The following days were as flat as the small river near the manor—slow, quiet, with only the occasional ripple.
The rhythm of the day was no different than before, except that the subject of Klein's research had changed slightly.
The two of them continued to immerse themselves in the laboratory to study the siren as usual. Raymond continued to shuttle between them with a tea tray, his expression meticulous and beyond reproach.
The only things that changed were the nights.
And the mornings.
A certain matter had been tacitly categorized by both of them as "not needing discussion," becoming as naturally embedded into their daily routine as eating and drinking.
No one had formally proposed it, and no one had formally agreed. It was that way on the first day, the same on the second, and by the third day, Ophelia had even begun without bothering to wake Klein first.
Her morning training, however, had been interrupted for several days. She kept saying, "I'll definitely make up for it tomorrow," but the situation the following morning usually didn't allow for it. Klein bore an undeniable responsibility for this, but he was wise enough not to voice any opinion on the matter.
On the afternoon of the third day, the carriages from the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce arrived.
There were two of them. One for cargo, one for people.
The cargo consisted of the materials Klein had listed earlier—three different purities of refined sea salt crystals, a set of deep-sea ore specimens, and two vials of sea monster fluid samples sealed in obsidian containers.
It wasn't a lot, but every item was expensive.
The Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce was fastidious; every box was marked with silver sealing wax and anti-moisture runes, and even the orientation markings for transport were flawless.
Raymond checked them against the manifest one by one as he received them, and he took the opportunity to question the delivery men about their route—which warehouse the goods were taken from, how many times the carriages were swapped, and whether anyone had touched the boxes along the way.
It was a professional habit of his, or perhaps just professional competence.
The delivery men were sweating under the interrogation, but every detail checked out.
As for the person?
The person was there to deliver a letter.
The letter was from Nelisa.
Klein opened it and read.
The wording was polite and the content simple: lodging had already been arranged in the Royal Capital for next week, and Nelisa would personally meet them at the city gate when the time came.
Klein handed the letter to Ophelia.
After reading it, Ophelia's gaze lingered on the last sentence for two seconds before she folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.
“When do we leave?”
“We'll leave next Tuesday. It'll take three days if we take the official road.”
“Mm.”
Short and to the point, with no extra questions. She only cared about the departure time and the route; she would handle the rest herself.
Over the next few days, Klein poured all his energy into his research on the siren.
There was a tiny bit of progress.
Just a tiny bit, truly.
But that tiny bit was enough to make him toss and turn at night, unable to sleep—though, of course, that wasn't the only reason he couldn't sleep.
As the research deepened, Klein increasingly felt that he shouldn't use the word "organism" to describe the creature in the tank. The definition of an organism had boundaries—cells, tissues, organs, nested layers each with their own function. But the siren wasn't like that. There was too much biological information that could be collected from her, an unreasonable amount, as if someone had forcibly stuffed an entire library into a single bookshelf.
In the experimental log for the fifth day, Klein wrote a line: “Not a biological entity, more like a... container?”
After writing it, he stared at the question mark for a long time, crossed out "container," wrote "index," and then crossed that out too. Finally, he drew a large question mark next to it and capped his pen.
Ophelia was always by his side during every research session.
That was their agreement. She usually sat on the old chair in the corner of the laboratory, polishing her sword, reading a book, or just sitting there quietly. Occasionally, when Klein's self-muttering grew a bit loud, she would look up at him to confirm if he was talking to the siren or to her, then lower her head again.
Then, the day of departure arrived.
Klein stood in the study, packing up the experimental records he had finished writing the night before. It was a thick stack, tied with leather cord and placed in a locked folder.
He didn't really want to leave.
The research had just started showing signs of progress, and he felt somewhat reluctant to drop everything and run to the Royal Capital. Moreover—
He glanced out the window.
The manor's courtyard, the familiar flagstone path, the kitchen chimney, and in the distance, Ophelia's silhouette as she directed the servants to load luggage onto the carriage.
She was dressed for travel, her long hair tied higher than usual, standing sideways as she spoke to a servant. The sunlight hit her profile, making her features look clean and sharp.
On one's own territory, many things could be done at a leisurely pace.
Once they stepped out of this door, the two of them would be living in a place arranged by someone else. They wouldn't even know who was living next door, and they'd have to weigh every movement even when turning over in the middle of the night. It was hard to say if the walls were soundproof. If—
No.
He was thinking about research.
Research.
Klein slapped his own face hard. It stung.
He looked at his reflection in the window glass—his hair was a bit messy, there was a red mark on his cheek from the slap, and while his expression wasn't exactly serious, he was trying hard to lean in that direction. He stared at his reflection and said word by word:
“Klein, when did you become someone so obsessed with beauty?”
The reflection didn't answer him.
From outside the window came Ophelia's voice directing the servants; he could vaguely hear a single word: “Gently.”
He slapped the other side of his face.
Now both sides were symmetrical. Fair.
“Young Master.”
Raymond's voice came from the doorway. Klein turned around; Raymond stood by the doorframe, holding a packed suitcase, his posture upright and his gaze fixed forward.
If he had seen the scene of the Young Master talking to himself in the glass just now, his level of facial management was worthy of being studied by all stewards.
“The luggage has been loaded, and the rations and water for the journey are ready.” He paused. “Madam asked me to come and fetch you.”
Klein looked at the locked folder on the desk, then at Raymond at the door. He obediently picked up his coat and walked out. After a couple of steps, he doubled back and tucked the folder into a hidden compartment in the suitcase.
Raymond said nothing, merely stepping aside slightly to let him pass.
The carriage was parked at the manor entrance, and Ophelia was already seated inside. She had changed into an outfit suitable for travel, her collar buttoned neatly, with her long sword leaning against the seat beside her. Hearing his footsteps, she looked up.
“Why were you so slow?”
“I was saying goodbye to the siren.”
“…What a strange way to put it.”
“Academic reluctance.”
Ophelia didn't press the matter further and cleared the space beside her. Klein boarded the carriage and sat next to her. The carriage wasn't very spacious; their shoulders were close together, and the backs of their hands occasionally brushed.
Raymond closed the carriage door from the outside with a light touch. He nodded to the driver.
The whip cracked, the wheels rolled over the flagstone path, and with a creak, they moved forward. The manor gates slowly grew smaller in the distance, the old locust tree in the yard gave one last sway, and then they disappeared behind the roadside bushes.
The road changed from flagstones to rammed earth, and the carriage began to jostle slightly. Ophelia put away her documents, leaned against the carriage wall, and tilted her head to look at Klein.
“Why is your face red?”
“The sun.”
“We haven't even left yet.”
“…The sun coming in through the window.”
“It's red on both sides.”
Klein very naturally shifted the conversation to the scenery outside. The poplars lining the official road were neatly arranged, their leaves turning their silvery-white undersides in the wind. In the distance was a field of unharvested wheat, golden waves pushed by the wind, surging wave after wave toward the horizon.
“The scenery is nice,” he said.
Ophelia didn't push further.
But she let out a soft laugh.
Rate on N.U.
