Jeanne and the others watched as Kal'tsit stormed off in a towering rage. Judging by the way the Feline had simply hurled a single, terrifying line before rushing out to hunt her prey, the sheer fury burning inside her chest had to be catastrophic.
Though Jeanne's math skills weren't exactly sharp enough to calculate the precise volume of Kal'tsit's anger—or the monumental size of the psychological trauma the Doctor was about to inherit—she was pretty sure this particular situation transcended the laws of mathematics anyway.
While Jeanne was busy entertaining these highly unconstructive thoughts, little Amiya remained curled up on the floor, clamping her large rabbit ears tight against her head with an expression that screamed the end of the world was nigh.
"Amiya didn't betray the Doctor," the little Cautus whimpered frantically under her breath. "The Doctor won't punish Amiya by telling those weird, unsettling bedtime stories tonight, right? Please, I really don't want to hear any more of those bizarre tales..."
You poor child, Jeanne thought, a wave of profound sympathy washing over her. What kind of psychological horror have you been subjected to in this floating fortress? Didn't Kal'tsit just boast that Babel doesn't indulge in inhumane practices? How on earth did the Doctor manage to traumatize this sweet kid so thoroughly?
Staring down at the adorable, trembling rabbit, Jeanne couldn't help but imagine what it would look like if she swapped that soft brown fur for stark white. If she did, the image would look exactly like a certain formidable white rabbit, Buldrokkas'tee's daughter, curled up and guarding her head in a total panic—pfft!
Jeanne instantly bit her lip, desperately forcing down a sudden urge to laugh out loud. Sneering right now would absolutely crush this poor child's fragile spirit. She had to maintain her composure at all costs!
Yet, the gears of imagination were notoriously difficult to stop once they started spinning. Try as she might, Jeanne found herself completely unable to erase the mental picture of a fiercely stoic FrostNova curled into a helpless, defensive ball.
Maybe when I get back to the northern borders, I can consult with the Icefield Yetis, Jeanne plotted internally, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, mischievous light. We could collectively engineer a highly specific tactical scenario that forces their big white rabbit boss into that exact defensive pose. Those chaotic morons would jump at the chance!
And the best part? If the entire operation went up in flames and FrostNova discovered the plot, Jeanne could smoothly dump 100% of the blame onto the overenthusiastic Yeti squadron, keeping her own hands perfectly clean. It was a flawless, absolutely foolproof strategy!
Standing beside her, Theresa immediately caught the sudden, highly suspicious glimmer of anticipation dancing in the young maiden's eyes. It didn't take a mind-reader to figure out that the French girl was currently lost in a deeply unholy train of thought.
As for little Amiya, she was still entirely consumed by the looming dread of the Doctor's narrative punishments, completely forgetting to appeal to the Sarkaz Sovereign for royal protection or intervention.
"Alright, Amiya, there's no need to be frightened anymore," Theresa said gently, dropping to one knee to softly pat the little rabbit's head. Her soothing, melodic voice instantly cut through the child's terror. "I'll make sure the Doctor doesn't tell you any more of those stories. If she even attempts to start one, you come straight to me, and I will personally see to her discipline. How does that sound?"
The warm reassurance finally broke the spell, pulling Amiya back to reality.
"Ah... Miss Theresa? What happened to you?" Amiya blinked, looking up into the Sovereign's face. Her sharp senses immediately registered that something about her beloved leader seemed subtly different today, prompting a wave of childlike concern.
Theresa offered a flawless, comforting smile, dismissing her state as mere exhaustion from a grueling journey. Though Amiya deeply suspected the adults were employing the classic tactic of shielding the children from harsh realities, she lacked the evidence to push further and reluctantly dropped the subject.
Shifting her focus, Amiya's wide eyes landed squarely on Jeanne. She offered the unfamiliar older girl a sweet, remarkably polite smile.
"Hello, you must be Jeanne, right?" Amiya greeted warmly. "I'm Amiya! Over the last few days, I've heard the Doctor muttering your name under her breath so many times. Are you an old friend of hers from before?"
The sheer innocence radiating from the polite little girl was incredibly endearing. Jeanne crouched down, meeting the slender child at eye level. Because of the height difference, the little Cautus had been forced to crane her neck quite far back just to look up at her—a detail that touched Jeanne's heart in a deeply profound way.
Finally... Jeanne celebrated internally, a wave of dramatic relief washing over her soul. After all these years, I have finally encountered someone who actually has to look UP to see my face! This is a monumental milestone! I knew I was still capable of growing!
When she took a mental inventory of her usual social circle, the sheer weight of reality threatened to crush her spirits. Putting aside a literal mountain of a man like Patriot, even Talulah and Alina slightly tower over her. Her physical stature usually forced her to sit squarely within the shorter youth division alongside the likes of Sasha and Eno.
But then, a cold realization struck her mid-celebration: Amiya is literally just a small child...
