Loyce walked up to the bulletin board, her brown paper bag still in hand, and tilted her head to study the blown-up replica of the score. Her eyes traced the fragmented notes as the crowd pressed in thicker around her. An older tourist noticing her intense focus nudged her and asked, "Are you a student here, dear?"
Loyce broke her concentration. Looping the handles of the paper bag over her wrist, she grabbed a pencil and a sheet of scratch paper left on a small stand specifically for visitors to leave comments.
She offered a polite smile. "No, just here to join the fun."
Just as Loyce lifted her pencil, preparing to sketch out a rough theoretical progression, a rude commotion flared up behind her.
"Move! Out of the way. Back up."
Accompanied by an arrogant, impatient voice, a clique of students surrounding a guy in a velvet blazer forcefully shoved their way through the crowd. Their movements were jarring and aggressive, and a shoulder violently collided with Loyce's raised elbow.
The pencil skidded across her paper, leaving a jagged, useless line. Loyce smoothly sidestepped to avoid getting trampled, the paper bag swaying from her wrist.
A few tourists immediately voiced their annoyance. "Hey, why are you shoving? Just wait your turn!"
One of the students flanking the guy in velvet immediately puffed his chest out, tapping the glossy badge pinned to his lapel with utter superiority. "We're Tier-A musicians from the academy. We aren't tourists taking selfies. We're here to actually solve the puzzle."
The moment the crowd heard they were Tier-A elites from the academy, the grumbling instantly died down. Everyone knew that anyone graduating from the Royal Art Academy—especially those in the higher tiers—was destined to be an absolute powerhouse in their industry.
The crowd hurriedly parted, clearing a wide path for the haughty guy in the custom velvet blazer to strut right up to the front.
Jethro Stanton didn't even bother looking back to see who he had shoved. His eyes locked onto the ancient score, his brow furrowing as he adopted an exaggerated posture of deep, critical analysis.
His entourage boxed out the remaining space, aggressively claiming the best viewing angle and forcing Loyce and the older tourist completely to the fringes.
The older woman muttered under her breath, "Kids these days... think a little money buys them the right to act like thugs..."
Jethro completely ignored her. His entire focus was fixed on the music.

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