Fabrication Contest (3)
“Does this prove it?”
I held out the completed magic tool. The judges reacted immediately.
“It's... perfectly identical.”
“Yeah. From the handling to the quirks—it's like they ripped Ruina straight out of it.”
“Heh, no wonder she's calling him her disciple. No need to look any further.”
Praise poured in, rivaling what my senior had gotten. I could also hear the judges murmuring among themselves.
“Tsk, he'd be perfect for the Fabrication Department if we could snag him.”
“Ruina graduates next year anyway, so it'd be great to have him. Another student on her level has finally appeared.”
“Any way to lure him over?”
“Doubt it. Why would he switch to our department? Even if we tried poaching, their professors would block it. They bragged about him endlessly at the last gathering...”
“He doesn't need to transfer. Double major's an option.”
“Be real. Why bother with a double major if there's no benefit?”
“If we offered scholarships or perks, it might work.”
“Haha, easier to make Ruina a professor so we can attend her lectures. He's an Arden, after all.”
That was the gist of it. They thought they'd lowered their voices, but I heard everything.
For the record, I'm not interested. Things are about to get busy after break—no time for another department. Ridiculous.
I'm content as is.
I scanned the front row. The seniors who'd been doubting me moments ago sat stunned, mouths agape.
Then the professor beside me asked, “How long have you been learning alchemy from her?”
“About three months.”
“To reach this level in such a short time... you really are a genius.”
“Compared to Senior, I'm nowhere close. The finish is too crude. And 'genius' doesn't suit me.”
It fell far short of my standards. At best, Yang Sang-hyung level. Plus, I'd only gotten this far so quickly thanks to my prior alchemy knowledge.
Seniors standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her would fit the 'genius' label better.
My words sparked outbursts from the front.
“That shameless bastard!”
“Argh! If he were a junior, I'd smack him!”
“He seemed different for a sec, but the personality's the same as ever!”
Not malicious—just pure frustration in their yells. I replied calmly, “Thanks for the praise.”
“Cut the jokes. Anyway, Alex. Anything more to say?”
She glanced at the students who'd raised objections. They all hung their heads, speechless.
“...No.”
Alex was no different, clamping his mouth shut.
“Then let's wrap up the awards.”
She took control. Since it had ended mid-ceremony, the rest was simple. Line up by rank on the podium again, hand out awards, exchange a few words.
Of course, thanks to my display, more eyes lingered on me than the actual winners. Sponsor letters might flood in soon.
Should I welcome this or not?
I'd have jumped at it back when I was broke, but not now. Money's plentiful, and extra sponsorships have nowhere to go.
Still, better than nothing. More cash is always good.
Deal with it later.
I can handle responses when they come.
“This concludes the Fabrication Contest.”
The ceremony ended while I pondered, and the event wrapped up. Applause rang out, gazes scattered, and the venue cleared.
“Senior, come on down.”
From behind the podium, I offered my hand. The first-place spot was as tall as she was.
“Thanks.”
One hand clutching the Mythic-era artifact, the other grabbing mine, she descended. Being so short looked inconvenient at times like this.
As she hopped down lightly, I asked, “All done now?”
“Yeah. That's it.”
No afterparty, apparently. We returned to our workstation, packed our organized tools. Departing participants called out farewells.
“Ruina, great alchemy work.”
“I lost this time, but next round's mine! Watch me!”
“Hey, rein that guy in. Muscleheads are always so overzealous.”
“See you next time!”
“Yeah. Take care.”
They exchanged well-wishes and left one by one. Not just to her—they approached me too.
“Transfer to Fabrication for sure. I'll teach you a thing or two as a senior.”
“We'll fix that attitude. You better come!”
Their passion and lack of grudges appealed to me, so I quipped back, “As if I'd lose to you. And aren't you graduating in a few months? Isn't it overkill picking on a newbie?”
Provocation delivered. They flipped out.
“That cheeky punk!”
“Grah! Cocky! Way too cocky!”
“Don't touch my disciple. Off with you.”
Senior stepped in, shooing them away. No one else dared approach after that. They grumbled as they left.
“Just wait. I'll show you society's bitter taste.”
“That attitude won't last a few years.”
Hm, delusions run deep. I have no plans to become an alchemist professionally.
From their reactions, half of them already saw me as one.
“They're good kids. Don't get mad.”
“I know. No malice behind the words.”
So nothing like what they imagined would happen.
As we headed out, the judges—no, the professors—approached.
“Kyle. Thinking of transferring? Or at least a double major...!”
“Scholarships, lecture exemptions, no assignments. Just show up for exams.”
“We'll make it as convenient as possible. Think it over positively.”
They courted me aggressively. That desirable, huh?
Senior intervened again. “Hands off my disciple, Professors.”
She blocked their path, standing in front of me. Undeterred, they pressed.
“But Ruina, you know it's a waste to leave that talent in the Knight Department.”
“Exactly. We can't let it rot. That's a loss too.”
“We're short on suitable students for the academy exchange meet anyway. He'd be a huge help.”
They threw out every reason to sway us.
“No.”
Senior drew a firm line, pushing them back despite her small stature. They finally backed off—but not fully.
“Whenever you're ready, come to Fabrication and talk to any professor.”
They shouted fervently even as they retreated.
