Seated at the center of the judges' table, Mada Maxi took in the relaxed, gratified smile on Nicolas's face.
The corners of her own mouth curved up in a knowing arc.
She knew exactly who "Antoine Faure" really was.
As the host, she had personally confird every guest judge's invitation.
Right now, she could read the look in Nicolas's eyes with crystal clarity: pure pride and satisfaction in his student, his successor, Lucien.
Maxi lowered her head slightly, her wand tapping gently against her copy of SwiftSpeak to tap out a reply:
[When I first t Lucien, I had a premonition that this child would change the magical world. I just didn't expect the 'future' to beco the 'now' so soon. It's happening so fast...]
ssage sent, she looked up again, her gaze landing on Lucien standing alone in the center of the stage.
Warm sunlight stread through the windows, bathing him in a glow that made his dark golden hair shine.
Facing a mont destined for the history books, the boy stood tall, his erald eyes remaining calm and composed.
Maxi's appreciation deepened. She cleared her throat, her resonant, elegant voice filling the hall and silencing all whispers:
"Lucien Grafton, your 'SwiftSpeak' is undoubtedly a masterpiece. I am curious—and I believe many here are as well—how did you conceive such a... brilliant idea? What was the source of your inspiration?"
As her words fell, the professors and judges fiddling with their SwiftSpeaks stopped imdiately. They looked up.
Even the students and competitors who had been craning their necks held their breath.
All eyes were on him.
Lucien t their gazes, bowed slightly, and replied with his usual composure:
"Thank you for your praise, Mada Maxi. In truth, this idea didn't spring from nothing. Like many inventions, I stood on the shoulders of giants, borrowing and integrating the wisdom of those who ca before."
Giants' shoulders?
The phrase hooked everyone's curiosity—judges, professors, and students alike.
Was it so unpublished manuscript from an alchemy master? A cutting-edge hypothesis from a magical journal?
Under their expectant gazes, Lucien gave his answer calmly:
"'SwiftSpeak' draws heavily from the Muggle world's 'Internet' system."
Internet?
Many wizards looked blank.
A small section of students, however, visibly soured the mont they heard the word "Muggle."
The "tradition" of looking down on Muggle things and exalting wizarding bloodlines existed in every country's magical community.
How could they accept that a magical creation praised by masters—sothing capable of changing the era—was inspired by what they considered "inferior" and "backward" Muggle junk?
Yet, when these indignant students looked to the judges' table, expecting to see disdain, they were disappointed.
The Alchemy Masters showed no contempt.
After a brief flicker of surprise, the appreciation in their eyes burned even hotter.
It was the excitent of finding a rare treasure—a pure appreciation of wisdom and innovation that transcended prejudice.
Lucien ignored the slight commotion below. He continued explaining clearly, carefully translating Muggle terminology into taphors wizards could grasp:
"In the Muggle 'Internet,' information you want to send—text, images, or sound—is sliced into countless 'data packets'... Each 'packet' is marked with a destination address. Then, like a flock of the smartest, most path-finding owls, they travel via different routes... Finally, once all the 'packets' arrive, they are precisely reassembled into the complete ssage..."
He paused, scanning the captivated judges.
"Of course, 'SwiftSpeak' uses magical ans to replicate and improve this... using alchemy and runes to achieve the 'slicing' and 'marking'... utilizing existing spells like the Protean Charm, Apparecium, and Sonorus concepts to build stable 'paths' and 'reassembly' chanisms... These specific implentations rely entirely on the wealth of knowledge left to us by wizarding predecessors..."
As he spoke, the students' eyes glazed over with confusion.
The Muggle concepts were already half-understood, and now mixed with complex magical theory and alchemical jargon, their brains felt like they were stuffed with writhing Venomous Tentacula—buzzing and unable to keep up.
But the scene at the judges' table was the exact opposite.
The masters listened with rapt attention, nodding in realization or falling into deep thought. They looked at Lucien as if he were a rare gem.
So young, yet with such extraordinary talent and solid fundantals.
Even rarer was his ability to break through ideological barriers, actively absorbing different thinking from the Muggle world to borrow, integrate, and transcend...
This vision and open-mindedness moved them far more than simple alchemical skill.
The mont Lucien finished his introduction, Lance—the alchemist with the monocle—couldn't wait.
He leaned forward, cutting in before anyone else could speak to ask the crucial question hovering in the masters' minds:
"Grafton," his voice sounded a bit abrupt in his urgency, "do you have a teacher in the field of Alchemy? I an, a true ntor who has passed down their legacy and given you real guidance... a Master?"
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