Two days later, the day before the contest.
Raveena Hartwell stood upright, presenting her prototype nebulizer design like an exhibit. Her creation stood on the worktable beside a few documents she'd personally written.
"…and finally, I will be using pressurized distilled water to simulate delivery," she continued, unscrewing the tiny reservoir cap, "we can demonstrate airflow stability without needing actual medicine. I couldn't afford a sample vial, but the function stays the same."
One breath later, she placed the breathing mask against her mouth and turned the tiny side lever.
Then, a burst of vapor released with a soft hiss, and slowly, the scentless mist spiraled through the nozzle, through the coiled valve, and straight into the chamber. She breathed it in slowly, then lowered the mask.
"And… that concludes the demonstration."
Across from her, three professors watched. One of them, of course, was Professor Eric Vellmore.
Each had a copy of her documents, handwritten, footnoted, diagrammed in her not-perfect-but-legible cursive. Her engineering draftsmanship wasn't flawless, but it was hers, and it explained the machine's structure, use, and maintenance clearly enough that even a tired first-year could probably follow it.
She waited for any reaction, any remark… and waited.
"…Any questions?" she then asked after a while.
Finally, one professor, who was an old jaguar-folk cleared his throat. "Miss Hartwell, if you don't mind, we'd like a moment to discuss our position on offering formal support from our dear Westwyn Academy for Arcane Engineering."
"O-Oh. Of course," Raveena nodded before moving a few steps back.
The three of them stepped a few paces away as well, forming a circle near the storage shelves. Their voices dropped to murmurs, and Raveena stood there, unsure whether to pace or stare at the floor or… casually collapse.
After a bit of time, the jaguar-folk professor turned back toward her, the others trailing just behind.
"Well, we're a little at a loss, truth be told. For a contest this minor… we don't believe that this kind of project really warrants formal support from the academy. Especially not from our department," he explained.
Raveena's heart jumped, because that didn't sound good. Still, she held her face steady.
"You mentioned that official support is optional, yes?"
Raveena smiled politely. "I understand that it is, sir. But I want to give myself every chance I can. Even something as small as official support could boost the project's chances. And if anyone, any sponsor or committee takes notice of the work, it could open up doors. Opportunities that could… help me. And help my mother, too."
After Raveena answered, Professor Vellmore stepped forward to speak. "Beautifully said," he said in his smooth voice. "And we can't deny the value of your creation, Miss Hartwell. This machine clearly improves upon the current standard nebulizers in circulation, more efficient steam conversion, stable airflow, and elegant pressure handling. A solid innovation for something so… modest."
"Was that a compliment?" Raveena thought.
"But, there is one more thing we must consider before lending the academy's name to your entry."
Raveena straightened. "And what's that, sir?"
Professor Vellmore's eyes slowly changed into something more serious as he met her gaze head-on. "Support should go to projects that push forward not only Westwyn's standards, but also the Wonderforest's technological progress as a whole."
Raveena nodded and agreed with his statement, then listened fully as he continued.
"And with that in mind, the academy must be mindful of whom we extend a helping hand to. To make sure we're not supporting the wrong person."
Raveena's stomach turned tight instantly. Then, she asked anxiously. "…What do you mean by that?"
The professor raised a brow as if the question itself disappointed him. "Miss Hartwell, that should be easy for you to understand."
"I—I honestly don't. I don't understand what you're sayi—"
"Do you plan to patent your design?"
The question caught her off guard. "Wha—? No. Not yet. I mean, I want to. Eventually. But it's expensive, and I want to see if the idea takes off first before—why are you asking that?"
"Though that's a different matter, it's still worth asking. Because in the long run, you should be well aware of what your family name does to anything it touches."
"My name?"
Professor Vellmore nodded. "Yes, and if that same name appears on a design that gains traction… well, the public will notice. And if we, as an academy, are seen backing something tied to the Hartwell name, it will raise more than a few questions."
"So, you mean to say… just because of my name… I—"
"Yes. Even the matter of support, our support, falls under scrutiny. We cannot risk the perception that we're aligning ourselves with… legacies that are better left buried."
Raveena's eyes widened. "But… why?"
Professor Vellmore gave her the same glare again, as if the answer should have been carved into her bones. "You know why."
"But I already said that I don't—"
"The bottom line is simple, Miss Hartwell. This academy cannot stand behind someone who still bears the Hartwell name."
He looked down at her papers, then he looked her in the eye.
"So, we regret to inform you… you'll have to submit your entry without the academy's support."
Raveena fell completely silent. Her fingers, which were now curled neatly behind her back, twitched slightly, but she didn't move, nor did she dare say anything else.
She just stood there. Holding onto her posture like it were the last piece of dignity she had left.
Professor Vellmore gave a small nod, before proceeding to wrap things up. "That said, we do extend our best wishes for your entry."
There was something mockingly polite about the words, like there's just enough formality to sound professional, yet also just enough detachment to sting.
"Though we admit, we are not sure if the judges of this contest, or any potential sponsors, will look past the Hartwell name. But we hope it won't… influence your chances of success in the contest. And we certainly hope it won't turn away any future opportunities that may have otherwise come your way."
After listening to the professor say all those painful words, Raveena could only watch as the three professors turned toward the exit of the workshop. One by one, they stepped outside into the Westwyn evening, not even sparing her machine another glance.
Just… gone.
But before the door could close fully behind him, Professor Vellmore stopped and turned halfway back. "Oh, and Miss Hartwell. If it's not too much trouble… we'd like to keep these documents, so we can still record these as student effort."
