Game 12 - 4

The first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling. Gannett sat up abruptly, instinctively summoning her magic, prepared to launch an attack.

The aggressive surge of magic startled the nurse, who was checking the label on a vial of potion, nearly dropping it in alarm. “Miss Ossini? You mustn’t use magic yet!”

Gannett surveyed the room with a blank expression: pale yellow walls, a sturdy metal bed, a single patient room, the edge of the blanket slipping from her knees embroidered with the name “Clemence Hospital.”

She looked down at herself—still clad in the scarlet robe, now stained with stubborn dust and flecks of dark, dried blood. Outside the window, the sky was still bright, sheets of pale gray storm clouds obscuring the blue. When she’d faced Arlo, the sun had been shining high.

“How long was I unconscious?”

The nurse glanced at a pocket watch. “You were admitted yesterday at noon. Since then, you’ve slept continuously due to magic exhaustion.”

“Who brought me here?”

The nurse paused, searching for the right words. “Well, I only know a little. You and the other injured were found at the accident site; a group from the Guard brought you in…”

“Other injured? How many?”

The nurse’s expression grew stranger, as if her question was baffling. “There’s only one other patient, also on this floor.”

“He…” Gannett pressed her lips together, cutting off the question, then changed tack without expression. “No matter. When can I go home?”

“Your magic core wasn’t damaged. We’ve already given you two doses of the spiritual potion as an emergency measure. After you finish the third, you can go home to recover.” The nurse set a silver vial and a dish of mint candies within easy reach.

Gannett grabbed the potion, popping the wax seal with a soft sound.

An indescribable, pungent odor assaulted her senses, her stomach immediately churning in protest against taking the potion. She expertly held her breath, tipped her head back, and drank it in one gulp.

The nurse, surprised and somewhat impressed, watched her.

Gannett grabbed two specially made mint candies and pushed them into her mouth. The lingering taste of the potion quickly vanished. Only then did she notice a new presence by the door.

Brown-haired, blue-eyed—Elma of the Guard.

“Miss Sobor, please come in,” Gannett greeted her, surprised.

The nurse stepped aside to let Elma through, smiling as she left. “I’ll ask the doctor to sign your discharge permit now.”

Elma stood awkwardly by the bed. “You were just drinking your potion, so I waited outside for a moment before greeting you.”

“Please, sit,” Gannett shook her head, indicating she didn’t mind, rummaging in the bedside cabinet and speaking in a casual tone. “Sorry for alarming you yesterday—everyone else is alright, I hope?”

Elma sat upright, hands folded neatly, but her fingers twisted nervously. She paused before replying, “No one outside the barrier was injured. Many say it was a miracle…”

“That’s good.” Gannett didn’t look up, finally finding writing paper and a quill beneath a pile of patient leisure reading.

“I need to write a note, please wait a moment.” She scribbled a quick message of reassurance and summoned a fairy courier to deliver it to Flowstone City, then began composing another letter for her residence in Thousand Towers City.

Unable to bear the silence, Elma ventured, “You’re amazing—drinking an entire bottle of spiritual potion without flinching. The first time I tried, I just threw up.”

Gannett sent off the second fairy messenger, then offered Elma a wry smile. “I’ve thrown up too.”

Vomiting after drinking spiritual potion was a rite of passage for every mage. Gannett could gulp down the vile potion now only because her rigorous training often left her with depleted magic, forcing her to drink several bottles for recovery.

“It’s hard to believe no one’s managed to invent a palatable spiritual potion…” Elma started to complain, then stopped, sitting even straighter. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Gannett leaned against the headboard, her tone gentle. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Elma’s gaze flickered, nervously avoiding eye contact. “I…”

Gannett guessed the purpose of her visit and didn’t rush her.

Elma straightened, meeting Gannett’s eyes earnestly, speaking with difficulty. “I was responsible for sealing the site, but something like that happened… It was my failure. I’m willing to accept any punishment.”

As she spoke, her ears and neck flushed red.

