Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 98

“Please, please look at my painting!”

“You can’t just barge in here like that!”

“Get him out, now!”

As noble guests frowned with distaste, the exhibition staff rushed in and began dragging the man out. Even as he was pulled across the floor, half-fallen, the man held up a small canvas and shouted desperately,

“Just once, please! Look at my painting!”

His voice was so pitiful that Calliope instinctively stepped forward no, she would have, had Duke Glayderth not gently placed a hand on her shoulder. He still wore a smile, but his eyes had darkened.

“Were you going to help him?”

“If I can, yes.”

“And why would you?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

The Duke’s smile softened even further—like one would smile at a child. He spoke calmly, as if explaining something obvious.

“People like that aren’t worth engaging. True artists—or anyone truly great—must learn to endure. Patience wins in the end.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“Have you heard the story about the cookies?”

Though she wanted to laugh, Calliope kept her expression steady and listened.

“You put two kids in front of a plate of cookies. Then you tell them: wait ten minutes, and you’ll get another cookie. One kid waits. The other doesn’t. You know who’s who.”

“And?”

Her voice now carried a hint of amusement. The Duke raised a brow, still smiling.

“The one who waits gets the better reward. The others? Impulsive. Undisciplined. If you can’t even wait for something guaranteed, how can you be trusted with anything more?”

Calliope laughed. Her voice rang clear like chimes, light and crisp like freshly fallen snow. But her expression was far from amused. Her brows furrowed as she stared at him—as if looking at someone who just didn’t understand.

“Duke Glayderth.”

“…Yes?”

“That kind of thinking only works for people who already have everything.”

“We’re nobles. Isn’t it only natural for nobles to think like nobles?”

“I never said it was wrong. Just…”

She gently removed his hand from her shoulder and continued in a calm voice.

“Telling a painter with enough money to rent space in an exhibition to ‘be patient’ is one thing. Telling the same to a painter who’s starving and sketching in a trash-filled alley? Expecting equal patience from both isn’t wisdom—it’s ignorance.”

At her sharp—but measured—words, the Duke’s smile faltered. But Calliope didn’t stop.

“The artists here? Even just waiting around gets them attention. Someone eventually comes along, sees their work, and maybe loves it. But that man out there, covered in filth, holding his painting like it’s his soul… You think someone will just magically show up if he waits quietly enough?”

She took a few steps forward. All the Duke could see now was her pale back.

“For someone like him, waiting is foolish. He has to speak up. Has to shout. Has to wave his hands and meet people’s eyes—just to say, ‘I’m here. I exist.’”

Calliope then turned back with a lovely smile, lifting the hem of her dress slightly in a graceful bow.

“Thank you for the conversation. I think I’ll be going now. Carolie will attend the exhibition in my place tomorrow. Please take good care of her.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thank you. I trust someone like you wouldn’t hold a grudge against her sister over something like this.”

The Duke seemed to catch the meaning behind her words and quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly. Then he let out a soft, defeated laugh. Calliope returned his smile briefly before heading toward the entrance—toward the painter who had been dragged away.

She stepped outside the exhibition hall.

And there, down a nearby alley, she spotted the painter being beaten. He was curled up on the ground, shielding his body as best he could. Even as the kicks rained down on him, he clutched his painting tightly to his chest.

She stood for a moment, quietly watching.

She understood that feeling—the desperation to be seen, the fear of fading into obscurity. Slowly, she walked toward them. Jack followed close behind.

“Stop.”

Her voice was quiet but firm.

The two staff members looked up from their kicking. When they saw who was speaking, their expressions shifted immediately. From scowls to nervous bows.

“Pardon us, my lady—what brings you here…?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself.”

“Please step aside.”

“…I’m sorry, what?”

One of the men looked confused, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. Jack stepped forward—and slapped him across the face. Smack! The man staggered back, clutching his cheek, eyes wide.

Jack folded his hands behind his back like a proper servant and spoke coolly.

“Did you not hear the lady’s command to step aside?”

“A-ah… I-I apologize…”

“We’re sorry, my lady.”

As soon as one of the staff was slapped, the rest quickly backed off, their spirit deflated. Once they were out of sight, they scurried away inside the hall, leaving the commotion behind. Calliope sighed and turned to the painter.

