"Then I'd love to see if your ending is really any better than mine!" Thomas snapped, his defeat fueling the bitterness he now hurled at Andrew. The sting of failure had clearly twisted his mood, and Andrew became the target of his frustration.

Meanwhile, Mosby stood with his hands behind his back, beaming toward the judges' platform.

He said proudly, "Clifford, Preston, my fellow peers in medicine. You've all checked this kid's so-called elixir by now, haven't you? If my guess is right, what he made isn't even an elixir—it's just trash, plain and simple."

He followed it up with another burst of arrogant laughter. He had noticed earlier that Andrew's cauldron had not released even a trace of medicinal aroma. It was like cooking a meal with no smell coming out—there could only be one conclusion: total failure.

Just then, startled voices rose from behind, followed by the sound of hurried shuffling and clattering.

"Huh? W-What is this…"

Suddenly, Mosby's brow furrowed, wonder