[Ruan Ling's POV]
I didn't want to be here.
Benjamin had practically dragged me into the carriage after Bellum chose to accompany him to Albrecht's place. He told me I should stop judging a man's daughter from paper alone, that seeing her in person would change my mind.
I doubted it.
The road was quiet, and Bellum said nothing, as usual. Benjamin, on the other hand, filled the stillness with half-whistled tunes and idle chatter I ignored. I kept my arms folded, gaze fixed on the scenery passing by, trying not to dwell on how absurd this whole situation was.
A child designing a device more developed than what half the senior researchers could even theorize? It wasn't just implausible—it was offensive.
When the carriage arrived at the front gate of a mediocre manor, Bellum was the first to step out, followed by Benjamin, calling out to Albrecht with his usual demeanor.
Their conversation blurred in my ears—until I saw her.
A small girl, no taller than an average person's waist, stood a few steps behind Albrecht.
Could it be her?
She didn't even fidget or hide behind her father for safety. Instead, she was calmly clutching a stack of parchment like she was heading for a briefing.
Something about her posture unsettled me. She's too composed.
No darting eyes, no nervous gestures. Just stillness and certainty.
"It appeared so. I don't know if that one would agree."
Bellum's voice cut through the quiet, clearly aimed in my direction.
I stiffened. Of course, he noticed I hadn't moved yet. That man never missed anything.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped down from the carriage.
The air outside was colder than I realized. Or maybe it was just the tightness in my chest.
I walked toward them, completely ignoring the way Benjamin widened his irritating grin at my hesitation. My gaze moved past the others and focused squarely on the girl.
So this was Herta Wissenschaft.
Her purple eyes met mine, steady and unbothered.
Something about her gaze reminded me of someone I used to know.
Before I could speak, the girl tilted her head slightly.
"You must be one of Papa's colleagues."
Clear voice. Neither boastful nor shy. And clearly aware of who I was.
Crossing my arms, I gave a pointed reply.
"And you must be the one who allegedly completed the device."
She smiled faintly, seemingly prepared for my response.
"Then you understand the situation thoroughly, right?"
A sharp reply, without even raising her voice.
My brow twitched, forcing me to retort.
"Thoroughly enough to question who actually made it."
Her lips pressed together—not in irritation, but amusement.
"Well, I hope this day's debate will help answer that."
I narrowed my eyes. This girl is more annoying than I thought.
Before I could fire back, I heard footsteps approaching from the manor's entrance.
I glanced toward the sound—and froze.
A woman with long lavender hair and gentle purple eyes walked toward us.
She hadn't changed.
Still poised, still graceful, still so aggravatingly serene.
"Theresia..."
She stopped a few steps away, her gaze settling on me with a hesitant softness.
"It's been a while, Ling."
Her voice was as delicate as ever, though a hint of regret was slipping out.
I folded my arms tighter, trying to collect myself.
"It was..."
She didn't look away, her gaze remained composed.
"You look well after all these years, Ling."
I gave a shallow breath, resisting her compliment.
"Thanks, I managed."
A short pause lingered, cracking Theresia's calm exterior.
She lowered her gaze, looking pitiful.
"Sorry, I never meant for things to—"
"I'm not here for that."
Cutting her off, I didn't want to discuss our history, not when there were people around.
Another silence stretched between us, fraying at the edge.
"Excuse me."
Just then, the girl stepped between us, looking up with a nonchalant face.
"What is it, sweetie?" Theresia asked, fixing her tone.
Herta glanced between us. "I believed we should start heading out soon. We need to prepare before the debate starts."
This girl's voice was polite, but it didn't hide the fact that she had interjected on purpose.
Theresia nodded, brushing her daughter's shoulder.
"Of course. Take care, sweetie."
After that, the girl turned and approached her servant.
"Marlene, don't forget to send the letter I gave you earlier."
"Understood, Milady."
A letter? I wonder what it was about. Doesn't matter.