Gannett did not answer immediately, quietly watching Elma for a moment.

The brown-haired mage started out sitting very upright, but under Gannett’s scrutinizing gaze, quickly grew uncomfortable, resisting the urge to shift in her seat.

Elma was still somewhat afraid of her, and not entirely accepting her as captain. Gannett judged. Yet her self-critique did not seem born of fear, but from a simple, honest principle—

If you make a mistake, you take responsibility, and apologize to those affected.

Gannett didn’t dislike such straightforward people. She’d considered asking Elma who, from an outsider’s perspective, had won the duel, but suspected the question would feel like a trap.

She shifted her gaze away, easing the pressure. “You know the true nature of that contest.”

Elma opened her mouth, nearly asking why they dueled at all, but refrained.

Gannett didn’t notice her turmoil. She looked out at the storm clouds, voice cool. “He underestimated my spell strength, making you bear a responsibility that wasn’t yours.”

She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “No need for apologies, much less punishment.”

“No, I still…” Elma stood, then sat again, hesitating.

Finally, as if steeling herself, she took a snake-shaped amulet from her bag and held it out with both hands. “This is a protective charm I made with help from my family elders. It can help you absorb spiritual energy faster. You may not need it, but please accept it regardless. Wishing you a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you.” Gannett took the silver amulet; its fine snake-scale texture warmed her fingers, like gentle sunlight through glass on a winter day.

She looked at Elma in surprise—the craftsmanship was superb.

But as she looked, her gaze drifted to the doorway, and her eyes widened:

Arlo, wearing loose hospital clothes, was slowly shuffling past the door. He glanced into the room, and their eyes met.

The first thing she noticed was a comical detail: Arlo had two loops of bandage wrapped around his head, with tufts of hair sticking out on either side, like an animal’s ears pricked upright.

She nearly laughed, but felt she shouldn’t let Arlo amuse her, and her expression froze.

Elma sensed the change and turned to look. She was even more shocked. “Arlo?!”

Arlo leaned lazily against the doorframe. “I was just walking down the corridor, happened to pass by.”

Elma glanced from Arlo to Gannett, unsure. “If you two need to talk…”

“I’m just passing by,” Arlo reiterated.

Gannett took a breath, threw off her blanket, and hopped down from the bed, striding briskly to the door.

Arlo didn’t retreat; as she approached, he slowly blinked, then touched his bandage as if gauging his chances of survival should she attack.

Face to face, she saw his complexion—pale as the bandage, nearly matching its color.

Gannett forcibly expelled the thought from her mind. Just say thank you and be done, then she’d owe him nothing. She repeated this silently, about to speak, when a cry echoed from the corridor:

“Lord Shaya!!”

The nurse, finally returned, stared at Arlo in shock, dropping a signed document. At her exclamation, two more orderlies hurried over, advancing on Arlo with practiced efficiency, seizing him by the arms. “We’ve told you many times, body strengthening magic is improvement, not transformation! Your injuries are worse than they seem—you mustn’t leave bed yet!”

Arlo protested loudly, sounding energetic. “Relax, gentlemen, relax. My legs aren’t broken, I can walk by myself.”

Gannett watched in disbelief as Arlo was escorted away. His room was at the far end of the corridor—the one furthest from hers.

Whoever assigned the rooms must have known of their mutual animosity and taken extra care.

“He’s not the first to sneak out of his room?” Gannett asked.

“Lord Shaya hates being hospitalized, has slipped out several times when the orderlies weren’t watching. Anyway, it’s our fault for not keeping better watch—sorry for letting him disturb you…” The nurse smiled awkwardly, then shifted topics. “Miss Ossini, here’s your discharge permit.”

“For safety, please avoid using magic today and tomorrow, and don’t cast large-scale spells within five days. There’s a list of recommended supplementary potions on the back. The bill will be sent to the Ossini residence. If you have any questions, feel free to write to us.”

