Klein stretched his arms, his shoulders letting out a series of soft pops. The experiment sounded simple enough, but he had been standing at the workbench for quite a while, leaving his neck and back feeling stiff.
“Let's go down and wash up. Raymond has dinner waiting,” he said, screwing the cap back onto the ink bottle and tucking the formula manuscript into his leather folder. “It’ll take a while for this potion to cool down completely, so there's no rush.”
Ophelia nodded. She looked down at her hands—faint dust from the alchemical furnace lingered between her right fingers, and her fingernails were stained with a pale yellow layer of moonseed flower powder.
She held up her fingers and looked at them for a few seconds. Saying nothing, she simply rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.
Noticing the gesture, Klein pulled a damp cloth from under the bench and handed it over. Ophelia took it and wiped her hands, leaving a pale yellow streak on the cloth.
“Does the color of the moonseed flower powder wash off?” she asked.
“A soak in warm water will do it; it won't leave a permanent stain,” Klein thought for a moment. “Though if you use cold water, you might have to scrub a few extra times.”
“Then I’ll use warm water.” Ophelia folded the damp cloth and placed it back on the bench, her tone flat, as if stating something not even worth a second thought.
The two went down to the second floor to wash their hands and change in the washroom.
Klein washed up quickly and was out in no time, leaning against the corridor's windowsill to wait.
Outside, the sky had mostly darkened. The wall lamp at the end of the corridor was already lit, its orange light filtering through the frosted shade and illuminating the wood grain on the floor in distinct stripes.
Ophelia took a few minutes longer than him—likely because the moonseed flower powder was harder to wash off than he had suggested.
When she finally emerged, her hands were clean, but her sleeves were still rolled up to her elbows.
A section of her forearm was exposed; the skin of her right hand was fair and clean, taking on a pale, warm glow under the light.
Her left hand, however, bore faint, dark patterns and scales—outward signs of sea monster pollution, like a stubborn mark far more permanent than moonseed flower powder.
It wasn't easy to distinguish under the lamp without looking closely, but she was clearly aware it was there.
Ophelia lowered her gaze and unhurriedly rolled her sleeves back down.
The movement was natural, as if she were only doing it because the corridor was chilly.
Klein saw it but didn't say a word. He naturally walked on her left side, blocking the light from the corridor wall lamp.
This positioning wasn't the first time, and Ophelia wasn't noticing it for the first time either.
She glanced at him sideways.
Klein walked along with a clear conscience, looking every bit like he hadn't done anything at all.
Ophelia looked away, the corners of her mouth curling into a faint, fleeting smile.
The scent of red sauce stew drifted up from downstairs—a rich blend of tomatoes and spices.
Raymond had clearly put in a lot of effort today.
When they reached the dining room, four sets of cutlery were already laid out on the table. The dishes were polished clean, and the knives and forks were placed at perfect angles—an old habit of Raymond's. He stood by the table in a meticulous posture and bowed slightly as the two came down.
“Young Master, Young Madam. Dinner is ready.”
Lyra was already seated at the table with a soup bowl in front of her, though she hadn't started yet.
There were some fish scales on her apron—fine, silvery-white flakes, with a few stuck near her wrist. It seemed she had helped Raymond prepare the food earlier that evening.
She sat properly with her hands on her knees, as if she were intentionally waiting for everyone to arrive before starting.
“Where’s Karen?” Klein asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“He’s already eaten,” Lyra said. “He’s doing alright today. He had a bowl of porridge and is already asleep.”
“What time did he go to bed?”
“Just as the sun was setting.” Lyra paused, her voice softening slightly. “Before he slept... he said, ‘The surface of the water is so bright.’ I looked out the window, but it was just the sunset reflecting off the well cover in the yard.”
She spoke with a calm expression and an even tone, as if stating something ordinary. However, her fingers unconsciously brushed the silver anchor pendant around her neck.
“That’s good.” Klein didn't press further on whether the comment about the bright water was a normal observation or a lingering echo of the deep-sea whispers.
There was no answer to such things for now. He scooped a spoonful of stew. “Let’s eat. We’ll talk afterward.”
Raymond’s cooking was as consistent as ever.
The red sauce was simmered until rich and flavorful, the meat so tender it could be cut with a spoon, and the sauce reduced just right.
The crust of the roasted bread was crispy, and the inside was still steaming when broken open. Eaten with the hot soup, it warmed a person from their stomach to the top of their head.
Klein and Ophelia ate quite a bit.
Ophelia rarely showed much emotion regarding food, but today she took an extra piece of bread and used it to wipe her plate clean of the red sauce—this was likely her most direct praise for Raymond’s culinary skills.
Standing to the side, Raymond’s gaze swept over the empty bread basket. His expression didn't change, but his back seemed to straighten just a bit more.