She then returned to her father's side, speaking in a hushed tone I couldn't catch.
Benjamin motioned towards the carriage, already eager to leave.
"Shall we?"
I stayed a moment longer, eyes flicking toward Theresia, who gave me a look I couldn't quite read. Was it regret? Concern? Pity? I didn't care. Or rather, I didn't want to.
When I finally turned away and strode toward the carriage, the little girl was already climbing inside. Bellum had taken the seat opposite her, and Benjamin leaned casually in the corner.
"Come on, Miss Ruan Ling. We'll be late," he called.
I stepped in without a word.
The door closed behind me with a finality I didn't like.
----------------------------------------------------
As the horse-drawn carriage rolled into the heart of the main district, the rhythmic clattering of the wheels and hooves striking the stone path synchronized harmoniously.
With it, the atmosphere inside the carriage began to shift.
"Sir Albrecht, I'm wondering how your daughter would fare against Rubert II in the upcoming debate?" Benjamin asked, eagerly leaning forward.
"If it's just a matter of technical accuracy, she won't lose," Albrecht declared. "Whether or not they believe her is another issue."
Bellum gave a small nod. "Truth is secondary when pride's involved."
Their conversation continued—light in tone but underscored by suspense. I remained mostly quiet, arms crossed. Not silent from indifference, but because I couldn't stop scrutinizing the little girl named Herta.
She sat beside her father, hardly reacting to the discussion around her.
Her legs barely contacted the floor, dangling motionless, not swinging or squirming like most children do. There was no fidgeting or restless energy. Instead, she maintained a calm focus as she filtered through the stack of parchments in her hands.
It was eerie, almost uncanny. A very young child was sitting among experienced researchers as if she belonged here. I couldn't understand it.
"Hey, Ruan Ling, you alright over there?"
Suddenly, Albrecht called out to me. I glanced forward and found them all staring at me.
"I'm perfectly fine, thanks," I replied calmly, trying to conceal my surprise.
Benjamin smiled playfully. "Seems like Miss Ruan Ling is thinking too hard."
I ignored him as always.
The carriage turned, and the racket outside swelled—voices, bells, and wheels mixing. Soon, we slowed down before a gated courtyard underneath an iron sign that reads Department of Device Theory and Development.
We had arrived, and the vehicle came to a halt.
Bellum stepped out first, followed by Benjamin. Albrecht exited next and turned back to offer his hand to his daughter. She took it gently, descending with the elegance of someone much older than her appearance suggested.
Disregarding it, I dismounted last.
The moment we entered the workshop, the air changed. Inside the open corridors, dozens of researchers turned towards us. Their conversation paused, and all eyes settled on the girl.
Some stared with genuine confusion, others with mild animosity.
A few whispered behind their sleeves.
I even caught one muttering, "That's the so-called genius?"
Meanwhile, the little girl didn't react, or rather, she didn't care at all.
Instead, she let go of her father's hand and slowly walked ahead of us, scrutinizing the room with mild curiosity. Her gaze swept across various tools, unfinished machines, and scattered blackboards filled with scribbled diagrams.
At times, she paused to investigate certain equations, tilting her head slightly as if reviewing the logic in silence, and then moved on.
There was no fear in her eyes, only calm appraisal.
It was somewhat frustrating, but I shouldn't jump to conclusions yet.
Just then, the disturbance came.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the prodigy herself."
A scoffing voice broke the moment.
We halted and noticed a middle-aged man striding toward us, sleeves rolled past his elbows, cravat half-tied, and his grizzled beard highlighted his sneer. It's Rubert II.
Standing before the girl, he glared at her with a sinister smirk.
"I must admit, you don't look like a miracle-worker. More like a child playing dress-up, hoping to be acknowledged by everyone."
"...."
The girl didn't react.
She merely looked up at him, then moved her gaze back to a nearby blackboard as if he were nothing more than background noise.
