Chapter 225

Art Is All About Connections.

Since ancient times, no matter how beautifully one painted, a painter who failed to catch the eye of a patron would end up going mad or starving to death, unable even to afford paint.

Conversely, even an artist of mediocre talent could live a happy and luxurious life if they were fortunate enough to earn the favor of a wealthy patron.

And that truth had not changed in the modern era.

If anything, with the rise of “modern art,” where diversity, originality, and the breaking of norms were praised more than ever, the battle of connections among artists had only grown fiercer.

For instance, if some suspiciously wealthy tycoon made up his mind, he could easily turn a sloppy amateur’s painting into the work of a so-called “genius artist.”

That was the nature of art.

In a single exhibition hall, one could display nothing but a banana or a toilet bowl, give it a pretentious title, and suddenly, it would be worth hundreds of millions of credits.

Objectively speaking, there was no reason for a toilet in a museum to be worth billions of times more than a toilet in a bathroom.

The only difference was that the former had secured a venue through connections and was thus acknowledged as “art,” while the latter had not.

“This piece here is ‘Neo,’ by Adam Whistler — a painter hailed as the greatest deconstructionist of the century. It’s evaluated as a work that dissects the human essence within a world where cyberware, modules, humans, and monsters coexist, expressing it in its most fundamental form.”

“Ohhh… It’s wonderful. It would look perfect hanging in our office.”

Wonderful?

To Kallia’s eyes, Adam Whistler’s painting was no better than an amateur’s work.

The concept wasn’t bad, but the brushwork was rough, and the color palette clashed awkwardly with the subject. Anyone with a hint of aesthetic sense would realize it didn’t deserve such praise.

And yet, Adam Whistler’s pieces sold like wildfire.

The first reason was that his intense color tones and bold style were striking enough to immediately grab the attention of the uninitiated.

The second was the artist’s own mysterious persona — “Adam Whistler,” a painter who hid his identity and worked under a shroud of secrecy.

The Stingray Group had deliberately bribed critics to ensure his paintings received favorable reviews.

They pushed headlines and news coverage emphasizing “The Unknown Artist!” to make the public feel as though there was something profound behind his works.

In truth, Adam Whistler was the son of a high-ranking Stingray Group executive — merely an amateur who had once dabbled with a brush.

Worse, he was deeply addicted not only to Junk Chips but also to other substances, draining his father’s wealth faster than he could earn it.

Unable to bear it any longer, his father gave up on reforming him and began searching for a way to at least make use of his troublesome son — which led to the situation at hand.

The Mysterious Genius Artist, Adam Whistler.

“In the end, it’s all a carefully staged performance.”

His true identity was that of a junkie amateur painter — yet with the power of money, they had elevated him to the ranks of a “master,” and now, his works were genuinely making money.

Kallia, who knew the whole truth, saw no reason to stop it. After all, the more his works sold, the more profit it brought to both her art foundation and the entertainment division she managed.

In fact, the fact that Adam Whistler’s drug addiction could be used as leverage to manipulate a high-ranking executive at will was a tremendous advantage for her.

She was certain that, in the future, during the inevitable battle for succession, such “transactions” would become the cornerstone of the grand design she was building.

While Kallia was thinking all that, the curator finished explaining the artwork.

Then, with a polite smile, she added the “main point.”

“The price of the piece is 230 million credits.”

“Hm…”

The middle-aged woman who had expressed interest in hanging the painting in her office wore a conflicted expression.

In truth, she probably didn’t even like the piece that much. For her, buying art was simply a way to flaunt her wealth.

But even ostentation had its limits. With 230 million credits, one could buy a flying car or several luxury handbags — spending that much on a painting like this would naturally give her pause.

Catching that hesitation precisely, Kallia — the person in charge of the exhibition — stepped forward.

“Ms. Miyako, I’ll simply gift it to you.”

“What!?”

The woman flinched in shock.

Who would give away a 230-million-credit artwork as a gift?

The sheer scale of the gesture left Miyako looking more frightened than delighted.

But even that reaction was part of Kallia’s calculation. Speaking softly to soothe her, Kallia continued.

“Please don’t feel pressured. It’s just a small token of appreciation. I’d like to build a good relationship with you, Ms. Miyako.”

“S-Small token, you say…”

“I mean it. And just between us…”

Kallia leaned in close and whispered.

“To be honest, 240 million seemed a bit overpriced to me too.”

Her playful tone and mischievous smile left the woman dumbfounded for a moment.

Then, realizing Kallia was joking to lighten the mood, she burst into cheerful laughter.

“Miss Kallia, you’re refreshingly honest. Perhaps it’s your youth — you have a certain girlish charm. You’re, what, twenty…”

“Twenty-five.”

“I knew it.”

Twenty-five.

Just out of university.

A little too young, perhaps, to be managing an entire business.

In this city, where anti-aging surgeries existed, she looked even younger — which, in this moment, worked in her favor.

With a teasing grin, the middle-aged woman asked,

“If you give things away like this, won’t Chairman Stingray get angry?”