The metaphorical "S.S. Jeanne's Height Pride" struck a fatal iceberg and sank straight to the bottom of the ocean, leaving a comedy-style cluster of dark, depressing lines visibly hovering over her forehead.
"Uh, well... how should I put this?" Jeanne stammered, awkwardly clearing her throat as she gently stroked the little rabbit's ears. Her natural, maternal warmth made it incredibly easy for the initially timid child to feel comfortable around her. "I suppose you could say your Doctor and I are... mutual acquaintances? It might be a bit premature to call us definitive friends just yet, but at the very least, we certainly aren't bitter enemies with a score to settle."
She paused, her eyes drifting back toward the structural disaster zone before her.
"More importantly, Amiya... do you mind explaining the specific artistic vision behind this room? Why does this place look like a fully coordinated wake for Kal'tsit? Is Babel's standard welcoming protocol always this... conceptually extreme?"
Staring into the ruined administrative office, Jeanne couldn't help but marvel at the terrifying efficiency of the Babel staff. To manage a life-or-death defensive siege through the night and still find the structural manpower to erect a complete, multi-denominational funeral parlor by dawn was a logistical miracle.
The centerpiece of the entire disaster was a truly colossal, black-and-white portrait of Kal'tsit suspended directly from the ceiling, the canvas draping all the way down to touch the concrete floor.
It was a standard, entirely expressionless corporate identification photo of the clinician in her pristine medical coat—a sterile image that felt completely divorced from her living, breathing presence.
Directly beneath the grim banner, sitting right alongside the jars of liquefied Vampire flesh, the Doctor had meticulously arranged a traditional brass censer packed with burning incense, a flickering eternal flame lantern, and an elaborate spread of fresh tribute fruits—apples, pears, and peaches. And right in front of this eastern setup sat a prominent, polished Christian crucifix!
But the absolute madness didn't stop there. As Jeanne scanned the makeshift altar, her eyes caught a bedsheet meticulously inscribed with Buddhist sutras, an ancient prayer bead bracelet, a full set of traditional burial shrouds, multi-layered ceremonial paper horses, paper servants, and a sea of pristine white funeral flowers...
This wasn't just a rush job; this level of specific inventory meant the Doctor had been actively hoarding a comprehensive global funeral kit inside her quarters for months, desperately waiting for the perfect opportunity to deploy it. Those paper horses were far too intricate to be handmade on short notice!
And what kind of unholy, east-meets-west theological fusion is this supposed to be?! Jeanne screamed internally, her mind thoroughly boggled. Are we planning to hire a Taoist priest, a Buddhist monk, or a Christian minister to run the liturgy?
Heck, if you need a literal Holy Maiden, I am standing right here! Or maybe you can search the depths of the Yan to see if there is a multi-classed spiritual prodigy capable of managing a mixed-pantheon service of this magnitude...
Jeanne stood in absolute, stunned silence for a long moment, her face a perfect canvas of pure, unadulterated disbelief as she glanced back at Theresa. Her expression spoke volumes: Your tactician is completely out of her mind.
Even Theresa, who was normally the definition of poise and grace, looked thoroughly rattled by the sheer scale of the display. She had known the Doctor possessed a theatrical streak, but erecting a full-blown mourning exhibition for a living colleague was taking things to an entirely different competitive tier.
"Well... what happened was..." little Amiya offered, her voice small as she tried to reconstruct the timeline for the two bewildered adults. "Last night, during the height of the enemy infiltration, a stray explosive charge accidentally detonated right against the exterior wall of Dr. Kal'tsit's office. When the Doctor saw the breach... and then saw those liquefied puddles of meat not far away... her brain instantly jumped to the conclusion that Dr. Kal'tsit had tragically sacrificed herself on the battlefield..."
Hearing the child's earnest explanation, both Jeanne and Theresa fell into a profound, heavy silence. The sheer, twisted logic of the Doctor's internal thought process was an intellectual labyrinth that no rational mind could ever hope to navigate.
Sensing the thick, awkward atmosphere, Amiya's gaze darted nervously between the two silent adults, opting not to disturb their existential crises.
She had honestly done her absolute best. At that moment, the Doctor had entirely disconnected from reality, and no amount of pleading or logic could break through her manic episode. Left with no other choice, Amiya had simply focused on salvaging whatever loose administrative documents hadn't been compromised by the blast.
"AWOOOOO—OUCH! AAAAAH! YIPE! AWOOOO—"
Suddenly, a series of muffled, incredibly dramatic cries of pain echoed from a distant corridor, sounding remarkably like a rogue operator receiving a master-class physical adjustment.
Amiya's face went entirely pale.
"Oh no, the Doctor!" she gasped, throwing her hands over her ears before sprinting out of the ruined office toward the source of the noise.
She was genuinely, deeply terrified that Dr. Kal'tsit might actually beat the supreme tactician to a literal, permanent pulp this time.