I am An Immortal Painter

The Weight of Discrimination

The morning sun bathed Titan Awakener Academy in golden light, but for Ron, the day felt anything but warm. As he walked through the academy halls, conversations dimmed around him, whispers trailing behind like a shadow.

"That's him… the guy who failed the awakening."

"I can't believe the academy still lets him stay."

"What's the point? A non-awakener in Titan Academy is just a joke."

Ron ignored them. He had long since stopped reacting to their taunts. Words were just words. They held no power over him—at least, that's what he told himself.

The real issue wasn't the whispers.

It was everything else.

In class, teachers barely acknowledged his presence. Professor Devrin, the combat instructor, openly scoffed at him whenever he entered the training hall.

"Why are you even here?" Devrin had sneered the other day, arms crossed as he surveyed the students. "This class is for real awakeners, not ordinary kids who failed the test. Maybe you should transfer to a civilian school."

Laughter had followed, but Ron had remained impassive.

Now, sitting in the back of the classroom, he listened as the professor enthusiastically discussed combat techniques with the awakened students.

"For those of you with elemental abilities, channeling your attribute into your attacks is crucial. Lightning awakens can strike with paralyzing force, fire users can increase the explosive power of their punches. Even healers can use defensive techniques."

He gestured towards Leo Graves, who smirked from his front-row seat.

"Leo, show us an example of lightning enhancement."

Leo stood up, raising his hand. Blue lightning crackled around his fist, flickering like wild serpents. With a single motion, he punched forward, releasing a burst of energy that shattered the wooden training dummy across the room.

The class erupted into applause.

"Excellent! That is the power of an S-rank ability!" Devrin declared proudly. Then, as if remembering something distasteful, he turned toward the back of the room, eyes settling on Ron.

"Of course, some students here will never experience what it's like to control such power. A real shame."

More laughter.

Ron's fingers clenched under the desk, but his expression remained unreadable. Let them talk. None of this would matter soon.

The Harsh Reality of Survival

The academy provided dorms and basic meals, but anything extra—books, training resources, better food—cost money. And money was something Ron was rapidly running out of.

He sat at a small café near the academy's entrance, staring at the thin stack of bills in his hand. His parents' inheritance had been modest to begin with, but after months of careful spending, it was nearly gone.

"Damn it."

He took a sip of cheap black coffee, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach. The academy's food rations were barely enough for normal students, let alone someone who needed excess energy to cultivate.

Cultivation was different from the awakening system. It demanded resources—nutrient-rich food, spiritual herbs, elixirs. And Ron had none of those.

If he didn't find a steady source of income soon, he wouldn't just struggle—he'd starve.

His fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly. He needed a plan.

And then, an idea struck him.

A Painter's Worth

Back in his dorm, Ron unrolled a blank canvas.

His Ink Attribute flared to life, swirling around his fingertips like liquid darkness. He hadn't used it much yet, uncertain of how to harness its true potential.

But now?

He didn't have the luxury of hesitation.

He dipped his finger into the ink, and his movements became instinctual. His past life's memories guided him, his strokes bold and precise.

The first painting was a landscape, a towering mountain range shrouded in mist, the sun barely breaking through the dense clouds. It was breathtaking—so real it felt as if one could step into it.

Ron exhaled slowly.

The moment he finished, something changed in the air.

The painting shimmered for a brief second. The mist within the artwork moved, swirling as if caught in an invisible wind. The sunlight in the painting flickered, casting real warmth onto his skin.

He swallowed hard.

"This… is more than just art."

It was a miracle.

His Ink Attribute wasn't just creating paintings—it was breathing life into them.

And if he could create something like this?

He could sell them.

A Bold Gamble

The next morning, Ron carried his painting through the bustling streets outside the academy. He arrived at The Silver Brush, a well-known art store in the city, its front adorned with exquisite paintings and calligraphy.

Inside, an elderly man with graying hair sat behind the counter, meticulously inspecting a delicate ink scroll. He barely glanced at Ron before muttering, "We don't buy amateur work."

Ron said nothing. He simply placed his canvas on the counter and stepped back.

The man sighed and gave it a single disinterested glance.

And then, he froze.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the painting's surface. The moment he touched it, a faint breeze seemed to pass through the shop—as if the mountain mist from the artwork had seeped into reality.

The old man's hands trembled.

"This… this is not normal." His voice was barely a whisper. He turned to Ron, eyes filled with something between wonder and shock. "Who are you?"

Ron simply smiled.

"Someone looking to make a deal."

The Beginning of a Fortune

An hour later, Ron walked out of the shop several hundred credits richer.

The Silver Brush had begged him to bring more paintings, offering double the price for future works.

He had played it cool, but inside, excitement bubbled. This was it.

He had found a way to survive.

A way to grow stronger.

And a way to prove that even without a system—he would rise above them all.