“That’s quite all right. I suppose my rebellious phase isn’t quite over yet.”

“Oh my.”

Kallia’s playful response drew another soft chuckle from the middle-aged woman.

Sometimes, youth itself could be a powerful weapon.

Though she had just given away a painting worth 240 million credits, its actual cost hadn’t even reached 100,000. It wasn’t much of a loss. On the contrary, to win over this woman’s heart with such a cheap gift—

that was a profit.

From now on, this woman would see Kallia in a very favorable light.

Given her showy, nurturing personality, she would likely return the favor with an even more expensive gift, or perhaps treat Kallia affectionately, like a daughter—offering help in various ways.

For Kallia, “connections” were a kind of sharp weapon.

In other words, a profitable deal.

Having successfully built rapport with a new client, Kallia returned to her office after finishing her morning schedule.

Alone in her office, she wrestled half-heartedly with a pile of documents, finishing a simple lunch of sandwiches.

Then, her secretary contacted her.

[Miss Kallia, it’s time for your afternoon meeting.]

“Who am I meeting today?”

[Miss Serena Beresford. She mentioned she’ll be attending the fashion show as a guest.]

“Ah, that’s right. The fashion show was underway too.”

She had almost forgotten, her attention having been focused on the art exhibition.

Serena Beresford.

The name sounded familiar—but who was she again?

It took Kallia a moment to recall, but soon it came to her.

The only daughter of the influential Beresford Family, which had produced a prominent ruling-party senator…

“…and my brother’s fiancée.”

Kallia bit her lower lip lightly.

A difficult person to approach strategically. If she were just a politician’s daughter, a formal and businesslike demeanor would suffice. But as Aaron Stingray’s fiancée, that wouldn’t do.

Hostile? Or amicable?

Surely Serena hadn’t agreed to this engagement out of affection for Aaron Stingray, but rather because of her interest in the Stingray Group itself.

Could I possibly draw her to my side?

Could she persuade Serena to betray Aaron and side with her?

What would she need to offer to make Serena abandon her chance to become “queen” and act for her instead?

Kallia ran through countless calculations in her mind, but no clear solution emerged.

Though she had met Serena several times before at parties and maintained a reasonably friendly relationship, that only meant they were not enemies—not that they were allies.

But now that Kallia needed to prepare for an open war against Aaron, she could no longer afford to keep things at a mere “acquaintance” level.

After a brief hesitation, Kallia steadied her resolve.

“It can’t be helped. I’ll have to use ‘that.’”

That—her own weapon.

If Aaron possessed “force,” and Benedict had “technological prowess,” then Kallia had her own kind of power.

The ability to read the hearts of others.

In other words—mind reading.

Of course, it wasn’t literal telepathy.

Kallia was simply exceptionally skilled at reading nonverbal cues—body language, microexpressions, tone, and rhythm of breath.

She had honed this talent to such precision that it produced something close to true “mind reading.”

The only ones this doesn’t work on are Aaron and Father.

Chairman Stingray was too adept at hiding his inner self for her to read him. As for Aaron—she could read him, but what she saw was so twisted and distorted that it made her feel ill, so she avoided doing it.

With everyone else, however, it worked flawlessly. It consumed a great deal of stamina and mental strength, but in this case, Kallia judged that Serena Beresford was worth the effort.

“I’ll be heading out soon. Please make the preparations.”

[Understood.]

With renewed determination, Kallia made her way to the meeting venue.

At the fashion show’s VIP entrance, she stood alongside the staff to welcome Serena.

“Welcome, Miss Beresford. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh! Miss Kallia! It’s been so long!”

“Yes, the last time we met was at the party.”

“Has it been six months already?”

“Closer to nine, I think.”

“Time really does fly~”

“It certainly does. Well then, allow me to show you inside.”

They began with small talk.

Kallia led Serena to the VIP seats of the fashion hall. Designers approached their table one after another, explaining their pieces, while models strutted down the runway.

As they watched the fashion show, Kallia gradually steered the conversation toward her true purpose—

guiding it naturally from fashion to family and engagement.

Finally, she managed to bring up the name Aaron Stingray.

“How are things with my brother Aaron these days?”

At that very moment, Kallia activated her mind reading.

Depending on what Serena truly felt about Aaron, she would decide how to proceed.

But the moment she peeked into Serena’s mind—

Kallia couldn’t help being taken aback.

[I love Aaron so much I want to see him I love him I want to see him I love him I’m lonely I want to see him I love him I love him he’s so handsome so cool so handsome totally my type my dear husband I love you so much I want to marry you!!!]

“Ah, Aaron? Well, we’re getting along… just fine.”

“……”

Her outward reply was calm, completely at odds with the overwhelming storm of affection inside.

Had she made a mistake?

Or was there something wrong with her ability?

Feeling a headache coming on, Kallia rubbed her temples lightly and asked again.

“Come now, be honest with me. What do you really think of my brother?”

She probed again—

[I love Aaron I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him!!]

“Th-that’s a little embarrassing to answer…”

“……”

Only then did Kallia finally realize—

Serena Beresford was a very strange woman.

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