"First of all, if you think alchemy is about imagining some random effect and stirring a cauldron… you can leave right now."
Melissa said this as she casually sat on top of the metal counter, crossing one leg over the other. Between her fingers, she tossed a piece of chalk into the air and caught it again with irritating precision, repeating the motion as if she were bored.
"Alchemy is not creative magic. It's just a variation of chemistry," she continued, her tone cold.
The chalk went up once more, and this time she caught it firmly.
"A chemistry adapted to accommodate mana. We don't invent effects, we design them. Potions are products of controlled reactions, with clearly defined variables, following principles almost identical to traditional chemistry."
She tilted her head slightly, green eyes gleaming behind her glasses.
"The difference is that here, a mistake doesn't just result in a useless compound… it results in an explosion. Or something worse."
Melissa struck the chalk against the blackboard once.
Tap.
"Pay attention, because I won't repeat myself. Like I said, a potion is not liquid magic. It's a controlled chemical reaction. And every functional alchemical reaction is divided into three parts."
She wrote in large letters:
BASE — REAGENT — SUPPRESSOR
"If any one of these three is wrong, the result will range from 'useless' to 'fatal.'"
I looked at the board, tilting my head slightly.
"So… there's no such thing as a simple potion?"
Melissa let out a short, humorless laugh.
"There are simple alchemists. There are no simple potions."
She pointed to the first word.
BASE
"The base is the reaction medium. It defines how the reagent behaves. Speed. Stability. Absorption. Water, alcohol, oil, metallic solutions… all of that changes the final result."
She began writing simplified formulas on the board.
"Water is stable. Alcohol is volatile. Oil retains energy. This is not an aesthetic choice."
I raised my hand slightly.
"So the base doesn't give the effect… it just decides how the effect happens?"
Melissa gave me an evaluating look.
"Exactly."
I kept thinking.
"So a healing potion with an alcohol base would heal faster, but be more dangerous?"
She froze the chalk midair for half a second.
"Yes. And it could cause cellular overload."
"Like uncontrolled growth?"
"Like magical cancer, yes," she finished, completing an equation.
I mentally noted: don't use alcohol for healing…
Melissa tapped the chalk against the board again.
"Second point."
REAGENT
She wrote the word forcefully, almost scratching the board.
"The reagent is the source of the effect. Monster parts, crystals, rare extracts. This is where mana is concentrated."
She turned to me.
"But listen carefully: the reagent is not the effect."
"It's the potential of the effect," I completed without thinking.
She blinked once.
"…Yes. Unstable potential," she said, controlling her expression.
She turned back to the board.
"A reagent always wants to react. Always. If you give it the smallest opening, it releases mana. Without control, that becomes a chain reaction."
"Explosion," I murmured.
"Explosion," she confirmed. "Or something worse."
I tilted my head.
"So biological reagents are more compatible with the body, but more chaotic?"
"Correct."
"And minerals are purer, but more unstable?"
She inhaled slowly through her nose.
"Have you studied this before?"
"No… it just seems logical."
In truth, I hadn't studied alchemy at all until now. What I had was basic chemistry knowledge Yuto had acquired from books. What was really doing the work here was this body's unusual logical reasoning.
Melissa added a smaller note to the board.
"Logic doesn't replace practice… but it helps you not die," she said, her tone more serious.
She pointed to the third word, underlining it twice.
SUPPRESSOR
"Now the most important part. The suppressor."
She turned fully toward me.
"Without a suppressor, this isn't a potion. It's a reagent trapped in a liquid, waiting for a chance to explode."
She drew a simple graph: a mana release curve, dangerously high, then a controlled one.
"The suppressor is a chemical inhibitor. It binds to the reagent and forces mana to be released gradually."
"Like a flow regulator," I commented.
"Like an emergency brake," she corrected. "A brake you have to calibrate."
I frowned.
"If you use too little suppressor…"
"Delayed instability," she finished.
"The potion looks ready, but explodes later?"
"With vibrations or when someone drinks it."
"And if you use too much…"
"The reaction dies," Melissa said. "You create a pretty, useless liquid."
