Jeanne felt entirely targeted. This white-haired strategist under the heavy hood was practically mocking her lack of academic prestige, treating her like someone incapable of processing advanced ideas while relentlessly throwing around industrial buzzwords that sounded like total gibberish.
What a tragedy. I burn with a sudden desire to deliver a swift physical correction right now! But I must hold back. This woman looks so remarkably fragile; there is zero chance she could sustain a single strike from me and remain sitting in that chair. If I apply a fraction too much velocity, I might accidentally send her straight to the afterlife, which would be an absolute disaster...
Listening to the Doctor drone on and on about high-level research, Jeanne stared across the desk with a face that practically screamed her violent intentions. Yet, after weighing the potential structural damage to the room, she firmly suppressed the impulse to strike.
Having survived countless disciplinary encounters with Kal'tsit, the Doctor had developed an almost supernatural intuition regarding imminent physical peril. A sudden, biting chill swept up her spine.
Her immediate instinct was to assume that Kal'tsit had tracking coordinates on her location and was stepping into the room to deliver a swift reprimand. Don't ask why her mind automatically defaulted to the ancient feline, and don't ask how she had cultivated such a flawless defense mechanism—it was a survival instinct forged through absolute blood and tears!
But the moment the Doctor turned her head, reality caught up with her. There was zero chance Kal'tsit would waste her energy hunting her down right now; that hyper-focused feline would infinitely prefer a few hours of sleep over an argument, given that she had been sustaining her vital signs entirely on caffeine for the past week.
Therefore, if the individual radiating this intense, punitive intent wasn't her own resident lynx, there was only one remaining candidate left on the board!
The Doctor snapped back to attention, her eyes locking onto Jeanne. The young Saint was staring back at her with a look that plainly said, I deeply desire to give this person an absolute thrashing, but her physical threshold is simply too pathetic to risk it.
That wasn't even the most terrifying variable in the room. Worse still was little Fafnir, who was perched on Jeanne's lap, her golden eyes gleaming with an intense eagerness as she stared down the Doctor. The young dragon looked as though she were merely waiting for the magical phrase, Fafnir, execute! to launch a catastrophic assault.
"Alright, let's move past the technicalities! You simply need to recognize that this material is incredibly precious, and it possesses a staggering strategic utility for future research into Oripathy and Originium properties! Rest assured, whatever breakthroughs our team unearths down the line, we will share the full spectrum of our findings with you!"
Confronted by these two apex predators who looked ready to terminate her existence, the Doctor scrambled to deploy an immediate diplomatic solution, desperately trying to purchase a pathway to survive the day and see tomorrow's sun.
Her quick pivot proved remarkably effective. The moment Jeanne heard that Babel intended to share the fruits of their intellectual labor with her, the gears in her mind ground to a sudden halt, unable to follow the sudden generosity.
"You intend to share your finalized research data with me? Your team is pouring an immense volume of physical capital and exhausting labor into that pit, yet you are completely willing to hand over the results without a fight?"
Jeanne stared at the Doctor, her skepticism flaring. Even assuming her personal relationship with the leadership was flawless, it shouldn't possess the leverage required to make a major organization freely surrender its proprietary scientific breakthroughs.
This was a massive concession. Once Babel shared that level of classified data, it effectively meant Jeanne held total authorization to publish the findings to the wider world if she so desired.
Jeanne simply couldn't comprehend how the Doctor had successfully managed to convince a faction of notoriously stubborn researchers to ratify a contract that was so intensely unfavorable to their own institution—a compromise that standard academics would normally reject with absolute vehemence.
"Your memory is truly something else! What on earth is occupying the space inside your head? It has barely been any time at all since our initial agreement, yet you have completely wiped the slate clean? How have you managed to survive to adulthood with a cognitive retention span that short?..."
The Doctor's reaction was spectacularly dramatic, her tone overflowing with such intense astonishment that it felt like Jeanne had just articulated an impossible paradox. Her theatrical shock filled the room with a massive, exaggerated energy.
The sheer volume of the Doctor's exasperation made Jeanne feel as though she had just committed an unforgivable cultural faux pas. She tilted her head in mild confusion, waiting for the strategist to lay out the missing puzzle pieces.
"That massive cluster of Originium was your personal property, wasn't it? Our teams are currently executing an extraction campaign on land that you secured, utilizing a raw material that belonged to you. Naturally, the standard protocol dictates that we split the strategic output of the research with the primary provider. Honestly, your long-term memory functions exactly like a shifting sand dune..."
Seeing that Jeanne's thoughts were still completely jammed, the Doctor groaned in mock despair, explaining the situational dynamics as if she were speaking to a child whose cognitive faculties were entirely compromised.
Only then did the realization click into place. Jeanne finally tracked the logic! Had the Doctor not forcefully brought it up, she would have never developed the baseline awareness that the crystalline remnants actually belonged to her inventory.
The core of the issue was that Jeanne had never categorized the geological formation as an asset. In her eyes, the black mineral was merely the discarded scrap material left behind after Fafnir's summoning sequence had reached a successful conclusion—a pile of waste completely devoid of material value.
