Before the morning mist had completely vanished from the slopes of Mount Paladin, Villanelle was already standing outside the hibiscus wood doors of the greenhouse.
Professor Hiram was a workaholic. Even though today was a day off, she would not be out relaxing; she was most likely still here at the greenhouse.
A quick chat with the old gatekeeper confirmed her suspicion.
Villanelle clutched a thick linen file folder tightly in her hands. Inside were the materials she had spent all night organizing: Ignis’s behavior observation logs, a “Comparative Analysis of Behavioral Deviation” written based on papers from the reference library, and a neatly written “Application for a Special Observation Permit.”
These three documents had taken her more than two days to complete, and each had been checked repeatedly. During that time, Ignis’s observation log had expanded quite a bit.
The edges of the folder were already slightly frayed from her fingers nervously rubbing them.
‘Deep breath… Professor Hiram values logic and evidence, not tears and pleading.’
She pushed open the doors, and the familiar mingled scents rushed toward her.
There was the smell of herb disinfectants, hay, and animal fur, along with a hint of the slight acidity of magical creature waste. The greenhouse was quiet in the early morning, with only the occasional low cry coming from the distant pens.
Professor Hiram was not in the usual lecture area.
Villanelle hesitated for a moment before walking toward the research area deep within the corridor.
That was an area students were not permitted to enter. A bronze plaque hung on the door that read: “Authorized Personnel Only.”
But today, the heavy door was slightly ajar. Bright light from Magic Guide Lamps and the faint clinking of metal instruments leaked through the crack.
She hesitated for a second, then reached out and lightly rapped her knuckles against the door, which was engraved with a Soundproofing Rune.
The clinking of metal stopped for a moment.
“Enter,” Professor Hiram’s voice called out. It was even shorter than in class, carrying a hint of displeasure at having her work interrupted.
Villanelle pushed the door open and stepped inside, but the scene that met her eyes made her pause.
This was not a classroom; it looked more like an operating room. In the center of the room was a large stone table covered with a waterproof tarp, illuminated by several Shadowless Magic Lamps that made the surface look as pale as snow.
Professor Hiram stood by the table, wearing a leather apron stained with dark blotches and thick rubber gloves that reached her elbows.
Lying on the white cloth before her was an adult Screeching Bird — a type of avian creature typically used for experimental dissection.
Its wings and body were secured with metal clips, exposing the bare skin at the base of the wing. A neat incision had been made there, revealing the pulsing Magic Gland underneath, which flickered with a faint blue light.
On a nearby tray sat various gleaming surgical instruments that Villanelle could not name, along with several probes tipped with tiny crystals.
Professor Hiram did not look up.
She was using a pair of extremely fine tweezers to carefully separate a translucent membrane from the gland.
As a High-order Mage, the precision of her movements was comparable to a machine.
“If this is an appeal regarding last week’s test scores,” she said flatly, “you should go to the Academic Affairs Office. If it’s about yesterday afternoon’s lecture… I still have twenty-seven minutes before I finish this sampling.”
“It’s not, Professor.” Villanelle forced herself to look away from the dissected body and toward Professor Hiram’s profile. “It is regarding… the partner requirements for the course practice.”
The tweezers paused for half a second.
“Speak.”
“I… I have found a magical creature that might meet the requirements. But its danger rating, according to the Regulatory Catalog, exceeds the Level 2 standard.”
Villanelle sped up her speech, trying her best to keep her voice sounding calm.
“However, its behavioral patterns show significant and consistent… deviations from the baseline model for its species. Therefore, I would like to apply for a Special Observation Permit under Article Seven of the Academy Special Research Case Management Regulations.”
Professor Hiram finally looked up.
She stared at Villanelle through her gold-rimmed glasses. The lenses reflected the light slightly, and her eyes held neither surprise nor curiosity. There was only a pure, scrutinizing gaze, as if she were observing a newly delivered specimen.
“Species.”
Her tone was indifferent as she used the tweezers to pick up the membrane and place it into a crystal dish filled with clear alchemical potion.
“A Mixed-blood Black Dragon. A hatchling, less than one week old.”
Professor Hiram’s movements froze once again, this time for longer than before.
She set the tweezers down, turned around, and faced Villanelle directly.
“A Black Dragon hatchling,” Hiram repeated. Her tone remained level, but the atmosphere in the operating room suddenly turned heavy. “Do you know how the Regulatory Catalog describes Black Dragon hatchlings?”
“I do. ‘Violent temperament, rapid mana growth, and a strong desire for aggression.'”
Villanelle recited the description fluently. She had mentally repeated those words countless times last night.
“Then, what specifically do you mean by ‘consistent and significant deviations’?” Professor Hiram walked toward a corner of the room, where a Water Element Rune Base hung over a sink.
With a casual tap, a slight ripple of mana followed. The runes glowed blue, and the air seemed to be disturbed by an invisible force.
A stream of shimmering, clear water condensed out of the void like a living silver ribbon, proactively wrapping around Hiram’s hands and washing them quickly and methodically.
As the water touched the lingering mucus and blood on her gloves, the substances rapidly decomposed with a *fizzing* sound, vanishing into the air as a mist so faint it was nearly invisible.
“Since hatching, it has shown no aggressive behavior or any intent to attack. Its appetite is stable, and it shows no particular interest in live prey. It possesses exceptional learning abilities and can understand complex gestures and various simple commands.”
Villanelle slowed her pace, reciting while carefully recalling her notes. Of course, she still held back, not revealing the full truth.
The little guy didn’t just understand commands; he could communicate like a person.
“Furthermore, it is emotionally stable and shows strong attachment and obedience toward its primary contact… uh, which is me,” she finally added.
Professor Hiram flicked her hands. The luster of the water vanished, and it fell as if losing its life force, evaporating quickly in the sink.
She unhurriedly pulled off her gloves and tossed them aside.
“Give me the materials.”
Villanelle hurriedly handed over the file folder with both hands.
Professor Hiram took it but did not open it immediately. “Did you record these yourself?”
“Yes, yes I did.”
“Without the guidance of a professional Dragon Tamer?”
“No.”
“Then subjective bias in these records cannot be ruled out,” Professor Hiram said bluntly. “An inexperienced observer can easily mistake paralysis caused by fear for docility, or tentative observation for understanding. Moreover… the subject is your personal property. You have every incentive to beautify the records.”
She paused, her gaze behind the lenses as sharp as a blade.
Villanelle felt her cheeks burn.
During this time, she indeed hadn’t been with Ignis every single moment. Sometimes she could only learn about him by asking Butler Heinrich.
But she had tried to reconstruct the events as accurately as possible.
“I understand,” Villanelle said, forcing herself to stay composed. “That is why I hope you can give me an opportunity to test my partner to verify my observation logs.”
Regardless of whether the records were believed to be true or false, she only sought validation.
Professor Hiram fell silent.
She opened the file folder, pulled out the observation log, and began to browse through it, her eyes skimming over the dense descriptions and timestamps.
Her reading speed was incredibly fast, only pausing occasionally on a specific line.
The only sounds left in the room were the struggling cries of the Screeching Bird and the *rustling* of turning pages.
Time ticked away, second by second.
Villanelle stood in place, not daring to move a muscle. She could even hear her own heart thumping heavily in her chest.
‘Can… can it work?’