It wasn't long before the news of Jeanne and Lemuen leaving the Clock Tower reached the Pope's ears. Upon hearing the report, the Pope fell silent for a long while before letting out a weary sigh.
"So that's how it is. Very well, I understand."
Though he spoke calmly, Velliv, standing in the office, could clearly see the disappointment etched in his features. It seemed he was unwilling to accept that a miracle hadn't occurred. However, this emotion didn't linger; within moments, the Pope regained his usual spirited demeanor.
"Then, regarding our contingency plan for the 'Descent of Revelation'—should we suspend it or cancel it entirely?" Velliv asked.
The Pope had clearly prepared for a divine sign, but unfortunately, the miracle hadn't graced the city as he had hoped. But it mattered little; Revelations hadn't occurred for many years, yet Laterano still stood firm upon this earth. Thinking of this, the Pope recovered his spirits.
"Suspend it for now, but do not cancel it. Ensure that if a Revelation does appear, we can act immediately."
Even if he wasn't sure if Jeanne could do it, he chose to prepare as if she could. He believed the woman who had accomplished the impossible before could still produce a miracle. If there was no reaction now, perhaps the timing wasn't right.
"If you value this so much, should I find a way to ask her directly?" Velliv suggested. "Regardless of the outcome, it would give us some peace of mind."
The Pope shook his head. He felt that if Jeanne had a lead on something as monumental as a Revelation, she would surely tell him.
But Jeanne... had actually forgotten to tell him. To her, a Revelation was as common as dessert was to a Sankta—a part of daily life. She planned to wake the bell on a "good day" to repay Laterano for its hospitality. And for Laterano, the day a Revelation descended was the good day.
"Hey, can you really make that big bell ring?"
Walking down the street, Lemuen continued to whisper. She was buzzing with anticipation. She felt a pang of pity for her younger sister, Exusiai, who had chosen to stay in Lungmen and would miss such a historic moment. Even if they called her now, she'd never make it back in time.
Jeanne could only give a helpless, hushed reply to the inquisitive angel.
"I'm eighty to ninety percent sure. So, please, don't tell anyone. If it fails, it'll be quite embarrassing."
Though her Revelation had shown her the way, who knew if a thousand years of silence had caused damage? Besides, she wanted it to be a surprise.
"What's next then? I see you've prepared quite a few gifts. Are you planning on visiting someone?" Jeanne asked. She remembered the car was packed with local specialties Lemuen had bought in Lungmen and Ursus. Jeanne thought there might be a gift-giving custom here, though she wondered if that was more of a Christmas thing.
"Oh, those aren't for family—I mailed those gifts back before Christmas. Who knew I'd beat the mail home?" Lemuen grumbled. She regretted the expensive express shipping now. "Those are for the nurses and doctors at the sanatorium. We spent so much time together, we've become quite good friends."
Jeanne marveled at how good the doctor-patient relationships were in Laterano. But then again, Lemuen had lived there for years; it was only natural.
However, when Jeanne followed Lemuen to the sanatorium, she realized exactly why there were no disputes in Laterano hospitals.
"Why are your doctors carrying guns while on duty?" Jeanne whispered, eyeing the medical personnel armed with revolvers and handguns.
No wonder no one dared to cause a scene. The collective firepower of this sanatorium was enough to fight a small-scale urban war!
"Is it strange?" Lemuen replied. "Everyone has a gun license. There's nothing wrong with holding your gun at work, right? At the very least, it ensures your safety."
Jeanne could only nod blankly. Was this the legendary "cultural difference"?
"Oh, Lemuen! Someone is here to see you," a nurse called out. "A man with grey-blue hair. He doesn't seem to know you've been discharged."
Lemuen's reaction was instantaneous. Andoain was back. Usually, he sneaked in when it was quiet. Why was today different?
"You didn't tell him about my recovery, did you?"
"No, I just said I'd come find you."
"Good. Please, help me find a hospital gown and an empty ward!"
The nurse was stunned as the previously lively Lemuen suddenly became "weak," skillfully applying makeup to look deathly pale.
"Lemuen, what are you doing? That gentleman looks like he's been waiting a long time, and he's always so..."
"Melancholy? Self-reproaching?" Lemuen interrupted while adjusting her "ghastly" look in the mirror. "It's fine. This is just a little joke between old friends. Trust me, for him, this is a form of... psychological compensation."
Jeanne watched, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure? If he really hurt you, seeing you like this might not go the way you expect."
"I know, Jeanne." Lemuen looked in the mirror, her eyes complex. "But I must know if he ever found the answer he wanted. If he's still that idealistic madman, I'll let him know this 'victim' isn't going to lie in bed and watch his moods forever."
Lemuen quickly changed, hopped onto the bed, and pulled up the covers. "Jeanne, please act as my caregiver. You don't need to say much—just your Saintess presence will be enough to make him uneasy."
"...I'll try," Jeanne sighed.
The door pushed open softly. A man in a dark trench coat and grey scarf entered. His steps were light, as if afraid to disturb the peace. When he saw the "pale" figure on the bed, his body stiffened.
The man had grey-blue hair. His eyes held a weariness and sorrow that seemed to see through the world. Above his head floated a somewhat dim halo, and his Guardian Gun was wrapped in cloth, looking exceptionally low-profile.
Andoain.
He stopped by the bed and spoke in a voice so gentle it was almost humble.
"Lemuen... I heard you were moving, so I came to see you. It seems your condition... still hasn't improved?"
Lemuen didn't open her eyes, but her hand outside the quilt trembled slightly (on purpose). She responded in a raspy, weak voice:
"Yes... still the same. And you, Andoain? With Laterano under such heavy guard, aren't you afraid the Notarial Hall will take you away?"
Andoain smiled bitterly, sitting down. "If they could take away my sins, I wouldn't mind going with them. Sadly, the law can only punish my actions; it cannot heal my soul."
Jeanne watched coldly from the side. She felt a profound contradiction in this man—extreme compassion hidden beneath deep-seated obsession. So this was Andoain, the culprit behind Mostima's fall and Lemuen's years of paralysis.
At this moment, Jeanne understood why Lemuen was faking. Facing a man so immersed in self-pity and self-inflicted drama, telling him "I'm cured" might actually shatter his twisted sense of balance too abruptly.