Lyra also ate quickly, finishing her meal in a few bites before moving to clear the dishes.
Raymond didn't stop her.
Neither did Klein.
In fact, for someone like Lyra, having work to do made her feel more grounded.
Making her sit there doing nothing while waiting for others to finish would only make her feel restless.
After finishing his meal, Klein gulped down a large glass of water, wiped his hands with a napkin, and stood up.
“Ophelia, let’s go up.”
Ophelia set down her water glass and followed.
Lyra poked her head out from the kitchen doorway, still holding dishes she hadn't had time to put down. “Master Klein, Karen’s medicine—”
“I’m working on it,” Klein turned back and gave a reassuring gesture. “The base liquid was finished today, but it still needs testing. It can’t be used directly yet. Come find me on the third floor tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what to do next.”
Lyra opened her mouth as if to ask more—perhaps how certain he was or how long it would take—but in the end, nothing came out. Her hands gripped her apron, her knuckles tightening and then relaxing. She nodded and retreated back into the kitchen.
The sound of clinking dishes drifted from the kitchen, the rhythm fast and steady, like someone accustomed to using busyness to soothe themselves.
The two went up to the third floor.
The air in the laboratory was much cooler than when they had left. A crack in the window remained open, letting in the scent of grass and trees mixed with the lingering alchemical aroma, making the room feel quite refreshing.
The bottle of amber liquid had cooled completely, a thin layer of mist condensing on the outside of the glass, making it look as if it were wrapped in a hazy veil under the light.
Klein walked over and touched the bottle with the back of his hand—the temperature was perfect.
Cool but not cold; the base liquid’s stability was at its peak.
He moved the bottle to a better-lit position, set up the spectroscopic prism again, and began detailed testing.
The beam from the prism passed through the potion, casting a pale gold spectral band onto a white screen.
Klein stared at the spectrum for a few seconds and nodded slightly—the color distribution was even, with no obvious impurity shifts.
Ophelia pulled up a stool and sat to the side, her elbows resting on her knees. After watching for a while, she asked, “How do you plan to test it?”
“First, an in vitro reaction.” Klein pulled a small, sealed glass box from a drawer containing several samples of dark red, dried tissue.
The samples were pressed between two layers of glass, their edges blackened and brittle. “This is a blood sample I took from Karen last time with his consent. I dried it for preservation. By dropping the diluted base liquid onto it and observing the residual reaction in the tissue sample, I can roughly judge the efficacy and safety threshold.”
He used a silver spoon to take a bit of the potion and diluted it with distilled water. His movements were light, the spoon barely making a sound against the glass.
He used a thin tube to draw a few drops of the diluted liquid, suspending them over the first tissue sample.
“If the in vitro testing is fine, I’ll adjust it into an oral dose for Karen,” he said while letting the first drop fall. “The dosage has to be figured out slowly; it can’t be done all at once. The things in his head are rooted deep. A dose that's too strong might clear out the good along with the bad.”
The droplet landed on the dry, dark red sample and spread quickly, like ink soaking into old paper.
Klein leaned in to look.
For the first few seconds, nothing happened. The sample quietly absorbed the liquid, its color changing from dark red to deep brown as the edges softened slightly—this was a normal rehydration reaction, exactly as expected.
Then, a nearly invisible blue light appeared in the center of the sample.
It was extremely faint and fleeting, like a firefly flashing underwater before vanishing.
Klein’s expression shifted.
Without a word, he picked up a pair of tweezers and moved the sample under the spectroscopic prism. The beam passed through again—this time, the edge of the spectral band had an extremely thin, cold blue line, as fine as if it had been scratched with the tip of a needle.
“What is it?” Ophelia’s voice was steady, but she had already stood up.
Klein stared at the blue line for five seconds.
“...Interesting,” he said, his tone even flatter than before. “This reaction wasn't in my expectations.”
He set down the tweezers, pulled the manuscript back out of his folder, and flipped to a certain page, his finger sliding back and forth over a line of text.
“There’s nothing wrong with the formula for the base liquid. That means in Karen’s blood sample...” He paused. “The things remaining are more active than I previously judged.”
Both of them knew exactly what he meant by "things."
Ophelia looked at the now-still sample and remained silent for two seconds.
“Does this mean the medicine can’t be used?”
“It’s not that it can’t be used.” Klein set the manuscript down and picked up another sample, drawing another tube of diluted liquid. “It’s that the method of use has to change.”
He didn't rush to drop the second bit. Instead, he held the tube up to the light, looking at the liquid which glinted with a faint golden luster.
“—It also means his time might be tighter than I originally thought.”
The words were spoken softly, as if he were talking to himself.
The laboratory fell silent, save for the faint sound of the night wind blowing against the blinds.
Rate on N.U.
