Luca stood motionless in front of the train car, the scent of fresh spray paint still lingering in the air.
His mural; one of his earliest works, a simple red silhouette of a boy reaching for the sky was ruined.
Black paint dripped down the surface, drowning out the details and suffocating the colors. It wasn't a random act of vandalism.
This was intentional. And below the destruction, in bold and messy strokes
was a single word: STOP.
Luca's fingers curled into fists. Someone had brought him here. Someone wanted him to see this.
And someone wanted him to know Scarlet wasn't welcome anymore. His jaw tightened. The metallic rattle of a spray can in his pocket was the only sound cutting through the silence.
If they thought this would stop him, they didn't know him at all.
Luca worked fast. Not because he was afraid but because he was furious. The red silhouette of the boy returned but this time, his hands weren't reaching for the sky. They were holding a spray can.
His stance was stronger, defiant and facing forward instead of stretching toward something out of reach. And beneath it, in deep red, he left his message:
"TRY AGAIN."
His signature, SCARLET, burned across the bottom like a challenge. When he stepped back, breathless, his heart hammered in his chest.
He had turned their warning into something else entirely. A dare. Let them try to erase him again.
By morning, photos of the "reply" mural flooded social media. Some people saw courage. Others saw recklessness. The online debates grew louder.
"Scarlet is fearless."
"This is pure arrogance."
"Street art is still vandalism."
"This kid is turning Milan into his personal gallery."
Luca scrolled through the comments on his phone as he sat in a cramped corner of Santi's apartment. His hands still smelled like paint and his adrenaline still burning. He had done what he set out to do.
People were talking. And that meant Scarlet was real.
Santi tossed a newspaper onto the table in front of Luca later that afternoon. "Congratulations," he said, smirking. "You've officially pissed off half the city." Luca picked up the paper, scanning the bold headline:
"The Rise of Scarlet: Artist or Outlaw?" His chest tightened as he read the article. Some called him a visionary. Others called him a criminal. But one thing was clear, Milan wasn't ignoring him anymore.
Luca set the newspaper down. "They don't get it." Santi raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Luca gestured at the article. "The people calling me a vandal. They think I'm just ruining walls for fun. They don't see what it means."
Santi exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Not everyone will, ragazzo. Some people don't want to see." Luca's grip tightened on the paper. That wasn't good enough.
He wasn't painting for fame. He was painting to be remembered. And if the city wasn't ready to accept Scarlet? Then he'd force them to.
Later that evening, Luca wandered through the city with his hood pulled low as he moved past the bustling cafés and high-end shops of Via Monte Napoleone.
Then he heard it. A voice that was sharp, familiar and filled with disdain. "Look who it is."
Luca's shoulders tensed. He turned slowly, meeting Matteo Romano's smirking face. Matteo; the golden boy of Galileo Academy, the one who had spent years making Luca's life hell.
And standing beside him, arms crossed, was Lorenzo Ricci; Professor Ricci's son.
Luca didn't know much about him, other than the fact that his father hated Scarlet. Matteo tilted his head, looking Luca up and down. "Didn't expect to see you outside your little alleyways."
Luca shoved his hands in his pockets. "Didn't expect to see you away from your daddy's wallet." Matteo's smirk flickered, but Lorenzo cut in. "You think this is funny?" His voice was calm, but his eyes burned. "You think your art is some great revolution?"
Luca's stomach twisted but he held his ground. "It's not just art," he said. "It's a message." Lorenzo stepped closer. "It's vandalism. It's disrespecting this city." Luca's jaw clenched. "You don't get to decide that," he said quietly.
Matteo laughed. "No, but the police might." Luca's heart slammed against his ribs. Was that a threat? Lorenzo didn't say anything. But he didn't have to.
Luca stared at them for a long moment, then turned and walked away. His mind was racing. Matteo was just an arrogant rich kid. But Lorenzo? He was dangerous.
And if his father was already against Scarlet, how far would he go to get rid of him?
Back at Santi's apartment, Luca paced the room. He couldn't let this stop him. If anything, this meant he had to go bigger. He needed something no one could ignore.
Something that would make even his worst critics see him. Santi watched him, unimpressed. "You're going to burn yourself out." Luca shook his head. "I have to do this."
Santi exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You don't have to prove anything to them." Luca met his gaze. "I'm not proving it to them." He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
Santi sighed. "At least tell me where you're going." Luca hesitated. Then he smirked. "To paint."
Luca stood in front of the old opera house, the abandoned building looming over him like a forgotten relic of the past.
This was it. The perfect canvas. He pulled out his cans and started. This wasn't just about rebellion anymore. It was about belonging.
As the deep reds, blues and blacks blended together, an image took shape. A figure standing at the edge of something vast and endless.
One step away from falling. One step away from flying. And across the bottom, in bold and defiant letters: SCARLET.
The next morning, the mural was everywhere. News stations and social media whispered conversations in cafés.
This wasn't just another Scarlet piece. This was a statement. People gathered outside the opera house, staring up at the painting. Some were awestruck. Some were furious. And some? Some were watching.
Scarlet had challenged the city. Now, the city was about to answer.