facing repercussions. The situation felt so real, she almost thought she was dreaming.

"You're cruel, ruthless, and scheming. How could someone like you achieve greatness?" Mason said coldly, his voice sharper and colder than she'd ever heard it. The icy tone chilled her to the bone. She couldn't understand it.

These three masters had previously been warm and friendly, welcoming her with open arms. Now, they seemed completely unfamiliar. The change in their demeanor was jarring.

"Sirs! I'm your favorite student! Didn't you say you wanted me to carry on your legacy?" Clara cried.

The masters on the large screen stared coldly, devoid of warmth.

"If it weren't for an order from someone, who would have taken you as a student?" one of them said with displeasure.

"Clara, you're not talented. How can you carry our legacy?" another added.

Clara stood still, a lump forming in her throat. She vaguely remembered one of them claiming she was his sole successor and would carry on his legacy. Now, those words felt like nonsense. Their assessment of her lack of talent devastated her.

"Your fame far exceeds your skill. Without that fame, your works would barely sell for a few thousand. But you never understood humility. You've always been arrogant, believing yourself exceptionally gifted," another master's words struck her, draining the color from her face.

"I don't believe it! You're lying!" Clara shouted.

"Believe it or not, it's your choice. Either way, you're dismissed," the remaining master declared heartlessly.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Clara stumbled backward, barely maintaining her balance. The crowd murmured. News of the incident spread rapidly. The once-revered art goddess, Clara Wyatt, had fallen. Without her titles, how much fame did she truly possess?

"She's fallen! She's fallen!" someone shouted, staring at the screen. Displayed beneath the masters' avatars were search results for Clara's artwork on the black market. Her art's price plummeted—from tens of millions to a few million, then to hundreds of thousands, finally settling at a few thousand, and still falling. Her art had lost all value, just as Dustin had predicted.

The art she'd been so proud of was worthless. "Today, the Goddess of Art fell from grace," someone sighed sadly.

Clara stood frozen, then glared viciously at Dustin. He had claimed—prophetically, it seemed—that her art would lose its value in a day. He must have been involved. Had he orchestrated this? But how could he manipulate these influential figures? She couldn't believe it.