Dr. Panya halted the scanner squarely between Kamon’s glowing wheelchair and the dais. Her gaze, sharp as a surgeon’s blade, swept across the stunned faces of the elite guests before settling on Dean Vimala. “Dean Vimala,” her voice cut through the opulent silence, each word precise and unyielding, “I apologize for this… *unconventional* entrance. However, given the grave accusations leveled and the potential public health crisis declared by Ms. Kamon Kamin, an immediate, public, and irrefutable examination is warranted.” She turned her head, her gaze skewering Kamon. “An emergency public assessment, for our tragic victim.”
Kamon’s eyes, still glistening with performative tears, darted between Dr. Panya and the humming apparatus. A flicker of genuine panic, raw and ugly, replaced her feigned distress. “An... evaluation? What are you talking about? I’m gravely ill! I’m contagious!” Her hand flew to her chest, a weak, theatrical gasp escaping her lips.
“Indeed,” Dr. Panya stated, her tone devoid of sympathy. “And the kingdom deserves to know precisely what affliction grips you, and from where it truly originates.” She gestured with a definitive sweep of her hand. “Assistants, if you please. Position Ms. Kamin.”
Kamon’s theatrics evaporated. She tried to wheel her chair backward, a frantic scramble against the polished marble floor. “No! I refuse! This is an invasion of privacy! I demand my personal physician!”
The two attendants moved with swift, silent efficiency. They flanked Kamon’s wheelchair, their imposing shadows falling over her. Before she could utter another protest, they lifted her, still squirming, from the chair and expertly maneuvered her onto the medical rig’s central platform. Straps materialized from the polished chrome, snapping into place around her wrists, ankles, and waist with an almost imperceptible hiss. Kamon thrashed, her face contorted in genuine fury, but the pair merely stepped back into neutral stances.
Dr. Panya activated the console with a firm press of her thumb. The violet crystal sphere flared, bathing Kamon in an ethereal glow. A low hum filled the ballroom, steadily intensifying into a resonant thrum. Above the dance floor, where moments ago Tawan had declared his devotion to Chaliya, a twenty-foot holographic projection shimmered into existence. It began as a detailed anatomical scan of Kamon’s skeletal structure, rendered in luminous emerald green.
“As you can see, esteemed guests,” Dr. Panya’s voice boomed, projecting effortlessly across the vast hall, “Ms. Kamin exhibits excellent bone density. No signs of systemic degradation from Spore-Rot, a condition which, I must remind everyone, rapidly compromises skeletal integrity.” The hologram shifted, showcasing Kamon’s epidermal layer, magnified to reveal individual cellular structures. The ‘pustules’ Kamon had so dramatically displayed were rendered in stark detail. “And here, observe the epidermal tissue. Utterly free of the deep mycelial penetration characteristic of advanced Spore-Rot. What we *do* observe,” Dr. Panya paused, a cruel smile touching her lips, “are cosmetic pigments, specifically glitter particles, embedded superficially. And the… ‘pustules’ themselves? Consist primarily of solidified, sugary residue, likely from a common fermented beverage.”
The hologram zoomed in on a microscopic analysis of Kamon’s blood work. “Furthermore, a comprehensive blood panel reveals absolutely zero Spore-Rot pathogens. However, it does proudly display,” Dr. Panya’s voice took on a note of wry amusement, “approximately three pints of cheap lager. An impressive quantity, even for a healthy individual.”
A ripple of nervous titters began to spread through the elite crowd. Then, a single, booming laugh erupted near the back. It quickly cascaded into roaring, unapologetic hilarity. Dignified patrons, moments ago poised and somber, now openly clutched their stomachs, tears streaming down their faces as they pointed at the humiliated Kamon, still strapped to the machine, her face scarlet with mortification.
Kamon’s control snapped. The last vestiges of her victim act shattered like brittle glass. With a guttural shriek of pure, unadulterated fury, she ripped her arms free from the surprisingly flimsy straps – designed for patient comfort, not containment. She launched herself from the diagnostic platform, landing ungracefully but with surprising speed, a blur of enraged motion. Her eyes, narrowed to slits of venomous hate, locked onto Chaliya. From the folds of her now-ruined gala gown, she produced a slender, metallic object: a concealed hydro-spanner, its heavy, wrench-like head glinting under the bioluminescent lights.
“You!” Kamon screamed, her voice hoarse with rage, echoing over the lingering laughter. “You ruined everything! I’ll tear your precious research apart! I’ll tear *you* apart!”
She lunged, a desperate, feral attack aimed squarely at Chaliya. The hydro-spanner arced through the air, heading straight for Chaliya’s head. But Chaliya, anticipating the rage-fueled, clumsy assault, had already taken a half-step back, her right hand instinctively reaching for the vial in her pocket. Kamon’s weapon, instead of connecting with Chaliya’s skull, struck the fabric of Chaliya’s dress, just above her hip, directly where she kept the vial containing the rare sun-seed.
A blinding flash erupted. The kinetic energy from Kamon’s strike, harmlessly absorbed by Chaliya’s reinforced gown, transferred directly into the fragile glass vial. The sun-seed, a tiny, inert speck moments before, instantly flared to life. It didn't just bloom; it exploded, not with fire, but with pure, solidified light. A massive, shimmering shield of iridescent brilliance burst forth, forming an almost impenetrable dome around Chaliya and Tawan. The light pulsed, warm and vibrant, pushing Kamon backward with a silent, concussive force. The hydro-spanner clattered to the marble floor, useless against the radiant barrier.
The entire ballroom fell silent once more, but this time, it was a silence born of awe. The light shield, a breathtaking spectacle of power and beauty, slowly receded, leaving Chaliya and Tawan unharmed, standing calmly at its center. Kamon, sprawled on the floor, looked up at them, her face fixed in raw disbelief and despair. Dean Vimala, her stern features now slack with astonished wonder, stared at the retreating light. Her gaze then snapped to Kamon, still weeping on the floor, and a cold, resolute glint entered her eyes. The Dean raised her hand, a single, sharp gesture to the Conservatory guards positioned around the hall.
“Guards,” Dean Vimala’s voice, though quiet, resonated with undeniable authority. “Arrest Ms. Kamon Kamin. For academic fraud, attempted bio-sabotage, and assault.”
The heavy-armored guards moved as one, their footsteps echoing ominously as they advanced on the now-sobbing Kamon.