The Almighty Dominance

hapter 207

Chapter 207

Hold on a damn second," Mr. Fleming snarled, his eyes bulging with disbelief.

"Are you honestly expecting me to swallow the idea that a there human can diagnose a bacterial culture just by tasting it?"

"This is complete nonsense! You must be cheating, you filthy brat. There's no way you'd know my culture is Bacillus anthracis unless you peeked at my notes!"

Alex merely rolled his eyes, looking bored.

"Peek? Right. Because the smell alone wasn't a dead giveaway. Let me spell it out for you, Professor Genius-I could practically sniff out your half-baked anthrax the second you brought it in."

"And the fact you tried to pass this off like some big deal? You're not even professional enough to mutate it properly. It's so basic, even a bored middle- schooler could've whipped this up in science class."

Mr. Fleming's pride stung like a hornet's sting.

The smugness in Alex's voice was grating, and it took everything for him not to let his anger bubble over.

But when Alex listed every single ingredient of Fleming's formula-down to the last droplet-and rattled off each step in the creation process, the old scientist couldn't hide his shock.

"H-how the hell..." Mr. Fleming's voice trembled. "You... you deduced all that just by smelling it?"

"Huh,” Alex scoffed, "I guess you didn't realize a nose could be more accurate than your entire underachieving lab crew. It's gonna be another century before you figure that one out."

Unable to retort, Mr. Fleming stood there fuming, sweat beading on his forehead.

Meanwhile, Charles Kingston lurked on the sidelines, arms folded.

He looked from Fleming to Alex and back again, a growing sense of worry needling at him.

Alex had literally tasted anthrax and was still standing-minutes had passed, and he was moving around the room and heading to the restroom like nothing had happened.

"What's going on?" Charles muttered under his breath. "There's no sign he's even remotely sick. That's... not possible, right?"

Mr. Fleming took a steadying breath, trying to mask his own unease.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Kingston. The kid's playing tough, but anthrax will rip him apart soon enough. No one shrugs it off without an antidote. Trust me-he'll be crawling and begging any moment."

confidence. All

into the room, a

he drawled, holding up a container of foul- smelling, yellowish liquid that

finished making my own culture. Thought we could

stench. "What the hell is in that? Ugh, it smells like

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Chapter 207

shrugged with

not a five-star bouquet, but I can assure you the flavor profile's... unforgettable. Now, you don't have "to drink it,

his lips. "But you did say you wanted a fair competition, so you're not... chickening out, right,

who had been watching from the corner, leaned in with a sweet but scathing smile. "Surely the great Charles Kingston isn't going

and looked over at Mr. Fleming, "Well?" he hissed, eyes darting

placed a hand on Charles's shoulder, as though bestowing

I happen to have a universal bacterial antidote that'll work within five minutes.

snatched the bottle and pinched his

drama?" he snapped, voice dripping with disdain. "You got it." Then, in one

instantly, Charles gagged, a bitter, rancid

eyes watered uncontrollably, and he half-choked, ready to spew

every last drop, buddy. Wouldn't want you cheating, now, would we? Well, you can puke it out-but

flushing. With monumental effort, he forced the

like molten slime coating the back of his

is this revolting concoction? It tastes like you scooped it

brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Just a little golden juice and

at that, and Jessica raised an eyebrow from across

room.

"Golden... what? Don't get cryptic

explained, "Oh, just your run-of- the-mill 'fecal fluid.' In other words, you just

color drained from Charles's face so fast it was

there was no

down his throat,

said with an air of mock sympathy, "my big brother

shit' really means, in a most literal sense. Didn't see that on any fancy restaurant menu, did you,

"Damn

Charles roared, incensed.

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