He held up the small, neatly stacked bundle of diagrams and notes. "Then perhaps your design will find its place… somewhere else. Somewhere the academy won't have to worry about the name attached to it."
Raveena stared at him, her eyes looked unreadable now. Because by this point, the coil of hope in her chest had long since unraveled. "…Yes," she said flatly. "Keep them."
Professor Vellmore nodded once, satisfied with her answer, and left.
After the last of their footsteps had faded, Raveena didn't shed a tear. Didn't scream. Didn't throw a single wrench, tempting as it was.
She gave her own face a few light slaps, which stung her back into focus, then she mumbled to herself. "Whatever. I don't need them."
Because in that moment, she truly believed that she didn't.
As long as her odds weren't zero, as long as there was some version of the future where this prototype mattered, she'd keep going.
So, she did.
She wiped the workbench clean, picked up her toolbox and turned back to her nebulizer. She worked on re-tightening its channel clamps. Recalibrated the output valve. Then switched the auxiliary tube for a better-grade replacement that she bought on impulse.
Safety was an enormous factor. Even more than efficiency or elegance. She wasn't about to let something explode in front of the judges, because such a careless error would mean being banned from creating anything forever.
As she worked, her textbooks sat untouched in the corner. Where a half-scribbled assignment from her Theory of Modulation class sat unopened in her satchel.
She didn't care, because she wouldn't be attending class tomorrow anyway. Contest check-ins started at sunrise. And she planned to be first, so she'd have more time to mentally get herself prepared.
She pushed through the evening with intense focus. By late nightfall, she'd already rehearsed her presentation speech twice. Then, three more times.
After her rehearsals, she tested the machine herself, again and again, until she got tired of refilling the medicine chamber with a bottle of her test water each time.
Even after her mother came home from yet another day in Southwyn, Raveena barely looked up from her workbench.
She even skipped dinner, and instead just nibbled on dry tea biscuits and half a plum, muttering her thoughts between bites. There wasn't time to sit and chat, not when every minute could still be spent adjusting her creation to perfection.
It would pay off. It had to.
But when tomorrow came…
And after she'd stood before the judges, perfectly rehearsed, explaining the value of low-cost respiratory relief systems and how her nebulizer could change access to treatment for rural clinics across the Wonderforest.
Even after she showed how her creation ran smoothly and effectively. There was no stutter, no twitch, nor a buckle or glitch. She showed no trembling hands, nor ghost of a word that accidentally spilled.
Even after she poured her heart into telling her creation's story, how she built it with care out of wires and her wants, and nothing more.
Even after she laid bare her good-hearted intent, she told them her project's aim, and all that it meant. That her creation was for help, so her fellow animal-folk could heal.
Even after she stood on the edge of the stage, anxious. How her knuckles clenched, how her breath held tightly as she waited. She remained strong.
Even after she listened to the cheer of the small, supportive crowd of like-minded individuals.
Still. Raveena Hartwell. Lost.
Not third place.
Not even for an honorable mention.
The first place went to a portable shoe-dryer designed for rain-heavy towns; it was clever and low cost.
Second place? It was a rack that dried plates quicker.
Third was a new insulation lining for winter gloves.
All undeniably solid ideas. Yet to her it seemed mundane.
None of them pushed forward the kind of critical utility she thought hers did.
Not one entry touched medical applications. Not one had been tested for long-term use, for breath safety, for mechanical durability under continuous operation.
And hers?
Her machine wasn't even acknowledged.
It was like it had never been on the table at all. As if her work, her precise engineering, her last-minute fixes, and her handwritten documentation had been swept off the judging sheet before the contest even began.
Then, she stood there for a long time after it was over, beside her prototype, and kept her frown. She didn't pack it up right away. Instead, she stared off, quietly thinking until she decided that it was time to leave.
When Raveena finally made it home, the sky had already turned that dull, gray-blue that comes before the first evening lamps flicker on.
She entered through the back of the workshop quietly, her invention wheeled in beside her, the prototype's gears clinking faintly as it crossed the threshold one last time. Then she parked it at the same table she had built it on.
The door to the house creaked open a moment later.
Her mother stood there, wearing her black top, waiting in the doorway with that expectant smile she always wore when she didn't know what kind of news her daughter might be bringing.
"Hey, kitten," Aldra said gently. "How'd it go?"
Raveena didn't answer immediately. She simply took one breath, then another. Before she shut her eyes so tightly her lashes trembled.
Her hand came up, gripping her own face as if to hold something in. She clawed through her hair, trying to brace it. To stop it. Anything.
"…I-I'm sorry," she whispered shakily.
That's all she could say.
Aldra crossed the room in an instant. Her arms wrapped around Raveena as quickly yet gently as she could, and her daughter sank forward into her chest.
There, Raveena didn't sob, at least not loudly.
Instead, there were tiny trembles that ran through her shoulders and fingers as she clung to her mother with a force like she was trying to keep herself from falling through the floor.
No gasping, no wailing. Just the quietest, most furious kind of crying, the kind that burns.
Her jaw clenched and her teeth ground together. Continuously she let it spill in silence against her mother's shoulder.
Then her mother spoke.
"Don't be sorry…"
Her hand rubbed Raveena's back, slow, soothing, helpless.
"Don't be sorry, kitten… I'm the one who should be. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
She said the same apology once. Then again, and again. So many times that Raveena lost count.
All she remembered that night was the weight in her chest, the way she couldn't breathe right, and that voice apologizing over and over.
All she felt was that quiet, terrible feeling.
Like she had no place in the world that she dreamed of walking through.