Lucien circulated the magic slowly recovering within his body, trying to bring a bit of color back to his pale face.
Feeling slightly better, he and Fleur pushed open the heavy doors of the great hall together.
Inside the spacious hall, competitors, professors from each school, guest judges, and many senior students who had come to watch were gathered in small groups, chatting idly.
The judging hadn't officially started yet. Long tables were laden with exquisite pastries and various teas, creating a relaxed atmosphere more akin to a social tea party than a competition.
Lucien's gaze swept quickly across the crowd, landing almost instantly on Madame Maxime's towering, unmistakable figure.
Standing beside her were several elderly wizards with silver hair and distinguished bearings. Judging by the respectful and curious looks they were receiving, these must be the renowned Alchemy Masters invited to serve as guest judges.
Relying on his memory, Lucien matched a few of their faces to names and photos he'd seen in journals like Alchemy Today and Transfiguration Trends, confirming their high status in the field.
His gaze continued to move until it stopped abruptly on an old man who had been chatting with Madame Maxime with his back turned to Lucien.
The moment the man turned around and Lucien saw his face, his pupils trembled.
The old man seemed to sense his gaze and looked over.
As their eyes met, a gentle smile appeared on the old man's face. He said a few words to Madame Maxime and the master beside her, then walked straight toward Lucien.
His steps were steady, and his appearance was no different from that of an ordinary, kindly elder.
First, he smiled amiably at Fleur, who was standing beside Lucien.
"Miss, would you mind if I borrow this handsome young lad for a moment to have a few words?"
Fleur didn't recognize the old man, but her good upbringing prompted her to nod politely. "Of course, please go ahead."
Lucien followed the old man to a relatively quiet corner of the hall where no one was nearby. Only then did he lower his voice, asking with a mix of surprise and confusion:
"Teacher, why are you here?"
Yes, the ordinary-looking old man standing before him was none other than Nicolas Flamel.
To be precise, a "younger" version of Nicolas Flamel.
Of course, "young" was relative. Compared to his previous appearance, weathered by over six hundred years of time, this version of Nicolas—restored to the appearance of someone in their eighties or nineties—looked like a completely different person.
Hearing this, Nicolas grinned like a child whose prank had succeeded.
"Albus mentioned it to me earlier. I thought it would be interesting to see you participate in this kind of competition, so I decided to come on a whim." Nicolas shrugged, his tone light. "Besides, with this face, no one here recognizes me anyway."
Lucien opened his mouth, momentarily at a loss for words.
It was true. While the Elixir of Life from the Sorcerer's Stone extended life, aging still continued.
The last time Nicolas had walked the world looking like an eighty or ninety-year-old was five hundred years ago.
Unless he actively revealed his identity, hardly anyone in the current wizarding world would recognize this living legend.
Before Lucien could fully recover from the shock, Nicolas's gaze scrutinized his face for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on Lucien's wrist, sending a warm stream of magic slowly into him.
A moment later, Nicolas's frown deepened.
"Why is your magical depletion so severe? It's nearly dried up... This isn't the kind of exhaustion caused by normal spellcasting."
Lucien hurriedly explained, "It was a small mishap during a new magical experiment. It's fine now, Teacher. I'm recovering."
Only then did Nicolas let go, though his expression remained serious. He admonished him with elderly concern:
"Even though your magical reserves are naturally immense, your body and magic are still in the developmental stage. Overdrawing them like this isn't wise. You must be careful in the future..."
Hearing the care in Nicolas's words, a warmth spread through Lucien's heart.
"I'll remember that, Teacher."
Unfortunately, recovering magical energy relied heavily on the body's natural cycle and the passage of time; there were rarely any external means to directly accelerate the process.
Lucien changed the subject, looking toward the judges' table in the center of the hall. "Teacher, are you here to be a judge as well?"
"That's right," Nicolas admitted frankly, then lowered his voice with a mysterious smile. "But I'm using a different identity and name. Maxime knows the situation, so it's fine."
Nicolas seemed to remember something and spread his hands helplessly.
"I wanted to drag Albus along, but he said he's been too busy lately to get away. Sigh, young people these days... all they know is work, work, work. They don't know how to relax."
Hearing his six-hundred-year-old teacher grumble about the one-hundred-year-old "youngster" Dumbledore in that tone, the corner of Lucien's mouth twitched. He was speechless.
The conversation flowed naturally; neither felt anything inappropriate about it.
Nicolas wouldn't show bias just because Lucien was his student, and Lucien had enough confidence in his own alchemical creation that he didn't need any extra favors.
Not far away, Madame Maxime clapped her hands, her clear voice resonating through the hall:
"Competitors, judges, please take your places. The final evaluation is about to begin."