His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 122

"A housewife is just a housewife. Did she really think reading a few textbooks would make her an expert?"

The mockery flared up again, each comment more grating than the last.

Lyanna's face turned completely sour. She looked ready to storm the stage and drag Whitley off before she could embarrass the family any further.

But just as everyone assumed Whitley was paralyzed by incompetence, she finally moved.

She picked up her stylus and began writing across the digital board at a blistering pace. Her lines were flawless and precise, the molecular structures interlocking perfectly without a single hesitation.

From the core scaffold design to the side-chain modifications, straight through to water solubility optimization and metabolic stability regulation—every single step was logically airtight and meticulously accurate.

She didn't even glance at the parameter manual. Every piece of data, every constant, every binding energy threshold was burned into her memory.

Beyond that, she rapidly annotated her structures with pharmacological activity predictions, side-effect avoidance strategies, and simplified synthetic routes.

She even outlined the core parameters for the subsequent animal trials. The level of completeness and sheer professional depth far exceeded the standard requirements of the challenge.

Her entire deductive process was cast onto the massive screens above, crystal clear for everyone to witness.

It was concise, precise, and breathtakingly efficient. The innovations were brilliant, and the feasibility was undeniably high. Every step hit the absolute critical mark, showcasing a profound foundational mastery and a terrifying natural talent.

In barely twenty minutes, Whitley set down her stylus, signaling she was finished.

Meanwhile, Yelena was only halfway through her structural design, currently frowning as she struggled with a side-chain modification issue. She was lagging far behind.

The entire venue plunged into a dead silence.

The room, which had just been buzzing with ridicule and doubt, was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Eyes went wide in disbelief as they stared at Whitley's near-perfect results on the screen. The skepticism morphed into shock, and the shock rapidly gave way to deep reverence.

Several top academics exchanged glances, their eyes filled with astonishment and heavy approval.

"This foundation... it's incredible. You don't get this from cramming overnight."

"Her logic is crystal clear, and the innovation is phenomenal. She's a rare talent."

Yet, she forced herself to keep her spine rigid, refusing to show an ounce of panic. Gritting her teeth, she spoke up.

"I didn't plagiarize. We live under the same roof, we spend every day together. It's only natural that our ideas and concepts would overlap. There's no 'yours' or 'mine' in this."

The moment the words left her mouth, the venue erupted again.

"Under the same roof? But you can't fake a live test like this, can you?"

"Whitley's skill level is obviously leagues above hers. Isn't it perfectly clear who copied whom?"

"She was just accusing Whitley of stealing her work. Now it looks like she was entirely twisting the truth."

The whispers multiplied, crashing down on Yelena and stripping the last bit of color from her cheeks.

Unable to maintain her composed facade any longer, her face flushed crimson. In a panic, her eyes darted to the front row, desperately seeking Clive Sherwood.

Her gaze was pleading, silently begging him to stand up, protect her, and get her out of this disaster just like he always did—