She had never anticipated that, without a single prompt or demand on her part, the Doctor would proactively safeguard her share of the spoils, going so far as to forcefully remind her of her ownership rights.
"Ah, you mean those old scraps. I simply left the debris behind in the dirt, which typically implies that I have permanently abandoned all sovereign claims to the material. Since your personnel did the heavy lifting to unearth it from the bedrock, I feel the structural value should entirely belong to Babel."
Jeanne offered her perspective with an easy wave of her hand. To her way of thinking, swooping in to claim the rewards of someone else's grueling physical labor over a simple technicality felt distinctly uncharitable.
"Regardless of the logistics, the foundation of the material remains your property, does it not? We established a firm verbal contract during our initial encounter, and Babel has zero intention of pretending our word carries no weight."
The Doctor spoke with absolute gravity, her posture so rigid with professional integrity she might as well have had the words We Maintain Perfect Operational Honesty branded across her forehead. Jeanne half-expected a brilliant aura of holy light to manifest behind her chair.
Faced with this unyielding display of virtue, Jeanne let out a soft sigh and conceded the point, reluctantly accepting a prize that she knew carried a astronomical valuation on the open market.
"There is no need to project this level of reluctance; you look as though we are subjecting you to some grand extortion scheme. Besides, mapping out the biological properties of this dormant shard might truly unlock a definitive cure for Oripathy. Don't tell me that outcome isn't an absolute priority for your own journey as well?"
Seeing Jeanne finally integrate the gift into her plans, the Doctor erupted into a wave of profound joy. Her explosive happiness was so immense it created the bizarre illusion that Babel had somehow swindled Jeanne out of an invaluable treasure rather than the other way around.
The sheer volume of the Doctor's delight left Jeanne feeling a lingering, comical sensation that she had somehow lost the negotiation. She stared at the dense, unyielding contours of the strategist's mask, wishing her eyes could pierce the visor to witness the genuine expression hiding beneath the polymer.
"Since we have settled the matter of the geological shards, let us transition to the real reason you tracking me down across the frontier. What precise crisis requires my direct physical strength? Surely, you didn't mobilize your scouting network just to hand me a piece of glass."
Jeanne settled back into her seat, a knowing smile playing across her features. Hearing the transition, the Doctor adjusted her posture, squaring her shoulders as her entire demeanor shifted into a standard of absolute seriousness.
"We formally petition you to align your forces with our cause. We need to execute a high-velocity campaign to permanently terminate this civil war that has spent years bleeding Kazdel dry, allowing this fractured nation to finally cross the threshold into lasting peace!"
The Doctor rose to her feet, her voice trembling with an intense, revolutionary fervor. To be entirely frank, the level of anxiety gripping her chest was no different from standing before a grand altar ready to deliver a lifelong vow. She kept her eyes locked onto Jeanne, desperately seeking a sign of alignment.
Yet, Jeanne failed to manifest the sudden shock or emotional resonance the Doctor had calculated. She remained perfectly composed in her chair, her fingers casually stroking Fafnir's miniature horns as if the grand geopolitical declaration lacked any capacity to spark her interest.
Watching her placid reaction, the Doctor felt the probability of a successful alliance plummet toward absolute zero. Her spirit suffered a catastrophic drop, tumbling down into a bottomless abyss.
The sheer disappointment felt exactly like peeling back a bride's(?) lace veil on her wedding day, only to discover that the individual standing across from you was actually Kal'tsit's... Mon3tr!
Though, reflecting on that hypothetical scenario for a split second, it carried a rather fascinating charm of its own, didn't it?
As the heavy silence stretched, Jeanne watched the Doctor's grand aura systematically deflate. She exerted every ounce of her internal discipline to keep from bursting into a full-bound laugh, recognizing that showing amusement right after such a passionate manifesto would be an absolute violation of standard etiquette.
"Assuming we formalize a strategic partnership... what is your immediate blueprint for execution?" Jeanne inquired softly, her calm voice slicing through the tension.
The simple question caused a brilliant surge of hope to instantly flood the Doctor's chest once more! It was as if the bridal Mon3tr had magically transformed into a clone of Kal'tsit; a flawless restoration of optimism swept away the lingering dread in a single instant!
"Every single parameter is entirely open for negotiation! The only condition is your willingness to collaborate! Rest assured, our administration will never orchestrate a scheme to betray the allies who stand by our side! You can place absolute faith in Babel's institutional integrity..."
Confronted by this frantic, desperate sales pitch, Jeanne's stoic defense finally collapsed. A bright, musical laugh broke from her lips, the sudden sound instantly freezing the Doctor mid-sentence.
As Jeanne's laughter filled the chaotic office, the crushing weight that had been threatening to permanently fracture the Doctor's sanity was effortlessly lifted away by a giant.
The strategist collapsed back into her administrative chair, her posture completely giving way as she joined in, unleashing a loud, echoing laugh of absolute deliverance.