Ronald's face flushed crimson, his expression caught between rage and helplessness.
"Just eighth place… what's there to be so smug about! Mr. Reid, just wait—the rest of the rankings will all belong to Country Y!"
Logan didn't even glance his way. His eyes stayed on the stage as he said calmly, "Continue."
After Q accepted his award and stepped down, the host moved on.
"In seventh place… Number 32."
When they checked the name, the Country Y assistant beside the host went pale.
It was another distinctly Country M name…
"Seventh place goes to… Ms. C—"
A plain, forty-year-old woman rose from her seat.
The Country Y contestants looked as if they had swallowed flies.
They were perfumers. In their eyes, this was supposed to be a high-end profession, the pinnacle of artistry, the very definition of elegance.
And yet this woman—ordinary-looking, lacking all the "refined" airs they worshipped—had taken seventh place.
