At the entrance of Glenny Medical Center, Konehl-Ghervil and Ishmele-Esli were already seated in Dr. Callan’s car, bound for the manor.
Upon learning the origin of the petal—the initial cultivated blood—Dr. Callan remained silent, gesturing for Konehl-Ghervil to first review the documents.
Kern-Aylmer, a missing priest from the Cathedral.
Disappearance time: Between 5 PM and midnight on Friday, August 17th.
Disappearance location: The Plantation.
Heinz-Blumberg, a doctor from the Florence City Hospital Department.
Disappearance time: Around 9 AM on Saturday, August 18th, while en route to the Cathedral.
The files contained no photographs, only a brief introduction.
Evidently, these documents were prepared for someone like her, who had no prior knowledge of the two missing individuals, including their ages and genders.
Both men were male; Aylmer was forty-five.
He had entered the seminary at seventeen, graduated, passed the examinations to become a clergyman, and steadily risen through the ranks, making him a senior priest with extensive experience.
Blumberg, twenty-nine, had been chosen to join the Hospital Department due to his prodigious talent in pharmaceutical development.
Other details were sparse, likely owing to the Hospital Department’s policy of member confidentiality.
His somewhat reclusive nature, his difficulty in social interaction, and certain aspects of his appearance could largely be disregarded.
In her normal state, unhindered by medication, she could read text remarkably fast, practically memorizing all its contents with a single glance; she deliberately took more time, feigning a slower pace.
What she could have accomplished in ten seconds ended up consuming a full five minutes.
“Is there anything you wish to ask?” Dr. Callan, from the driver’s seat, cast a glance to her right.
“Given that they disappeared under conditions of solitude, with no witnesses, is it possible they deliberately went into hiding?” Konehl-Ghervil folded the documents and placed them into her bag.
Mrs. Penelope was a similar case; she had sent a letter after her disappearance.
The letter stated that arriving in Florence City before the 27th would allow one to meet her, yet today was the 27th, and no one resembling Mrs. Penelope had been seen.
Truth be told, her impression of Mrs. Penelope wasn’t particularly vivid, recalling only her penchant for jewelry, a slightly plump face, common brown hair, and the scent of rose perfume.
“Investigations at the disappearance sites yielded no clues whatsoever.”
‘Meaning, such a possibility exists…’
“Did they know each other?”
“Yes, they knew each other. From the information I possess, their relationship was quite good; Aylmer could almost be considered Blumberg’s mentor and friend.”
“Which of the two left behind that Blood Rose?” Konehl-Ghervil abruptly probed, steering the conversation to a more distant topic.
The car’s speed slowed as they encountered a slight traffic jam, and Dr. Callan turned her head to assess the situation, offering no reply.
‘As expected.’
Dr. Callan and ‘Ms. Rowan’ had known each other for less than a day; it was impossible for her to divulge everything with complete trust, much like the documents themselves, which contained little truly useful information.
She suspected a more direct reason: knowing the answer to that question would not benefit her, and might even pose a danger.
‘But having already been attacked by assassins, how much more could she possibly care?’
Completely lacking any awareness of ‘crossing a line,’ Konehl-Ghervil intensified her offensive.
“Which of them would have the means to acquire the blood of an adult Green Forest Lizard?”
“Are you not afraid I might abandon you once I’ve used you to obtain the petal’s test results?”
“No, I am not, because I haven’t shown you the method…”
Her body shifted to the left from inertia as Dr. Callan turned the steering wheel, accelerating to overtake.
Just then, a black car suddenly swerved out from the opposite lane.
She barely had time to react.
Given the road’s width, avoiding a collision would require either accelerating to the outermost edge or simply braking and risking an impact.
Instinctively, one hand clutched the furball tightly while the other gripped the door handle; she knew exactly what the woman would choose.
The person in the driver’s seat floored the accelerator, narrowly scraping past the other car’s body.
