Public failure was louder than applause.
Applause ended when hands grew tired. Failure kept breathing after everyone pretended to move on.
By midday, Cedric Valdrake's F+ physical output had traveled through the first-year candidates, three faculty corridors, two servant passages, and at least one kitchen where Ren's face had gone pale enough to qualify as a second uniform.
Nobody said ruin directly.
That would have been rude.
Instead, nobles used better knives.
"Unexpected."
"Temporary instability, surely."
"A Valdrake matter."
"How disciplined of him not to overextend."
That last one came from Lucien, which made it either a kindness, an insult, or a tactical smoke screen.
Probably all three.