“Show me your painting.”

“P-Pardon…?”

The young man’s face was swollen and red. It looked like he’d taken a few solid kicks to the face—likely to his forehead and cheeks. The biting cold only made it worse.

He stammered without thinking, flinching as if afraid her words might be followed by a slap. Judging by how clearly he’d reacted to the sound of the staff being hit, he’d heard it well.

Calliope repeated herself, expressionless.

“Show me your painting.”

“M-My painting? You mean… my painting?”

The young man—barely twenty, perhaps—looked a mess. Confused, he kept asking the same question over and over, unable to believe her request. But Calliope, remembering how she once needed someone to be patient with her, simply nodded.

“Yes. Go on.”

“H-Here. M-my lady…”

He hesitantly held out his dirty painting. Jack took it from him and handed it to Calliope.

It was a charcoal drawing—rough, and objectively poor in execution. But the shapes were surprisingly solid. His fingertips were calloused, and his nails were nearly gone. Clearly, he was self-taught, with no formal training—just raw, relentless effort.

Calliope gave her honest impression in a single sentence.

“It’s a mess.”

The young man lowered his head. But he didn’t cry. Instead, he rubbed his aching face and stood up straight, bowing deeply.

“Thank you for looking at it.”

“What if I told you, that you have no talent? What would you do then?”

His eyes lit up—and he gave a trembling, half-smile that looked like it could break into tears.

“I’d keep going. At least until I reached the day I regretted not quitting when you told me to.”

That answer made Calliope laugh before she even realized it. Her smile was so beautiful, the young man stood frozen, utterly entranced. He had never seen someone who looked carved out of light—like a living statue. She soon hid her smile behind her hand.

“Forgive me. I see… that’s how you feel.”

She gave a subtle flick of her fingers. Jack, understanding immediately, gave a slight nod. Calliope turned and began walking away.

Jack remained and addressed the stunned young man.

“Come with me. I’ll introduce you to a teacher.”

“Huh? I’m sorry—what?”

“I mean the young lady has decided to take you in. You can decline, of course. But she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

The young man looked at Jack, eyes wide and unsure. Then he looked at Calliope’s retreating figure as she headed for the carriage. He tilted his head toward the sky—as if holding back something inside. Then, suddenly, he dropped to his knees.

“Thank you!”

His voice rang out across the street. People turned to stare, but he didn’t care. He bowed again and again.

“Truly… thank you!”

His voice began to shake with tears.

“I won’t forget this—I swear! Thank you!”

Thank you, thank you… His repeated cries echoed through the cold.

Calliope, now seated in her carriage with the help of staff, didn’t look back. Jack, meanwhile, arranged a separate carriage from the exhibition and took the scrappy young artist to their estate.

✦✦✦

Riona arrived at the estate looking completely confused after Calliope summoned her out of the blue. Then came the strange request.

“A student?”

“Yes. You’re still young, but I think it’s about time you mentor someone. Of course, you can say no.”

“It’s not that I’m against it—it’s just… so sudden.”

She nervously twisted her fingers.

“I’m not sure I’m… qualified to teach someone yet.”

Calliope placed the tea Susan had prepared gently on the table.

“Riona.”

Calliope spoke calmly.

“You’re a genius. Everyone imitates your art now. Instead of letting your style get copied poorly, it’s better to train someone properly.”

“I suppose that makes sense… But what if I can’t teach well?”

To that, Calliope simply gestured to Jack, who had been quietly waiting behind the sofa with a small, grimy sketchbook.

“Take a look and decide. See if you think you could teach him.”

Jack held out the small charcoal sketchbook—its pages worn and dusty, clearly made from scraps. Riona’s eyes widened as she looked through it. She reached out and took the tiny book in her hand—it was so small it fit perfectly in her palm.

“Oh my… it’s awful.”

Calliope chuckled.

“Isn’t it?”

Riona smiled too, flipping through the pages slowly, carefully.

“It looks exactly like my first attempts.”

“That boy probably spent days—maybe weeks—just to draw that. He’s not a natural like you.”

“That’s all right. If he’s felt that struggle—if he knows what it means to keep trying—then I think I can teach him.”

Calliope nodded, smiling.

“Then it’s settled.”

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