The corridor was noisy at the other end thanks to Arlo. The nurse finished her instructions and hurried off.

Gannett peeked toward the commotion; several familiar Guard members were gathered at Arlo’s door, laughing, clearly visiting him—though also enjoying the spectacle. They didn’t seem worried about his injuries, perhaps knowing his reckless nature.

She turned to Elma. “Aren’t you going to join the others?”

Elma nodded, biting her lip. She picked up her bag, walked to the door, then paused. “One more thing… I saw it.”

The statement made Gannett tilt her head in confusion.

“I used to think Arlo should be captain. I still think the council’s decision was unfair to him. But…” She swallowed, ears reddening from nerves.

“That moment, you held up the boulder with your spell. Many people were saved by your decision, unharmed, though you put yourself in danger. I saw that, so I have to thank you, and—” Elma gripped her bag, meeting Gannett’s eyes. “I misjudged you before. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say today.”

Before Gannett could reply, the brown-haired mage turned and left.

Her little boots tapped briskly on the floor, the clear footsteps quickly fading down the corridor.

Gannett stood quietly at the door for a moment, then went downstairs. The Ossini family carriage was already waiting for her.

※

Rain began to fall in the evening. Gannett, under a spell-cast umbrella, still found her shoes wet with the fine drizzle as she stepped inside, leaving footprints with each step. She felt oddly uneasy, as though she’d left evidence at a crime scene.

Once again, Gannett returned to the single-patient corridor on Clemence Hospital’s fifth floor.

Visiting hours were over; under the pale blue lights, the corridor looked cold and desolate.

“Miss Ossini…?” The nurse who’d cared for her during the day happened to approach. “Do you have questions about your treatment? Or something new?”

“No, I might have left something in my room. Since I was nearby this afternoon, I thought I’d check,” Gannett glanced down the corridor, asking casually, “Is Arlo Shaya still here?”

The nurse’s expression turned odd. “No, he’s already been discharged.”

Gannett froze, stopping in her tracks.

Discharged? She’d come for nothing? Her plan—to find Arlo while it was quiet, thank him, and settle accounts—was ruined. Damn Arlo, never staying put!

Her mind churned, but she kept her face calm. “I remember his injuries weren’t supposed to allow him to walk.”

“Lord Shaya insisted on leaving yesterday, and after you left today, we couldn’t stop him. Even visitors couldn’t persuade him. It wasn’t life-threatening, and magisters have their secrets and taboos—we couldn’t force him to stay. He wouldn’t even take the potions, said he’d manage on his own, and complained our prices were way above cost…”

Arlo clearly exasperated the staff; the nurse, having finally found a sympathetic listener, grumbled to Gannett until realizing it might be inappropriate, trailing off with an awkward smile.

Gannett made no comment on Arlo’s eccentricities. Suddenly, she turned toward the stairs.

“Miss Ossini?”

“Sorry, I just remembered something else,” Gannett replied, a new idea forming. “Also, please give me the list of medicines Arlo needs.”

“Sorry, another patient’s records are private…”

Gannett raised her chin, naturally assuming the air of someone used to issuing orders. “Arlo Shaya is my subordinate; the Thirteen Tower Guard’s expenses are covered by the Ossini family. This was a work accident, so I’ll pay his medical costs. The relevant records should be accessible to me.”

Seeing the nurse hesitate, Gannett said firmly, “If he objects, tell him to come to me. He’ll blame me, not you.”

Half an hour later, Gannett, carrying a small case, walked through the rain toward the gates of a suburban manor. Warm white light floated at her side, the only illumination nearby.

In the rainy night, the neglected metal fence loomed before her, dividing the scenery into equal, ruined, cold segments. The manor, sparsely lit, looked like a beast, crouched silently behind the shifting curtain of rain.

Gannett nodded; the glass sphere lamp floated forward, lighting the metal plaque on the gatepost. The plaque was obviously newer than the fence or manor, its bold capital letters spelling out the name of the house’s owner:

Arlo Shaya.