The sa pattern continued as the lecture progressed.
Professor Farrow would pose a complex question, several students would attempt answers with varying degrees of success, then Audrey would provide a technically correct but incomplete response.
And each ti, Julian would find himself compelled to add the missing pieces, driven by an almost reflexive need for precision.
"The Azurite Solution turns green when combined with elixir base because..."
"The copper sulfate in Azurite reacts with the alkaline components of the elixir base," Audrey answered smoothly.
"Yes, and, the specific shade of green indicates the pH balance of the resulting compound, which is crucial for determining its potency and stability." Julian quickly added.
By the fourth question, the class had settled into watching this intellectual ping-pong match with fascinated horror.
So students were even taking bets on when Audrey would finally snap.
For Julian he was so oblivious to the social dynamics he was violating.
To him he simply found the subject matter engaging.
Each question was an interesting puzzle, and filling in the gaps in Audrey's answers seed like a natural contribution to the class discussion.
"For today's practical assignnt," Professor Farrow announced, "you'll be creating a simple transformative solution. The instructions are on the board, and you have thirty minutes to complete the task. This will count toward your mid-term evaluation."
With a wave of his hand, Professor Farrow conjured individual alchemical stations at each student's desk.
Small burners, vials of colorful liquids, and neatly arranged tools materialized before them.
The instructions on the board detailed a moderately complex transformative solution that would change color and properties when properly prepared.
Julian examined the materials before him, thodically arranging them in order of use.
Beside him, Audrey was already asuring her first ingredient with clinical precision, her movents efficient and practiced.
The tension between them was palpable, a frigid aura that had other students casting nervous glances their way.
As Julian began working on his solution, he found himself occasionally glancing at Audrey's progress. Her technique was flawless—each asurent exact, each stir perfectly tid. There was an elegance to her work that spoke of years of practice and natural talent.
"Rember," Professor Farrow called out, walking between the rows, "the key to this assessnt is precision. Too much silver nitrate will cause an unstable reaction, while too little will result in incomplete transformation."
Julian carefully added three drops of silver nitrate to his mixture, watching as the solution shifted from deep blue to a vibrant purple. The consistency was perfect—neither too thick nor too thin. He noted with satisfaction that his results matched exactly what Professor Farrow had described.
Beside him, Audrey's solution had achieved the sa color, her movents never faltering despite the obvious frustration tightening her features. Every ti Julian had supplented her answers, her jaw had clenched a little harder, her grip on her instrunts becoming slightly more rigid.
"Five minutes remaining," Professor Farrow announced.
Julian was just completing the final step—adding a pinch of powdered moonstone to stabilize the solution. As the powder dissolved, his mixture emitted a soft, pearlescent glow, indicating a successful transformation.
Audrey finished her solution monts later, her mixture exhibiting the sa luminescent quality. She sat back, her posture perfect despite the storm brewing behind her eyes. Julian couldn't understand why she seed so upset—they had both completed the assessnt successfully, after all.
"Ti's up!" Professor Farrow called. "Please seal your vials and label them with your nas. I'll collect and grade them imdiately."
Julian carefully stoppered his vial, writing his na on the small tag attached to it. Next to him, Audrey did the sa, her elegant script a stark contrast to his more functional handwriting.
Professor Farrow moved through the classroom with remarkable efficiency, examining each solution with practiced eyes.
He held each vial up to the light, noting the color, consistency, and luminescence before making marks on his evaluation sheet.
The entire process took less than ten minutes, impressive given the size of the class.
"I must say, I'm quite pleased with most of your efforts today," he announced, returning to the front of the room.
"Your solutions show a solid grasp of the fundantals we've covered so far."
He began distributing the graded papers, moving thodically through the rows. Students received their marks with various reactions—sighs of relief, proud smiles, and occasional groans of disappointnt.
When he reached Julian and Audrey's row, Professor Farrow paused, holding two papers in his hand.
"Miss Glacia, Mr. Julian," he said, "exceptional work from both of you."
He handed them their papers before continuing down the line. Julian glanced at his evaluation, nodding with quiet satisfaction at the perfect score.
Beside him, Audrey was reviewing her own paper, a confident smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her posture remained impeccable as she scanned the professor's comnts, clearly pleased with what she saw.
"…!"
It wasn't until she happened to catch a glimpse of Julian's paper that her expression changed.
Her eyes widened fractionally, the only visible crack in her icy composure as she registered his perfect score against her 98%.
The difference was minuscule—two percentage points—but in Audrey's world, those two points might as well have been a chasm. Her fingers tightened around her paper, creating small creases in the previously pristine docunt.
Julian, oblivious to the storm brewing beside him, was already tucking his evaluation into his notebook, his mind already moving on to other matters.
The classroom bell rang, its chi signaling the end of the period. Before anyone else had even gathered their belongings, Audrey was on her feet, her movents sharp and precise. Without a word to Professor Farrow—breaking her usual protocol of thanking the instructor—she swept from the room, her pale blue hair trailing behind her like a winter banner.
The classroom erupted into whispers the mont the door closed behind her.
"Did you see that?"
"She didn't even say goodbye to Professor Farrow!"
"What happened? Did she bomb the assignnt?"
"Impossible! She's never scored below perfect on an alchemy assessnt."
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