Chapter Title: The Challenge – Intuition vs. Precision
The sun bathed the school's central amphitheater in golden light as students filled every seat, their excitement buzzing in the air. Faculty, curious nobles, and even influential sponsors were present. This was no longer a simple school competition—it had become a spectacle.
At the center of the stage, two tables stood.
On the left, Valerie stepped forward in a modest white coat, her expression unreadable. Her long lashes cast shadows under her eyes, her hair pulled back with a simple tie. Her tools were fewer, older, but neatly arranged. Her herbs and extracts glowed faintly under the light, carefully selected from her personal pouch.
On the right, Sophia stood flanked by Margaret, Nelson, and Natasha. Her setup gleamed—state-of-the-art equipment, sterile trays, and digital measuring scales. Everything about her table screamed wealth, power, and meticulous preparation.
A hush fell over the crowd when the Dean of the medical division raised his hand.
"You will have two hours. The calming pill must meet the exact effect profile of the original—tested by faculty and monitored for chemical structure and effect in real-time. Begin."
0:00 – The Contest Begins
Valerie immediately shut her eyes.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, she didn't touch a thing.
Then her hands moved. Smooth, practiced. She selected three herbs, crushed them gently between her fingers, and brought them to her nose. Her movements weren't just measured—they were intimate. As if she were listening to them.
Sophia scoffed softly. "Is she meditating?"
"She's stalling," Nelson muttered.
But Sophia didn't relax. She double-checked her own measurements and began.
0:35 – Precision vs. Instinct
Sophia's team was lightning-fast. Every herb, chemical, and extract was logged, weighed, and recorded. Margaret handled the solvents while Natasha monitored pH levels. It was a well-oiled machine.
Meanwhile, Valerie seemed to be working from memory and instinct. She had no paper, no formula. She was tasting, smelling, and blending herbs one by one, her hands stained by nature and effort.
And yet… something about her fluidity made the audience lean closer.
1:10 – King's Balcony
Up on the observation balcony, King Albanian sat forward slightly.
He had come in silent rage, determined to find the girl who once stood before him on the mountain. His heart hadn't known peace since her scent faded from his suite.
But now, as he watched the quiet girl in white work with fingers that moved like memory, something struck him.
His PA leaned closer. "Sir… is that the same girl?"
King didn't answer.
He was already standing.
1:45 – The Smell of Truth
Valerie held a small porcelain plate under her nose, steaming with freshly blended extract. The scent drifted upward into the air—clean, woodsy, with a sweet bitterness underneath.
The crowd caught it.
So did King.
It was the same scent from the mountain.
He exhaled slowly.
Her.
2:00 PM – Time's Up
A sharp bell rang through the open courtyard.
The air turned still.
Sophia and Valerie stepped forward and placed their finished calming pills on separate glass trays before the panel of evaluators — seasoned pharmacology professors, traditional medicine experts, and invited industry guests.
Among them sat Dr. Hyeon Joo, the renowned guest judge from the Capital's Medical Consortium, and Professor Weng, the school's long-standing traditional medicine researcher.
The crowd buzzed with anticipation. Hundreds of students were gathered, many standing on benches to see better. Phones were raised. The challenge had turned the school courtyard into a coliseum.
Each evaluator took turns with the samples — inspecting the form, structure, balance, scent, and finally the chemical scan results displayed on the large screens above.
Valerie's pill showed a 97.6% compound match to the original prescription formula.
Sophia's came in slightly lower at 89.3%, but the judges didn't speak yet.
Instead, the evaluation moved to "presentation, scalability, and professional viability."
Sophia's pill was pristine — perfectly rounded, elegantly coated, and packaged in a minimalistic label bearing her family's emblem. Margaret had helped her prepare the design.
Valerie's was handmade, unpolished — exactly how it was when she prepared the original in the mountain villa.
The deliberation took longer than expected.
Students began whispering.
Margaret stood at Sophia's side with her arms crossed, chin high. Nelson yawned loudly. Natasha applied lip gloss, bored.
Finally, Professor Weng stepped forward with a mic in hand.
"After extensive analysis… though Miss Valerie's pill showed higher purity in raw compound match… Miss Sophia Hudson's work demonstrates superior presentation, safety coating, and reproducibility in commercial packaging. It is therefore more suited for mass distribution and client use."
"The panel hereby declares Sophia Hudson the winner of this challenge."
Applause rang out.
Loud. Almost too loud.
Most of it came from the rich-clique section: Nelson, Margaret, Natasha, and their loyalists.
Tina gasped beside Valerie. "That's not fair. You—Valerie, yours was the original. You created it."
Valerie remained quiet.
Sophia stepped forward to collect her certificate of recognition, smiling sweetly at the crowd — though her eyes locked with Valerie's, gloating.
And then Margaret struck.
"So shameless," she said, loud enough for others to hear. "Claiming you made it when you can't even finish school. Honestly, even being here today is pathetic."
Nelson chimed in, scoffing. "Your biggest contribution to the Hudson name was vanishing. Now you're back, like a roach?"
Natasha added smoothly, "Next, you'll say you were the one who taught Sophia medicine. Maybe even say you're the one King trusts."
Valerie's jaw tensed. She raised her head.
"I did make the original," she said firmly, her voice clear. "That pill Sophia recreated… was mine."
The crowd quieted — but only for a beat.
Then laughter broke out. Cruel and loud.
Margaret was holding her stomach. "Oh, please! Then why are you the nobody and Sophia's the one recognized by the King?"
"She's just bitter," Nelson said. "Bitter and irrelevant."
Valerie clenched her fists.
The judge had spoken.
Sophia had won.
But something in the air had shifted — not just among the students, but in the eyes of the quiet observers on the upper balcony.
Upstairs, unseen to all
King sat back in the shadows, arms folded, gaze unblinking.
His assistant whispered, "She looks like lady that got hurt in the mountain."
He didn't answer.
His eyes were on Valerie.
Not Sophia.