I looked at Senior after sending the professors away. Her shoulders slumped.
“You okay?”
“...No.”
Her mood had tanked from the ordeal.
“Professors are mean. I found you first. I taught you alchemy. But they wanna steal you.”
“You hate that?”
“Yeah. You're my disciple. I'm your master. So don't go. I'll teach you everything.”
Her voice dripped melancholy. More emotional shifts than usual today.
I soothed her. “I'm not going. Like you said, I'm your disciple.”
“Really...?”
“Yeah. Plus, no time. Too much to do.”
Academy graduation requires exams anyway. Double major means two sets. Too annoying.
“Got it. Kneel.”
“Like this?”
I complied. She reached up and patted my head.
“Good job today. I'm proud. Keep it up.”
Her usual head-pat praise. I'm used to it now.
“Got it, Senior.”
“Yeah. Let's go.”
We headed to the workshop, chatting along the way.
“Artifact. How much do you need?”
“About 10%? That'll do.”
“Can give more.”
“Making jewelry. A little's enough.”
Just to coat the exterior—no need for much. She'd get it if I explained.
“But can you take the commission right away?”
“No. Busy for a bit. Got work.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks to a month.”
“Hm...”
I pondered. Finals are a month away. Starting then might cut it close.
Better finish before finals if possible.
The tool needs post-processing after completion. About a week? Timeline-wise, it should be done by exam time to deliver on schedule.
“Anything I can help with?”
I asked, not knowing her project but offering anyway. She hesitated, then spoke.
“Knowledge alone would help.”
“Really? Mind if I assist?”
No issue there—I had plenty of alchemy know-how.
“Then...”
She wavered, as if it was hard to say. But soon continued.
“Philosopher's Stone. Know it?”
“......”
My buoyant mood sank instantly.
...It's time.
I realized why she'd thrown herself into the contest so fiercely. And what episode this led to.
But I kept my cool, responding normally. “Senior. The Philosopher's Stone is something humans can't create. That's why it's legendary.”
“No. It has been made.”
“Sure, it has—twice.”
Once in the Mythic Era, once at the Tiran Empire's founding. Only two appearances in continental history. The first is iffy, but the second's confirmed—the first emperor verified it.
That shifted alchemists' views 400 years ago from fictional to real-yet-unmakeable legend. Countless pursued it since, all failed. Now it's accepted as existent but impossible.
“Give up. No documents even exist. How could you make it? Nothing in the Tianis Library either.”
Too dangerous—the first emperor didn't hide it there.
“No. There is. At my house...”
“Senior, if true, every alchemist and mage would hunt you. And you're okay telling me?”
She nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah. You'll protect me.”
“Senior... you could get backstabbed.”
“Not you.”
“...Sigh.”
Just sighs. Her trust stemmed from my actions so far, but still...
What if I betrayed her midway?
“Just advice: the Philosopher's Stone could threaten the world. Still making it?”
“Lifelong dream. I have to.”
Right. No changing that—she completes it no matter what. It's her fate.
And not right now—two years later. This is just groundwork.
“Fine. I'll help. But I only have knowledge, no recipes. Keep that in mind.”
“Okay.”
She smiled faintly, pleased. I sighed inwardly and said, “I'll head out then. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
We'd reached the workshop and finished tidying. I left.
“Tsk. Busier than ever.”
The room after Kyle left. Ruina Lindel stared at the door her disciple had exited through for a long while.
Then, much later, she spoke. “Such a mysterious kid.”
Also commendably talented. How had such a gifted, adorable child become her disciple?
Ruina Lindel found the fact endlessly joyful and astonishing. Perhaps a bond from the gods?
“I want him as my disciple forever.”
The first wish in her life after alchemy. She hoped he'd keep learning under her, exploring alchemy, assisting as her aide.
Ruina wanted that.
Her heartbeat quickened slightly.
“What?”
Perplexed by the odd sensation, Ruina tilted her head. Her mind had always been filled solely with alchemy, so she didn't recognize it.
Not unpleasant. The quick but steady rhythm brought calm.
She sat, closed her eyes, and focused on it. Addictive—she wanted to listen forever. Her mind drifted toward sleep.
But then—
Bzzz—
Vibration from her subspace pouch. Ruina snapped alert, pulling out the secret communicator.
Only one person contacted via this.
That hated voice. But delaying meant consequences she knew too well, so Ruina answered her father's question.
“Yes, Dad.”
“Tidying up... Ugh...!”
Pain surged; Ruina clutched her chest. Black energy seeped from her heart, enveloping her body.
“Sorry... I messed up, Dad...”
Soul-rending agony hit; she crawled on the floor. Veins bulged across her body; nails scraped desperately.
Even as it surely reached him, the man didn't stop. Only after she vomited blood multiple times did the pain ebb.
“Y-yes...”
Cold words unfit for father-daughter. Yet Ruina clung to the communicator, managing only assent.
“Yes, Dad...”
“I'll... complete it. Definitely...”
The man clicked his tongue; communication cut. The black energy consuming her retracted into her heart.
“......”
Ruina rose from the floor. She gazed at the mirror in the workshop corner.
Her face had returned to blank. The lively spark in her eyes was gone.
And her heartbeat, which had thrummed moments ago...
“Not beating...”
It had sunk cold, like her emotionless voice.