I looked at the board again, thinking for a few seconds.
"So… the potion's effect is basically the reagent, spread over time, divided by the suppressor?"
Silence.
Melissa stared at me for a few seconds longer than necessary.
"…That's a dangerously accurate way to summarize it," she finally said.
She sighed, rubbing her face.
"This is why I hate teaching," she muttered. "You grasp the basics too fast and mess up the dumbest details."
She turned back to the workbench.
"Very well, Yuto. Now that you think you understand…"
She picked up an empty flask and placed it on the table.
"Let's see if you can apply it without blowing anything up."
I looked at the flask… and had the faint feeling something would go wrong.
I positioned it at the center of the bench with almost exaggerated care.
The aqueous base was already prepared: distilled water, isotonic salts dissolved, temperature stabilized. The liquid was overly clear, the kind Melissa approved with nothing more than a minimal nod.
"Correct base," she said. "Continue."
I nodded, focused.
I crushed the regenerative gland into a homogeneous paste, with no visible residue. Measured the amount twice. Weighed it. Adjusted it.
"Quantity within the safe range," Melissa commented, arms crossed.
So far, everything was going too well.
I slowly added the reagent to the base. The liquid took on a soft green hue, almost fluorescent. Small mana ripples traveled through the flask, but nothing out of the ordinary.
"Initial reaction stable," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Melissa watched in silence, clearly waiting for the mistake.
"Now the suppressor… no rushing!"
I grabbed the vial of organic chelating suppressor and began measuring. My hand was steady. The calculation was correct.
The problem wasn't how much.
It was when.
As I prepared to add the suppressor, Melissa leaned against the table and briefly glanced at the wall clock.
"We still have—"
Ploc.
I had added the suppressor.
"Yuto!" She turned too fast. "I didn't say—"
Too late.
The suppressor entered before full stabilization between base and reagent. The binding was partial. Incomplete.
The liquid inside the flask froze for half a second. Then it began to bubble.
"You added it too early," Melissa said, her voice dangerously calm.
"But the reaction curve had already dropped. In theory, that should reduce the activation energy."
"In theory, yes! In practice, you just created a mana bottleneck!" She stepped forward.
The flask began to swell.
"Reagent trying to release energy. Suppressor holding it… too much?" I observed curiously.
"This is not the time to be curious, idiot! Move!" Melissa reached out, yanking me by the collar of my lab coat.
She barely finished the sentence.
PFFFT—BOOM!
It wasn't a destructive explosion.
It was… wet.
The flask bloomed like a glass flower, releasing a pale green cloud that spread through the lab in slow motion. The impact pushed both of us back, and the potion's contents rained down like warm slime.
When the smoke cleared…
I was standing still.
Covered in green from head to toe.
The white lab coat was now a mosaic of steaming stains. The gloves dripped. My hair crackled with tiny sparks of residual mana.
"…I think I overdid it a bit."
Melissa was frozen.
Her face held a single expression: absolute disbelief.
She slowly raised a hand to her forehead.
Tap.
"I. Looked. Away. For ONE SECOND!" she said, each word carefully separated.
I looked down at myself, watching the slime drip.
"Technically… the reaction occurred."
"Yes… the entire laboratory confirmed that," she replied through clenched teeth.
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.
"You didn't ask."
"I thought—"
"You thought," she cut in. "Alchemy does not work on 'thinking.'"
She pointed at the destroyed flask.
"The suppressor must be added after the reagent fully stabilizes in the base. You locked the reaction halfway through."
I tilted my head.
"So I held the mana before it decided how to be released?"
Melissa opened her eyes slowly.
"…Exactly."
"I understand." I smiled, satisfied.
"That was not a victory," Melissa said, rolling her eyes.
"No, but it was educational."
Silence.
Then Melissa sighed, defeated.
"You're cleaning all of this. Then we try again."
I looked around at the lab, partially coated in green, still smelling like chemicals.
"With less explosions?" I asked.
"With no explosions," she corrected firmly.
Melissa handed me a cloth without saying anything. I cleaned the bench with surprising efficiency for someone still dripping alchemical residue.
