I Can Hear Ancient Relics Speak And The Grandmasters Lost It Chapter 03

I pointed at the perfectly sealed vessel, keeping my voice calm.

“This is impossible!”

Whitmore’s face went pale. He fumbled for his magnifying glass, inspecting every inch of the seam, hunting for any flaw.

There was none.

The mist-blue compound had fused seamlessly with the jet-black surface, as if it had always been there.

He straightened slowly. Then he laughed.

“Clever shortcut.”

“What?”

I’d braced myself for a lot of reactions, rage, shock, denial, even grudging respect.

What I didn’t expect was for his opening line to dismiss my success as pure luck.

“What do you mean by that?”

He smirked, gesturing at the pigment tray. His tone oozed condescension.

“I tried every color except the one that contrasted most with the original. Any observant person would notice that. It doesn’t prove you have what it takes to be a real restorer.”

I was floored. My whole body shook with rage.

“You couldn’t fix it and nearly had it destroyed! I did fix it, and now you’re making excuses?”

“I only accept students who prove their ability!”

He jabbed his finger on the table, thumping with each word.

“I earned my place here through blood, sweat, and tears!”

“You—”

I was red in the face, trembling, at a loss.

Then a young man rushed over, panicked.

“Professor Whitmore! There’s a problem with the Colonial Five-Penny Kettle display! It won’t stay upright, keeps tipping over no matter what!”

“Is the stand defective?”

Whitmore adjusted his glasses, unfazed.

The student looked like he was about to cry. “We checked. The stand and the base are a perfect match. But the kettle won’t stay put, it falls as soon as you let go!”

Two assistants carefully set the bronze kettle on the table. The second their hands released it, the kettle pitched backward.

Thankfully, the table was padded.

Whitmore inspected it, frowning. “I restored this piece myself, it’s flawless. The base was custom-made to fit its legs precisely. Why won’t it stand? Is it too light?”

He grabbed a thick hardcover dictionary and dropped it inside the kettle, hoping the weight would anchor it.

Instead, the kettle shuddered and tilted, sliding the book off its rim. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

He tried other objects. Same result.

Whitmore’s brow tightened. He leaned against the display case, drumming his fingers on the corner.

His gaze slid toward me. A glint of calculation flickered in his eyes.

My stomach dropped.

Sure enough, he announced loudly, “Well then, since you’re so talented, why don’t you come up and show us all how it’s done? I could use a lesson.”