Noah Valentine's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling uncontrollably.
He stammered, unable to form a complete sentence.
"I... I just have a bad memory..."
The excuse sounded weak and unconvincing.
Whispers spread through the audience.
Everyone knew a manga was the author's life's work.
The theme was its very soul.
How could anyone forget something so fundamental?
"He's lying!"
"Security! Get this fraud out of here!"
Noah frantically signaled to the guards.
But the reporters, as if prepared, swarmed forward in an instant.
Camera flashes erupted like fireworks.
Doubt spread through the crowd of fans.
"I remember that chapter was clearly about friendship."
"But the title said it was about romance."
"I thought it was a printing error at the time."
"Now it seems suspicious."
More readers began recalling inconsistencies.
"The art style changed drastically in later chapters."
"I assumed Noah-sensei was just in a slump."
"But forgetting the theme is unforgivable."
They had loved this manga.
And idolized Noah for it.
Now they felt nothing but betrayal.
"Noah-sensei, explain yourself!"
"Why not draw a new page right now?"
"Prove it's really your work."
The accusations came like arrows.
Noah's back was drenched in cold sweat.
He knew his career was over if he failed today.
Caleb Sullivan stepped forward, his gaze sharp.
"If Noah-sensei claims to be the original author,"
"then let him draw an unreleased scene right here."
Noah's heart pounded violently.
He forced himself to appear calm.
He had just reviewed the discarded drafts yesterday—he remembered the plot.
After years of imitation, he could replicate the style effortlessly.
What was one page of drawing?
"Fine, I'll do it."
He coughed deliberately.
"I've been ill lately, so my hands aren't steady."
"Forgive me if it's not perfect."
Noah picked up the pen.
But his wrist shook uncontrollably.
Years of luxury had made him forget how to hold a pen properly.
He managed to sketch a rough outline.
The lines were crooked and uneven.
Sweat dripped from his temples.
Finally, he completed a draft.
The art was crude, a far cry from the polished published work.
Chloe Evans quickly intervened.
"Noah-sensei isn't feeling well."
"Drawing in public is stressful."
"This is still impressive under the circumstances."
Some in the audience hesitated.
The technique was poor, but the plot matched.
Maybe he really was just unwell.
But doubt, once planted, was hard to erase.
Suddenly, a die-hard fan pointed out flaws.
"The heroine is strong-willed."
"But you drew her like a delicate doll."
"Sunset Tower has four windows."
"You didn't draw a single one."
"The waves are too calm."
"Nothing like the dynamic original."
Criticism erupted from all sides.
Noah's legs nearly gave out beneath him.
"It's... just a mistake..."
Caleb pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket.
The moment he unfolded it, the crowd gasped.
"My mentor drew this last night."
"The same scene."
"Compare for yourselves."
Both drawings depicted the same plot.
But the execution was worlds apart.
Caleb's version was masterful—fluid paneling, flawless details, characters brimming with life.
The difference was undeniable.