全工坊都笑我只配洗筆

A bundle of dirty paintbrushes hurled at the young apprentice's head, brushes scattering across the floor; a sneering senior apprentice looms, others laugh.

The youth kneels and gathers the brushes one by one; extreme close-up of his calm, emotionless eyes.

Night, empty workshop, a single candle moving through darkness; the youth stops before the master's large unfinished painting; a blank corner of canvas.

Extreme close-up: the brush tip lands, fluid confident strokes, a small angel taking shape on the canvas.

Final stroke; macro close-up: the painted angel's eyelashes flutter once; the youth leans in and raises a finger to his lips: shh.

Morning uproar: apprentices crowd the big painting; the senior grabs the youth by the collar, shouting in his face.

The old master enters, the room falls silent; he walks to the painting and stares at the angel; slow push-in on his weathered face.

He raises his hand, apprentices flinch, the youth shuts his eyes; close-up: he snaps his own brush in half with both hands.

A dignified steward in Medici livery steps through the doorway, backlit; everyone freezes mid-motion.

The senior apprentice steps forward eagerly, hand pressed to his chest, chin high.

The steward smiles and places a brush into the senior's hand, gesturing toward a blank wall.

The senior's face collapses in stages, sweat beading; the brush clatters to the floor; the youth bends down and picks it up.

Close-up on the wall: three swift strokes reveal an angel's face; camera pulls back to a stunned, dead-silent crowd.

The steward bows deeply to the youth; walking out with his satchel, the youth presses the old washing brush into the senior's hands with a faint smile.

Carriage interior: an open notebook of mirror-written script puzzles the steward; a wax-sealed parchment is handed over; the youth breaks the seal, his eyes widen in shock; hard cut to black.