Chapter 559: Arrogance Without Reason
Frank’s intention all along was to go first, to shock everyone with his brilliance.
So when Selina pushed the turn back to him, Frank didn’t hesitate. He arrogantly pulled out his formula, slapped it onto the judges’ table, and declared, "Judges, please take a look. I’m certain that my perfume is the true champion!"
Frank’s confidence naturally swayed some people.
To ensure fairness—and to satisfy the eager audience—the cameramen dutifully shifted their lenses to capture the formula.
The competition’s theme was floral, and Frank’s formula revolved around rose.
At first glance, though, the formula was unimpressive. The transition notes seemed ordinary, the supporting accords chosen without much thought.
The first thought flashing through many minds was: This formula... it doesn’t look extraordinary at all. How could it possibly have earned a 9.9 score?
Meanwhile, the judging panel fell into collective silence.
Frank mistook their quiet for awe. He gave a smug smile. "Miss Clark, I don’t think you even need to hand over your formula. The judges can already tell who the real champion is."
Selina only cast him a faint glance.
The judges, however, weren’t speechless because they were impressed. Quite the opposite—
They were stunned because it was too ordinary.
And more importantly, none of them had forgotten the perfume marked as Number Seven: a fragrance rich with wintersweet, its lingering plum blossom note fading into a floral accord wrapped in the sharp coolness of snow. It was unforgettable—like standing beneath a plum tree in the dead of winter.
And yet...
One judge frowned, suddenly recalling: Isn’t wintersweet originally from Country M?
After all, Country Y wasn’t the flower’s native land. Their people weren’t especially fond of its scent, and very few perfumes abroad were ever based on wintersweet. That same judge had thought, during evaluation, that this bottle must have come from a Country M perfumer. But seeing Frank’s confidence afterward, he’d doubted himself.
Now, looking at Frank’s formula...
This had nothing to do with the fragrance of Number Seven.
If anything... it looked closer to Number Twenty-Six.
"Say something already!" Frank snapped impatiently. He was already picturing the glory, the acclaim, the way everyone would circle around him once his championship was confirmed.
The more he imagined it, the less he could wait. He stepped forward sharply, scowling. "Why are you all standing there stunned? Announce it!"
The judges exchanged uneasy looks. If they spoke the plain truth, they risked offending Frank, his noble family, and even Ronald. But with things as they were...
Before the lead judge could gather his thoughts, Logan casually lifted his hand. Instantly, a cameraman swung the lens toward Frank’s formula, and a second later, Frank’s notes were broadcast across the massive screen.
Frank lifted his chin proudly.
But everyone else froze.
The hundred-member review panel remembered Number Seven vividly—it had been their unanimous high-score. And they all remembered its central note: wintersweet.
Yet here it was—
Frank’s formula showed no trace of wintersweet.
Confusion rippled through the hall.
Frank, oblivious, declared with utter confidence, "My perfume is built around rose as the main accord. Now, can we announce that I’m the champion?"
Silence fell over the hall once more.
The judges stayed silent, and the hundred-member review panel flushed with embarrassment. Most of the judges were from Country Y, and many on the review panel had personal ties to Ronald. If they spoke the truth now, it would humiliate Ronald’s prized student.
But if they stayed quiet, their own consciences would torment them.
So, in an unspoken agreement, they all chose silence.
Frank couldn’t stand it any longer. Born into nobility, he had been indulged since childhood—whenever he grew angry, someone would soothe him. He didn’t care about the setting or occasion anymore. He snapped:
"Say something! All of you, speak up! Announce that I’m the champion! If you won’t, does that mean you’re siding with Selina?! You—"
"Mr. Frank." Selina tilted her head, her tone cool. "Haven’t you realized? Their silence isn’t support for me—it’s pity for you. They don’t want to slap you in the face outright, so they’re leaving you a shred of dignity."
"What dignity do I need? I—"
Before he could finish, Selina calmly laid her own formula on the table.
Her tone was detached. "Since Mr. Frank is so impatient, then let’s announce it."
Frank glanced at her formula, then burst into loud laughter.
"Wintersweet? Your formula is wintersweet? Hah! No wonder it only scored a 7.9. That kind of third-rate note only you Country M people would—"
"Mr. Frank!"
Finally, one of the judges could hold back no longer.
"As a perfumer, how dare you dismiss an entire note as ’third-rate’? Wintersweet is native to Country M, and it has been used in perfumery for over a thousand years!"
Frank was livid. "You—"
But before he could finish, the judge’s face darkened further as he turned sharply toward Ronald.
"Mr. Ronald, Mr. Frank, are you both certain that Bottle Number Seven—the one crowned champion—was crafted by Frank?"
That uneasy feeling in Ronald’s chest swelled again.
But Frank, blind in his arrogance, barked, "Of course—"
"Master Frank," the judge cut him off icily, "this competition is not your personal plaything. It is not a game where any title you fancy can simply be handed to you. This time, you tried to rob Miss Clark of her rightful title. She is strong enough to resist, but what about next time?"
"If the next champion you cheat is an unknown perfumer with no power or status, then what becomes of the titles ’champion’ and ’genius’? Are they nothing but prizes rigged by you and your master?"
Another judge rose to his feet. He wasn’t as exalted as Ronald, but he was still a renowned perfumer in Country Y.
Frank was stunned, his voice rising in disbelief. "What do you mean by Selina’s championship? I haven’t even admitted it yet, I—"
"Then listen closely, Mr. Frank."
The judge’s voice dripped with disdain.
"We twenty-five judges and the hundred-member review panel all agreed unanimously that the perfume with the highest score—"
"Was wintersweet!"
"It was the very note you mocked—the traditional scent of Country M! The process was flawless, the scoring never tampered with, and Bottle Number Seven is undeniably Miss Clark’s creation. On the other hand—"
"Your Bottle Number Twenty-Six is unforgettable, yes. It started strong, with decent top and middle accords, earning an initial 8.6. But the base collapsed. If your main accord was rose, why bury it beneath so many overpowering supporting notes?"
"Your teacher may be Country Y’s chief perfumer, but what have you learned? Your accords are ordinary, unbalanced, harsh on the nose—and yet you dare look down on Miss Clark?"