Badly shaken, the black car slowed to a halt, and a scowling man emerged, ready to curse, only to find their vehicle had vanished.
“Dr. Callan… if you don’t wish to answer, there’s no need for such extreme measures.”
From the passenger seat, Konehl-Ghervil adjusted her hat and glasses, her tone laced with displeasure.
‘My whole body was tense, my heart nearly leaping from my chest.’
“Believe me, it truly was an accident.”
Dr. Callan offered a helpless, wry smile.
“Your questions have indeed stumped me, akin to putting me on a spit over a fire.”
‘It wasn’t intentional?’
‘Then it must be because of the unlucky person in the back seat.’
Konehl-Ghervil unbuckled the seatbelt, which had tightened painfully across her chest, and leaned forward to look behind her.
Ishmele-Esli, wrapped in her coat, had her head poked out the left window.
“Can we do that again? It’s been ages since I’ve had such fun!”
‘With a life as tenacious as yours, who could possibly keep up…?’
Speechless, she settled back into her seat, and Govet-Ghervil thoughtfully helped her refasten the belt.
After that incident, Konehl-Ghervil no longer had the inclination to press for answers. She had some inkling that, in her current capacity, it was unsuitable for her to know these ‘internal’ matters.
In their eyes, the ideal scenario was for her to act as a mere tool, completing assigned tasks without delving too deeply.
“Have you been working in Florence City since your graduation?”
Seeing her remain silent, Dr. Callan initiated small talk to draw her out.
“More or less. I occasionally travel for research purposes.”
“Did you begin your research on Blood Roses during university?”
“If I’m not mistaken, you were reviewing my personal file when we first met.”
Konehl-Ghervil was reluctant to discuss Ms. Rowan’s personal information or answer questions that were clearly rhetorical, fearing she might expose herself by saying too much.
“The Cathedral provided the initial data, and the Hospital Department gathered additional information through their own means.”
“Combining these records, I had mentally constructed an image of a meticulous scholar, fond of fieldwork and singularly focused on research; however, upon meeting you, I found that image entirely overturned.”
“That’s quite normal. One requires multiple personas to navigate the people and events of life. The papers you read are not my family or friends, so they couldn’t possibly offer you a comprehensive introduction to me.”
“Precisely that point!”
Dr. Callan suddenly interrupted.
“You lean towards sensibility rather than pure rationality, which is… somewhat unlike a scholar whose mind is solely consumed by research.”
“Moreover, conversing with you stirs a desire to continue our discussion, unlike when I speak with others… could it be your voice?”
‘…’
She was unsure how to respond.
She harbored a slight fear that Dr. Callan might compare her to the friend from her memories.
‘The more she compared, the more similar they seemed.’
Her reflection in the rearview mirror showed a low black ponytail, a wide-brimmed hat, and subtle makeup on her face, making her outer appearance difficult to discern.
‘Perhaps she needed to reveal something else, something internal, to dispel the woman’s doubts.’
“There’s a slight inaccuracy in the information you read; I didn’t begin researching Blood Roses only during my university years.”
“When did you start, then?”
“I can tell you, without exaggeration.”
She puffed out her chest slightly, a hint of pride in her posture.
“It was I who chose the Royal Botanical Academy, not the Royal Botanical Academy that chose me.”
This arrogant, almost conceited remark was intended to convey that her Blood Rose research had commenced even before her university enrollment.
She considered herself a humble person in daily life, yet the impression she was giving as Ms. Rowan was one of arrogance and conceit—two entirely contradictory traits.
‘Still, doing this felt a little unfair to the real Ms. Rowan.’
“Is that so…”
“Don’t you think I’m boasting…?”
As the words left her lips, Konehl-Ghervil realized belatedly that Dr. Callan was the youngest Chief, and in a sense, a true genius.
An awkward silence settled.
“Is the flower exhibition connected to the case?” she quickly changed the subject.
“There is a certain connection.”
Dr. Callan stated without hesitation.
“But primarily, I want you to meet someone.”