?Chapter 787:

    “I’ve heard stories about this piece — supposedly the crown jewel of Zephyria’s Orchid Gallery. Now that I’ve seen it, the technique is impressive, but calling it a national treasure might be going too far.”

    “The structure is solid, but don’t you think the atmosphere is too bleak? It’s hard to see any connection to the idea of rebirth.”

    “Honestly, Raging Waves has far more spirit. Its message is much clearer than this.”

    Elsewhere in the room, a handful of seasoned collectors — already familiar with the secret of this two-sided masterpiece — watched the scene with quiet amusement, their eyes glinting with yful anticipation.

    Each one waited patiently, eager to witness the shock and wonder that would ripple through the crowd when the reverse side was revealed.

    A little whileter, Maia and herpanions finally arrived at Hall 4, only to be stopped by the tightly packed sea of onlookers.

    “Rx, Ms. Watson. My friend should be here any minute now,” Alice reassured her.

    Hardly had she spoken when Grover Perez, the director of Gascoyne Museum — the same man who had given the opening speech — appeared with brisk steps.

    “Ms. Byrd! It’s been far too long.”

    Alice skipped the pleasantries. “Let’s cut the small talk. Can you get us closer to the front?”

    With a genial wave, Grover replied, “Of course. Consider it done.”

    Immediately, a group of staff stepped in, parting the crowd and ushering Maia, Alice, and Chris toward the front.

    As they moved forward, the painting’s details came into sharper focus.

    Now in full view, Alice studied Rebirth and voiced her thoughts. “At first nce, it feels somber, but the colors are surprisingly vivid. Every feather seems alive. Still, the bird looks like it’s teetering on the edge of death.” She turned to Maia, expecting a reaction.

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    Before Maia could respond, a woman’s startled voice rang out across the hall. “Maia? What are you doing here?”

    The sound struck like lightning, snapping everyone’s attention toward them.

    Maia’s head lifted, her gaze locking on the speaker. Mariana stood there. The world, it seemed, truly was impossibly small.

    Causing a scene in such a public setting was thest thing Maia wanted.

    But Mariana had already closed the distance, her words slicing through the air. “How did you get into a world-ss exhibition like this? Do you even know what real art is?” A smirk curled at her lips. “Clearly, the standards for this show drop lower every year if just anyone can stroll in.”

    Maia kept her expression unreadable, arms folded tightly as she remained silent. Instead of rising to the bait, she quietly scanned the room, searching for whoever had prompted the organizers to page Matias over the loudspeaker.

    Letting Mariana’s barbs pass withoutment, Maia stood her ground.

    Alice, however, bristled and stepped in front of her, ready to defend. “Why wouldn’t Ms. Watson understand art? She’s not only my guest tonight — I invited her personally — but she’s also a genuine connoisseur.”

    Mariana’s gaze shifted to Alice, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’re in no position to judge, considering your reputation for giarism. Oh, wait… the one you giarized was Maia herself, wasn’t it? No wonder you look up to her like some starstruck student. Honestly, it’sughable.”

    Anger red in Alice’s eyes. “That’s not true! I only drew inspiration from her; I didn’t steal anything.”

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