Albert, however, stepped forward, his gaze furrowing in aggravation.
"You take that back, you—"
But his voice faltered as his daughter raised her hand, halting him mid-sentence.
"Papa, let me."
She returned her gaze to Rubert, tilting her head slightly.
"It seems judging others by appearance must be comforting for someone like you, especially after your work stopped speaking for itself."
The smug grin on Rubert's face cracked, if only for a second.
Several murmurs rippled from the gathered researchers as he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and tried to reassert authority.
"Such a sharp tongue for a brat like you. Who do you think you are?"
The little girl, unbothered by his intimidation, stood firmly.
"My name is Herta Wissenschaft, daughter of Albrecht and Theresia Wissenschaft, I am here to prove you wrong."
There was no hesitation—she meant every word.
-----------------------------------------------------
The workshop falls into silence, tension thick as the weight of the little girl's words settles.
Looking to my left, I caught sight of Benjamin's thrilled smile, Bellum's measured interest, and Albrecht's unmistakable pride. Each expression mirrored a different kind of belief in her.
Turning to my right, the gathered researchers exchanged uncertain glances at one another—some skeptical, others visibly unsettled, but a few… perhaps intrigued.
As for me, I found myself unconsciously holding my breath. Her composure doesn't belong to someone her age, which startled me more than I cared to admit.
"Pfft... Hahahaha!!"
Suddenly, Rubert laughed boisterously, his face contorting into ecstasy.
"Me, wrong? That's a good one," he remarked pretentiously, leaning forward with a conceited grin. "Now, tell me what I am wrong about?"
His arrogance made me frown, but I partly agree on one thing. What could that child possibly have to prove? Yet, why is her silence making me hesitate?
Meanwhile, the girl didn't flinch. Her face remained calm, but her eyes sharpened slightly.
"Let me set the record straight, you are wrong on three accounts," she declared firmly. "First, your accusation against my father. Second, your fraudulent pride in your creation. And lastly, your terrible impression of me and those whom you judged poorly."
At her words, I tensed up, while the gathered researchers' murmur intensified.
She wasn't just aiming to prove Rubert wrong—she intended to dismantle him completely.
However, the man raised his eyebrow, then chuckled in disbelief.
"Oh? What a bold claim," he remarked, his tone dripping with mockery. "Fine, then. Why don't you prove each one, little Miss Prodigy? Prove them in front of everyone."
Given his threat, I expected the girl to falter in the face of mounting pressure.
But instead, she calmly walked towards Albrecht and handed him the stack of parchments in exchange for the device she supposedly assembled. After that, she finds a nearby table and places it there before reaching beneath the seams of her dress.
I gasped.
One by one, she pulled out a miniature wrench and a screwdriver from hidden compartments stitched into her clothes. She brought them down on the table and, without a word, began to dismantle the device.
Silence momentarily permeated the air before chaos ensued.
"H-hey! What do you think you're doing!?"
"Someone stop her! That device is valuable!"
"She'll ruin it!"
Dozens of voices shouted at once, outrage bursting through the room like a wave. I would've joined them—but I didn't.
Because, unlike them, I watched her hands. There were no errors, no second guesses. Every twist and turn was deliberate. It wasn't destruction—it was dissection.
She dismantled the device piece by piece, laying each part on the table in pristine condition, as if she had done this countless times before.
"It seems Herta's action displeased the crowd," Bellum muttered, arms crossed.
Benjamin let out a timid laugh. "Oh dear, she got everyone riled up. Great."
"Everyone, please calm down," Albrecht urged the crowd. "She knows what she's doing."
Meanwhile, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It's frustratingly impressive.
However, Rubert chuckled arrogantly once more.
"What foolish act are you trying to prove here, brat?" he sneered. "It is meaningless."
"I'm proving my first point, Mister Long Beard," the girl replied casually. "You'd accused my father of copying your creation, so I am highlighting the differences in the components."
She tapped one of the pieces with a screwdriver.
