I am An Immortal Painter

The Cafeteria – A Lion Among Sheep

The Titan Awakener Academy cafeteria was massive, a grand hall lined with long wooden tables, high ceilings adorned with banners of past champions, and walls carved with the names of legendary awakeners. The scent of freshly cooked meat and exotic delicacies filled the air, mingling with the chatter of students dressed in fine academy robes.

For most, this was just another day.

For Ron, it was war.

As he walked through the rows of tables, balancing a modest tray of food—plain rice, a thin strip of meat, and a bowl of soup—he could feel their eyes on him.

"That's the failure."

"The one who didn't awaken?"

"He's still here? Shouldn't he have dropped out already?"

The whispers weren't new. He was used to them.

But today… they were louder.

Ron ignored them, making his way to the farthest, emptiest corner of the hall. He had no friends here—no allies, no one to share a meal with. That was fine.

He sat, placing his tray down, and unrolled a parchment beside it—a half-finished painting.

A forest at dawn, ink strokes delicate yet alive, each tree standing as if it had its own story.

Art was his sanctuary.

But sanctuaries don't last long when predators lurk.

Enter the Tyrant

The room hushed.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the hall.

Ron knew who it was before he even turned.

Leo Graves.

One of the strongest students in the academy, heir to the Graves family—a powerful clan known for their military prowess.

Leo wasn't just an awakener.

He was a ranked awakener, and after the recent Awakening Ceremony, he had unlocked Thunder Tyrant—an S-rank ability.

A golden child. A prodigy.

And worst of all? A bully.

Behind him, three other students followed—his lackeys, fellow high-rank awakeners who thrived in his shadow.

Leo approached Ron's table with the confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life.

"Well, well," he drawled, arms crossed, his deep blue academy robes shimmering under the lights. "If it isn't Titan Academy's biggest joke."

Ron didn't react.

Leo hated that.

"You don't belong here, painter boy."

Still, no response.

Leo's eyes flicked to the parchment on the table.

"What's this?" He leaned down, inspecting the painting. "Are you seriously wasting your time drawing trees while the rest of us train to be warriors?"

His voice dripped with mockery, loud enough for the surrounding students to hear. They were watching now.

Some smirked. Others whispered.

None interfered.

Leo reached down—and grabbed the parchment.

Ron's fingers twitched.

Don't react. Stay calm.

He knew how this went. He had seen it happen to others before.

Bullies weren't looking for fights.

They were looking for reactions.

Leo lifted the painting up, tilting it as if examining a worthless piece of trash. "You know, my younger cousin can paint better than this, and she's five."

His lackeys laughed.

Ron stayed silent.

Leo scowled. "Not gonna say anything?" He suddenly ripped a corner of the painting.

Ron felt it.

Like a knife dragging across his soul.

His fist clenched under the table. His jaw tightened.

Leo smirked. Finally, a reaction.

"Oops," he said, fake sympathy lacing his tone. "My hand slipped."

His lackeys laughed louder.

A sharp breath left Ron's nose. He reached forward, gently taking back the torn parchment from Leo's grip.

He could fix this.

He would fix this.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "That's it? Not even a glare?"

Still, nothing.

Annoyed, he stepped closer.

And then—he did the worst thing possible.

He grabbed Ron's food tray.

Ron's stomach tightened.

"Let's see how well you paint when you're hungry," Leo sneered.

Then, he dumped the entire tray onto the parchment.

The Breaking Point

The cafeteria erupted in laughter.

The once-beautiful forest scene was ruined—drenched in soup, stained with rice, ink bleeding from the impact.

Ron stared at it.

His chest burned—not with shame. Not with sadness.

But with anger.

A deep, quiet rage.

He slowly stood.

The laughter faded as the students saw his expression.

Not humiliation. Not fear.

Just… silence.

Ron met Leo's gaze.

And for the first time, the prodigy felt something off.

There was no pleading in those dark eyes. No submission.

Only calm certainty.

Ron was measuring him.

Leo's smile faltered for just a second.

Then, he scoffed. "You're getting bold, painter boy."

Ron said nothing.

He just turned.

Picked up his ruined painting.

And walked away.

The Aftermath

Back in his dorm, Ron sat at his desk.

The parchment lay before him—ruined, soaked, the ink smudged beyond recognition.

His fists curled. He had let it happen.

Could he have fought back?

Yes.

Would it have changed anything?

No.

This world respected one thing—strength.

And right now?

He was weak.

He had been patient. He had ignored them. But today proved something.

It wasn't enough.

They thought they could walk over him.

They thought he was powerless.

Ron exhaled slowly, his fingers moving to the brush beside him.

If they wanted to see who he really was…

Then they would.

But on his terms.