?Chapter 336:


    Zyair recounted, “It was a funny story, actually. When I was a kid, my parents were set on turning me into a renowned artist, so they sent me to Mr. Morales’ ce to learn painting.


    However, he had me painting eggs for weeks, and then abruptly sent me home. Mr. Morales was straightforward when he spoke to my parents.


    He told them, ‘Your child couldn’t draw a perfect egg even if he had a century to try. It’s best he pursues something other than art.’ He was quite harsh, effectively dashing my parents’ dreams of me bing an artist.


    He even dered that my time with him wasn’t a real apprenticeship, making it clear that I was no disciple of his.”


    Before Zyair could go on, Marissa yfully teased him, “Those eggs you painted were nowhere near perfect. Mr. Morales wasn’t wrong, you know. Hahaha!”


    Zyair protested, “Hey, stopughing at me!”


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    Zyair exined further, “Mr. Morales’ statement saddened my parents. Feeling perhaps a bit guilty for his sternness, Mr. Morales suggested I learn martial arts, noting my build. Soon after, my parents had me training under a martial arts master.”


    Reflecting, Zyair continued, “Perhaps my parents trusted Mr. Morales a bit too much. But that shift led me to establish the renowned Doomsday Base.”


    Marissa responded with a smile, “Seems Mr. Morales really knew how to spot potential. You really owe him a lot!”


    Zyair remarked, “Yes, but I’ve always bristled at his critiques. He told me I couldn’t draw a perfect egg even in one hundred years. That’s always bothered me.”


    Marissa remembered how Zyair would often furiously sketch eggs on paper only to rip them up momentster. Initially, it seemed odd to her, but she now understood it was his way of subtly challenging Mr. Morales.


    Barely holding back herughter, Marissa teased, “You know, throwing a fit won’t make your eggs any more symmetrical or appealing!”


    Zyair sent an angry emoji in response, “Oh, shut up! You infuriate me just like Mr. Morales did. It’s no wonder he thought so highly of you and taught you all he knew about painting.”


    Marissaughed softly and said, “Oh,e on, don’t get upset! Remember, constructive criticism is just a way to get better.”


    Zyair replied, “It wasn’t just his critiques that got to me. It was something he texted me over a decade ago that really stuck.”


    Curious, Marissa inquired, “What did that text say?”


    Zyair then showed her the screenshot. The screenshot disyed a picture and a conversation beneath it.


    Marissa’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw her younger self in the photograph. The image showed her lying on a small wooden table outside Ritchie’s thatched hut, intently sketching eggs that filled the entire page. Beneath the photo, Ritchie said, “Still hung up on that old critique? Let me show you what real talent looks like! Look at Marissa, much younger than you were when I taught you. On her very first day, she was drawing eggs and got the shape just right. Your attempts didn’t evene close!”


    Zyair, annoyed, shot back, “What does drawing eggs have to do with true artistic talent, anyway? Just because someone can sketch a perfect egg, does that mean they’re destined for greatness? Aren’t we being a bit quick to judge here?”


    Ritchie exined, “Being able to draw a perfect egg isn’t a ticket to artistic fame, but it’s telling. If someone struggles with such a basic form, how can they handle moreplex subjects? The real problem with losers isn’t their skill level. It’s their unwillingness to admit they’re just losers.”


    Zyair’s frustration boiled over. Despite his evident anger, Ritchie didn’t let up and sent another provocative message, further testing Zyair’s patience


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