The next day, the first thing Mr. F did was to head to Matilda's office. He had found a note pinned to the door of his lab requesting his presence there. The message had been brief, but it was clear that something of importance needed to be discussed. As he made his way through the halls, Mr. F wondered what the topic could be, though he had a good idea. The gold he had given Matilda the previous day was likely the reason.

Upon arriving at the office, he found Matilda seated at her desk, as expected. What he didn't expect, however, was the presence of another man. This stranger stood silently in the corner, observing everything with a serious expression. He was meticulously taking notes in a small journal, jotting down every detail. His presence added an extra layer of formality to the situation, and Mr. F instantly knew this was more than a casual inquiry.

Matilda wasted no time and got straight to the point. The conversation focused primarily on the gold Mr. F had given her the previous day, and more specifically, how he had come to possess it. Mr. F recounted the story without hesitation. He told her how, during an evening walk, he had been ambushed by a nobleman. The attack had been sudden, but the situation had quickly deescalated, and the nobleman, realizing his mistake, had offered a sack of gold as a form of compensation.

As Mr. F spoke, the man in the corner continued taking notes, his quill scratching steadily against the paper. Matilda asked a few follow-up questions, her tone remaining neutral but her eyes sharp. "Where exactly did this happen?" she inquired, leaning forward slightly. "And what time of day was this?"

Mr. F gave precise answers, describing the location as a quiet alley near the outskirts of the city and the time as early evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. He provided just enough detail to make the story believable, though he was careful not to elaborate too much. He knew from experience that keeping things simple often made them seem more credible.

The conversation lasted only a few minutes longer, with Matilda asking a few more clarifying questions, but she didn't press too hard. Once the questioning concluded, Mr. F was dismissed without further issue. He stood up, nodded politely, and left the office, feeling a sense of relief. The encounter had been relatively painless, though he knew the matter might not be entirely closed.

As soon as Mr. F left, Matilda turned to the man who had been silently observing the exchange. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice now more relaxed.

The man finished scribbling the last of his notes and looked up at her. "It all seems to check out," he replied, his tone measured. "The story is a bit unusual, but not impossible. These kinds of things do happen. I'll report back to Lady Emma and keep her informed."

With that, the man gathered his notes and quietly left the office. Matilda watched him go, then sighed softly before returning to the work that awaited her.

…

Mr. F arrived at his laboratory, his magical senses alerting him to the presence of someone inside. As he entered, he was immediately struck by the sight of a completely renovated main room. The familiar space had been transformed, but the furniture remained the same, likely mass-produced items, Mr. F thought to himself. His gaze traveled to the archway at the far end of the room, offering a glimpse into the alchemy lab beyond.

Sitting at the tables in the left corner of the room were Albert and Betty. The two apprentices were engaged in quiet conversation, but the moment they noticed their master's arrival, they fell silent. Mr. F could sense the lingering embarrassment between them. He slowly approached the table in front of them, letting the tension build for a few moments. Then, with an air of impatience, he asked, "Well? Don't you have something to say?"

Both apprentices froze for a brief second, but they knew exactly what to do. In unison, they stood from their chairs and knelt before him, their foreheads pressed against the cold stone floor. Their voices echoed together, as if rehearsed, "We apologize, Master!"

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Mr. F looked down at them, satisfied by the display of remorse, and motioned for them to stand. As they rose to their feet, he spoke again, his tone stern but controlled, "I trust I don't need to repeat myself about what I said two days ago. The plan hasn't changed, so get back to work."

The apprentices exhaled in relief, grateful they hadn't been punished more severely. But Mr. F wasn't finished yet. "First," he said, his voice slicing through their relief, "let me see what you've produced before you decided to blow up my lab."

The mention of the incident made both Albert and Betty wince, but they knew their master was within his rights to remind them of their mistake. After all, they had nearly killed themselves in the process. With heavy hearts, they retrieved their completed work and placed it on the table before him.

Mr. F first approached Albert. He picked up a small vial of finely ground powder, tilting it carefully as he examined the contents. He scrutinized it for a few moments before handing it back. "The quality is acceptable," he said, his tone neutral. "How long did this take you?"

Albert hesitated, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but he answered honestly, "It took me an hour and a half, Master."

Mr. F nodded slightly, acknowledging the effort, but his expression remained unreadable. "Work on improving your speed," he advised. "And think about how you can use your knowledge of alchemy to refine your process."

Just as Mr. F was about to turn his attention to Betty, something occurred to him. Reaching into his spatial pouch, he pulled out a small, sturdy cauldron and placed it on the table in front of Albert. "This is a cauldron I purchased for you at the market," he said, his tone still firm but with an undercurrent of care. "Make sure you don't break it."

Tears welled up in Albert's eyes. Even after all the trouble he had caused, his master still thought of him, still invested in him. Overcome with emotion, Albert instinctively lunged forward, intending to embrace Mr. F in a show of gratitude. But Mr. F, anticipating this, sidestepped the attempt with ease, leaving Albert to crash face-first onto the floor.

Albert's face turned bright red from both embarrassment and the impact, while Mr. F stifled a sigh of exasperation. "Enough theatrics," Mr. F said, brushing aside the moment as though nothing had happened. Albert sheepishly got to his feet, rubbing his nose and casting an awkward glance at Betty, who was stifling a giggle behind her hand.

Now, it was Betty's turn. Mr. F walked over to her side of the table, his eyes scanning the products she had laid out.

Betty presented her own vial to Mr. F, who took it into his hands and examined it carefully. Inside the vial was a thick, viscous liquid—far from what would be considered a successful potion. He was about to offer her some constructive advice when, suddenly, the familiar letters flashed before his eyes.

[Student's failed potion detected]

[Beginning analysis]

[Analysis complete]

[The following errors were identified]

[Error 1:...]

A list of Betty's mistakes quickly appeared before Mr. F, detailing every flaw in the potion-making process. He was taken aback. The system had the ability to analyze not only his own creations but also the work of his students. Though surprised, Mr. F kept his expression neutral, not wanting to alarm Betty. He began relaying all of her errors to her, one by one.

At first, Betty listened intently, assuming her master would only point out a few areas where she could improve. But as he continued listing mistakes, the harsh reality of how many things had gone wrong hit her hard. By the time Mr. F reached the thirteenth error, Betty's mind was overwhelmed. She was trying to process it all, but it felt like her brain was drowning in criticism.

Suddenly, Mr. F paused and asked, "Did you understand everything?"

His question snapped Betty back to the present, her eyes wide with panic. She hadn't fully grasped the last several corrections. She stammered, unsure of how to respond, when Albert, sensing her distress, stepped in. "Here, I wrote everything down when I saw you were losing track," he said, handing her a piece of paper.

Betty turned to him, and despite her embarrassment, she accepted the notes. Her face flushed a deep red, not only from the overwhelming feedback but also from the fact that Albert had been paying such close attention. She quickly turned away, trying to hide her blush.

Mr. F, unfazed by the exchange, simply continued, "Now that you know where you went wrong, get back to work." His voice was as firm as ever. Without waiting for a response, he walked toward the alchemy lab, signaling that the discussion was over.

Both Albert and Betty jumped to their feet, eager to redeem themselves. They hurried off in the same direction, heading toward the lab.