After leaving Feoria's house, Andoain stood alone on the street, lost in thought as he watched the sparse pedestrians beginning to appear. This state didn't last long; after a moment, he shook his head and left the residential area.
Passing the shop where he had bought breakfast earlier, he picked up the bouquet of flowers he had left with the owner and walked toward a nearby hospital. He hadn't forgotten that he had one more matter to attend to. Truthfully, it wasn't anything particularly grand—just visiting a friend.
However, when he arrived at the familiar ward, he found that the patient who should have been lying there was gone. For a moment, Andoain couldn't imagine where his friend could have gone. Had she been discharged? But she clearly hadn't recovered her health.
Then, a darker possibility crossed his mind: her injuries were so severe that her condition had taken a turn for the worse—so severe that even with Laterano's advanced technology, they had no choice but to give up on treatment.
A wave of tension spread through Andoain's heart. He felt a deep worry that his friend might have passed away. Although, strictly speaking, he was the one responsible for her condition—he was essentially the perpetrator who had struck her down.
Yet, at this moment, he felt a genuine concern for her safety. It was a contradiction: even if he could go back in time, he knew he would still make the same move against her, but that didn't stop him from worrying now. To him, the act of harming her and the act of caring for her were two separate things, even if they were both tied to his own hands.
"Excuse me, I'd like to ask where Lemuen from this ward has gone? Was she discharged, or has something happened?"
Left with no choice, Andoain asked a passing staff member. The worker seemed to be new; after thinking for a while, they simply said they would go find someone else to ask. Andoain stood there silently, waiting for the reply as if awaiting a monumental verdict. He was truly worried that the answer might be the worst-case scenario he had envisioned.
Fortunately, when the staff member returned, they told him she had simply moved to a different ward. Andoain, who had been standing as still as a statue, finally let out a sigh of relief.
Because of this sudden relaxation of his nerves, Andoain didn't pay much attention to the nurse's demeanor. He failed to notice the look of confusion mixed with a hint of oddity on her face. Picking up his prepared bouquet, he followed the nurse to the new ward.
Pushing the door open, Andoain saw a pink-haired Sankta sitting there. Her face was still quite pale, and she looked very weak. After delivering him, the nurse slipped away, muttering something under her breath about "strange people."
Indeed, the nurse had never seen such a thing. When the other nurse who knew Lemuen had rushed in to set up the "sickroom" at lightning speed, she hadn't even had time to react. It was her first time seeing someone fake being ill just to receive a visitor. Was there some hidden secret? But she soon put it out of her mind; working at this sanatorium was busy, and she had other patients to tend to.
Inside the room, Andoain and Lemuen fell into a heavy silence. Neither was willing to speak first.
Andoain quietly observed his old friend. Her complexion looked so unhealthy, still trapped in a sickly pallor. It might have been his imagination, but he felt Lemuen looked even paler than the last time he visited. Had her condition actually worsened?
Lemuen, of course, had no idea what Andoain was thinking. Her supposedly "worsening" complexion was merely the result of a hurried makeup job. She couldn't quite remember exactly how she looked when she was truly sick; she had just tried to paint herself a bit "healthier" than she appeared in her old hospital photos.
As for whether he would notice something was off? Lemuen held the "final interpretation rights" to this situation; she would just play it by ear.
"I went to your old room first. I didn't expect you to have moved. Was there something wrong with the previous one?"
After a long period of acting out this silent pantomime, Andoain finally broke the ice. They couldn't stay silent forever, and at this point, he really couldn't think of any other conversation starters. After all, neither of them could forget what had happened in the past. Their relationship had reached a freezing point—the kind that might never thaw in this lifetime.
"Yeah, the sunlight in that room was a bit too piercing. Staying there was starting to interfere with my rest," Lemuen replied, making up an excuse on the fly. Fortunately, her ability to spin a yarn had been well-trained from all the times she had to clean up after her sister's messes at school; she could almost make herself believe her own nonsense.
"Since you're recovering from an injury, it's actually better to get some sun. Ample sunlight plays a large role in the recovery process," Andoain reflexively replied. Then, he suddenly froze, a self-deprecating smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he dropped the subject.
It was fine; the shaded side was good too, if it helped her mood. In her current state, peace of mind was more important than sunlight. Though, hearing such advice from the very person who caused the injury was undeniably ironic.
Lost in these thoughts, Andoain silently placed the bouquet of irises he had brought into a nearby vase. He had picked them in front of the Requiem Church—the finest irises in the batch.
Strictly speaking, irises were rare in Laterano, as the soil wasn't particularly suited for them. But lately, something had changed. He had heard from other Sankta that white irises had started blooming in the flowerbeds near the Basilica, and they were thriving. Word was that the Pope had taken a liking to them, so he had specifically increased their planting. It was a mystery how the Pope had managed it, but every single iris in that garden was pure white, without a single other color in sight.
"You still love sending these flowers. But why are you back this time? Does it have something to do with Mostima returning?"
Through empathy, Lemuen acutely sensed a deeply hidden emotion in him—an excitement that felt like a goal was nearing completion. It felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption; though suppressed now, it would be terrifying once it broke through.
Combining this with his previous obsession over the "Lock and Key," Lemuen couldn't help but worry that his return was targeted at Mostima, who rarely set foot back home. Regardless of the circumstances, this was a golden opportunity for him. Capturing Mostima while she wandered abroad was notoriously difficult, not just because of her strange temporal powers, but because his own movements were restricted as a wanted man.
If she knew he was here, she would surely be on her guard. After all, he was still a fugitive.