"This connecting hinge here? It's specifically designed with adaptive relays that exceed the Scepter Optic's fixed clamps. Then there's the lens, which has a more convex curvature that enhances magnification to the point where you can see smaller particles than magicules—"
Her voice remained even and factual, yet her words carried weight.
One by one, she continued to describe every key difference, such as the support rods made of reinforced steel instead of bronze and gold, a unique circuit etching for detecting particle instability, and a mana regulation loop to prevent harmonic distortion.
She even brought up the runework—a complex array carved in a striking pattern to stabilize wave dispersion. Hold on, she learned rune engineering? That is something only professional researchers specialize in.
Realizing this, my chest tightened so much that I couldn't counter her claim, not even silently. I had known Scepter Optics since its inception, and yet...
Everything she had said checked out.
Yet, Rubert merely scoffed.
"Hmph, what a rehearsed performance, that's all it is," he snapped, eyes narrowing. "If you're so clever, why don't you assemble it back together, child? Let's see if you can."
My stomach sank. It was the cruelest surprise yet.
But her response? A soft, confident hum.
"Gladly, Sir Snoot."
Without delay, she gathered the components and began to reassemble the device. The room held its collective breath as her fingers danced with mechanical precision.
There's no fumbling or mistakes. The girl was on a different level, focused exclusively on the task. Watching her closely reminded me of Theresia—when her mind honed in on something, even gravity felt like a distraction. That same composure was shared by her daughter.
Piece by piece, the device took shape once more under her tiny hands until...
"Tada~"
It was completely assembled.
For a moment, the workshop went silent once again. But then, someone spoke out.
"No way... She did it?"
"That was so fast and so precise..."
"She nailed it perfectly!"
The gathered researchers all cheered, delighted by the girl's performance.
Rubert, on the other hand, took a half-step backwards, his lips quivering as though he was desperately looking for a fresh excuse to hold on to.
"Y-you still haven't explained my invention's flaw," he said bitterly, masking his shaken pride with an uproar. "Let me hear it then, brat. What's so wrong with my Scepter Optics?"
"Do you mean the design inconsistencies and misusage of valuable resources?" she replied with a slight shrug. "Alright, I'll indulge you, Faux Genius."
She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly.
According to the Nascan Encyclopedia, your Scepter Optics uses bronzes as a support rod, which is far too brittle under long-term mana exposure. Your lenses are misaligned by 0.045 degrees—a small but significant disadvantage for microscopic readings. The mana loop isn't filtered for fluctuation, generating false resonance at 120 pulses per minute. As for your rune pattern? You copied an outdated sample from "Celestial Flow, Volume III," which, by the way, was corrected by Lanius Moreau in Volume IV."
My jaw almost dropped. She cited the book and edition without batting an eye.
Yet, she didn't stop there.
"And you merely took inspiration from "The Light of Shifting Ether" by Modan Estrelle—page 187, second paragraph—but foolishly ignored the errata in the third printing. Such a shame."
Rubert's face became pale, making me feel bad for him. His cheeks puffed, his hands curled into trembling fists, and his eyes darted between us like a cornered animal.
"You little... wretched child," he hissed. "I will never allow your childish toy into this workshop. I'll make sure of it. You'll never support the Solitary Particle Theory!"
For the first time, I expected her to be taken aback, perhaps even deflate under his rage.
But no. She simply rolled her eyes.
"I don't need your validation, Captain Cry Baby," she responded honestly.
My eyebrows furrowed at her statement.
Even Rubert seems baffled. "What are you talking about, brat?!"
"I've already mailed the proposal to a higher authority," she answered confidently.
That's when it suddenly hits me.
Memories flooded back at the manor a few hours ago. The girl instructed something about a mail to her caretaker. I hadn't thought about it then, but it made sense now.
Her lips curled into a polite smile as she turned in a certain direction.
"Please step forward, Sir Zandar One Kuwabara."