"Again," she said at last. "From the base."
I nodded.
This time, it was slower.
I prepared the aqueous base with even more care, adjusting the salt concentration slightly lower. Not because she told me to, but because I deduced that less initial energy would reduce risk.
Melissa noticed… but didn't comment.
The reagent entered smoothly. The green coloration appeared again, but without violent ripples. Mana circulated more evenly.
"Partial stabilization in… four seconds," I checked the timer.
"Not yet," Melissa said.
I stopped my hand one centimeter above the flask.
Waited.
The liquid calmed.
"Now."
I added the suppressor precisely.
Nothing exploded. The liquid simply… darkened.
I tilted the flask, watching with disappointment.
"It didn't react."
Melissa stepped closer, observing.
"Too much suppressor. You smothered the release."
"Because I reduced the base and kept the same suppressor amount…" I frowned.
"Exactly."
I noted it mentally again.
The third attempt was almost perfect.
Almost.
The reagent integrated well, the suppressor entered at the correct time, mana flowed steadily.
For five seconds.
Then the liquid began separating into phases, like oil and water fighting each other.
"Molecular separation," I commented. "The base can't keep the reagent bound long enough."
"And what do you do?" Melissa asked, arms crossed.
"Adjust the solvent… or slightly increase the temperature."
She nodded.
"Choose one."
I chose temperature, heating the mixture with the flame of a Bunsen burner.
It worked… for three seconds.
Then the liquid turned cloudy.
"Precipitation," I sighed. "Correct base, correct reagent, correct suppressor… but missing a binding agent."
Melissa blinked.
"I haven't talked about binding agents—"
"I know," I interrupted without realizing. "But without something to keep the reagent dispersed, it'll always separate."
Silence.
Melissa opened her mouth… then closed it.
"…Continue."
On the fourth attempt, I adjusted everything.
Aqueous base, slightly higher concentration. Reagent in the exact amount. Reduced suppressor. Controlled temperature. Rhythmic, constant agitation.
The liquid settled into a pale green tone. The flask remained stable on the bench.
Pale green.
Clear.
No perceptible mana fluctuation.
I watched in silence, almost suspicious, as if expecting something to go wrong at any moment.
Melissa approached, picked up the mana sensor, and pressed it against the glass.
The indicator rose. Then stopped, stable.
She didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there, staring.
It was done.
A basic regeneration potion. Low potency. Safe. Nothing exceptional, exactly as it should be for a first lesson.
Melissa straightened.
"It works," she said at last.
"Just… works?"
"What did you want? A prize? It's the bare minimum," she replied dryly.
She turned away, began putting away the instruments, the sound of glass clinking echoing through the lab.
On the first lesson…
The thought surfaced against her will.
Melissa pushed it to the back of her mind and continued organizing the vials, her face impassive.
It wasn't talent. It was luck.
She paused, staring at the blackboard still filled with notes.
No… that wasn't it.
Melissa had taught before, from international lectures for renowned scientists to explaining research concepts to sponsors.
But for the first time… she had explained an entire lesson without repeating a single term. Luck didn't explain why she hadn't needed to repeat anything. He had absorbed every part of the theory perfectly.
Even his mistakes were due to lack of experience, never theoretical misunderstanding.
His learning capacity was ridiculous. He absorbed technical knowledge like a sponge, and still deduced future information.
She closed a cabinet harder than necessary.
"Listen," she said, without looking at me. "Class dismissed."
I removed my gloves, attentive.
"Already?"
"Already," she replied. "But that doesn't mean it's over."
Melissa picked up a small notebook and placed it on the bench, sliding it toward me.
"Homework."
I opened it, seeing three lines written in firm handwriting. Each followed by a detailed recipe and required ingredients.
— Basic Regeneration Potion
— Fatigue Recovery Potion
— Simple Antidote
"Three different basic potions. Same structure, different effects. I want to see if you understand the difference without me drawing it out."
"For when?" I asked, looking up.
Melissa finally looked at me.
"For the next class."
She turned to leave.
Still deep in thought about the unusual learning ability she had just witnessed.