The room hummed with after-applause energy — students clustered in excited knots, professors trading quiet analyses, and cameras angling for the right shot. Scarlett stayed by her model, breathing slowly, letting the warmth of success settle in her chest. For a moment, the world narrowed to the soft movements of her structure and the steady beat of her own heart.
Alisa watched from the edge of the crowd, smile sharp as a coin. Her lips were calm but her eyes were a storm. She had managed to seed doubt; now she wanted spectacle. Joanna hovered like a trained fly, eager to sting.
"Excuse me," Joanna said loudly, stepping forward with a polite cough that drew attention. "Miss Rose, may I ask—where did you source García's archives? Some of us noticed the lines are… remarkably similar."
A ripple moved through the students. Conversations stalled. Scarlett's smile faltered just enough to be seen.
Before Scarlett could answer, Alisa swept in, voice honeyed. "Yes, Scarlett. It's curious. García's work is a sacred part of our history. I'd hate to believe someone would… appropriate it for personal gain." Her gaze slid across the room to Nicolas — part challenge, part invitation. Nicolas's dark eyes narrowed, unreadable.
The accusation landed like a cold stone. A professor at the panel, brow furrowed, raised a hand. "We received an anonymous note last night with some comparative scans," he said, voice official. "It seems there may be grounds for a formal review."
Scarlett felt the floor tilt. The anonymous note. The clean scans. The rumor machine Alisa had stoked. Her voice came out steady, the calm she'd practiced through sleepless nights. "I developed this model myself. The algorithm, the sensor responses, the code — those are mine. I can show my notes, my commits, my messy drafts. This is not theft."
Joanna offered a sweet laugh. "You can show anything, dear. But someone with access could alter timestamps. Digital trails are so easy to… embellish."
The professors exchanged heavy looks. The room, once warm with admiration, cooled into suspicion.
Nicolas stepped forward then, as if arriving by accident, and the space around him seemed to hush. He did not grandstand. He did not glare at Alisa. He looked at Scarlett's model with close attention, fingers brushing the edge of the display like a man testing a blade.
"This demonstration was different," he said quietly, loud enough to reach those closest. "It wasn't just form. It acted. The way the fenestration adjusted, the feedback loop in the lights — that requires a live adaptive core. You can't fake that with a single scanned drawing."
Alisa's jaw tightened. "Are you defending her on the basis of an effect, Mr. Volkov? That's hardly proof of originality."
Nicolas's gaze landed on Alisa, cold and precise. "I saw the prototype before the publication of those archival scans. I was here for the first run. If you doubt process, call for a live code review. If her system responds in real time with her inputs, that's evidence of authorship."
A murmur. A professor's frown turned into something like a plan. "We can arrange a live technical audit," he said. "Bring the original drive. Bring any devices."
Scarlett felt a strange relief at Nicolas's measured words. He wasn't defending her with grand claims — he offered method, procedure, a way to let facts speak. It was enough to slow the rumor machine, not stop it.
Alisa moved like a cat, graceful and quick. "A live audit is fine," she said, voice smooth. "It will show truth. Let's hope the committee values integrity over theatrics."
Joanna's eyes glinted. The accusation had become official, and that was what Alisa wanted — paper, protocol, a slow grind that would grind Scarlett's reputation to dust if the tide turned.
Scarlett stepped forward, meeting Alisa evenly. Her voice was calm but sharp. "I welcome the audit. I have backups, paper notes, printed sketches, my commit history. I worked nights until my hands cramped. If you want to tear me down, start with the facts."
Alisa's smile thinned. "Oh, I don't want to tear you down," she said softly. "I simply hope this school keeps its standards."
The dean cleared his throat. "We will form a short committee. There will be a preliminary review today, and a technical audit within forty-eight hours." His words were careful. "Until then, we ask everyone to refrain from public commentary."
The crowd dispersed with a new energy — some sympathetic eyes for Scarlett, some whispering conspiratorially. Nicolas watched her for a heartbeat, something unreadable flickering in his face, and then he moved away, a shadow among moving bodies.
Scarlett collected herself. She felt exposed, but she did not crumble. Students she barely knew offered thin smiles of support. Joanna lingered, watching the small line of observers, satisfied that the gears had begun to turn.
Alisa walked out with kitten steps, lips curved in satisfaction. The battle had become official. The war would be slow and surgical.
Scarlett placed her palm lightly on the cool model and whispered, more to herself than anyone else, "Then let them see."
She would stand. She would prove it. And somewhere in the crowd, Nicolas had just made sure the fight would be decided by truth — or by those cunning enough to twist it. The game had sharpened; the knives were out.