Chapter 410 Uncomfortable
A huge confusion enveloped him. He could not distinguish what those chaotic and intense emotions were. His mind and body were unable to break them down and analyze them. As a result, he only felt a kind of overwhelming confusion that turned him into a rumbling and collapsing sand tower.
He subconsciously tried to find something that could bring it back together, and then he heard his voice completely calm again, even a little cold: "How serious has it developed? What are the symptoms? Have you asked the therapists at Evergreen Academy for treatment? We can try methods other than healing spells. I..."
A pair of warm, dry hands cupped his face, stroking and wiping his eyes with rough fingers. Nova looked at his mentor in surprise, not realizing for a moment why his palms were wet, cold, and hot.
"...I'm fine." He held the old man's hand tightly with his backhand: "It's just some unavoidable physiological reactions. The most important issue now is not my emotions, but yours -"
"My child, you are my most proud student and should know me very well." Delses Rabelais interrupted him rudely.
The old man's expression was grave. "I know what those people say about me behind my back. They're right. The so-called 'prophet' is just a cranky, ungrateful old man. I can't handle wealth and fame, and I don't enjoy the pleasures of life. I just want to teach, do research, and teach those foolish students a lesson."
"White Tower University is simply the most comfortable place I've ever been. Unlike that old owl who's so pretentious, my dream is to die on the podium—don't frown at me." He looked into the student's eyes calmly and calmly. "You know, whether you get sick or not, this is bound to happen sooner or later."
Seeing no one speak, Rabelais snorted in dissatisfaction: "Do you want your teacher to become like Lionel Money? A cowardly, selfish, shameless pest who behaves in a variety of ways just to survive. I have lived a clear conscience for most of my life, and I don't want to become a disaster before I die!"
"...These are two different things. You're trying to confuse the concepts." The black-haired young man whispered, "We can't avoid seeing a doctor. There are healers, potions... There is magic in this world. There must be a way..."
"I'm your teacher, and you, a little brat, are trying to discipline me?" The old man glared at him, "Do you think I haven't tried? But I can still give lectures and continue to teach students. I just don't want to lie in bed doing nothing, waiting to die, taking those useless medicines every day, and seeing those therapists frowning at me—"
The people sent by the ghost to protect him were very respectful to him and would not question his decisions too much. This gave Rabelais an opportunity to find an excuse to go to Evergreen Academy and successfully conceal his illness.
"I understand, teacher." The young man looked at him quietly and sadly.
The feeling of lying on a hospital bed, helplessly waiting for death to come, watching yourself rot bit by bit, and turning into a piece of mindless flesh... is enough to drive the strongest person in the world crazy.
“…I understand.”
Reason told him that he should respect his mentor's strong personal wishes. However, something he couldn't understand made it impossible for him to calmly cross the name of Delos Rabelais from his future plans.
Rabelais frowned, unable to figure out what the other had "understood" or what he had "understood." Their temperaments were, to a certain extent, damnably similar, and neither could convince the other.
"Don't overthink it. My decision has nothing to do with you," the old man said, his face cold and his voice gruff as he added, "If you dare to dwell on this, I won't be able to rest in peace even after I die."
"...Okay." The young man's voice was very soft, as if it was about to dissipate into the air: "I respect your choice."
Rabelais was stunned for a moment, obviously not expecting to get the promise so easily.
"But you have to agree to three conditions." The student stared at him with those smoky gray eyes, adopting the oppressive attitude of a negotiator. "First, you can stay at Baita University to teach, and I will arrange for a top-notch medical team to be stationed there permanently. They will do their best to accommodate your physical condition and your daily work and life—but you must accept treatment and cooperate with the therapist's work."
Before the old man could respond, he heard the other party continue speaking in one breath, as if afraid of being interrupted by him: "Secondly, I hope that Azuka can go to Baita University regularly to give you a physical examination and relieve your pain. You can't just kick him out willfully."
"...Finally." The black-haired young man took a deep breath and whispered, "If things really come to...the final step, please allow me to personally escort you away."
Rabelais frowned, not wanting to make such a fuss. Before he could open his mouth, he heard the student he was most proud of say:
“Please.
“…”
"If you don't agree to me, I will kneel down and hold your legs tightly." The young man actually started to act like a rogue with an expressionless face, shocking the old man so much that his eyes widened and his body leaned back slightly, as if he was meeting this student who had always been cold and weird for the first time.
Seeing that the other party was about to kneel down before him, the old man stood up in frustration, supported the man, and glared at him with anguish: "You, you, you, where did you learn this trick from?!"
Where was he, a good student at his age? He was never good at acting cute or saying nice things, and he was so indifferent that you worried he was being excluded or bullied without even realizing it. Sometimes he was so infuriating, but where was the good student who would listen to his scolding and make him low-sugar cookies?!
While holding the man's arm tightly, he glared fiercely at the culprit who was suspected of corrupting the man.
A certain god showed a somewhat innocent and helpless expression, which made the old man so angry that he couldn't help but snort heavily.
But his student's face was stern, his expression and tone stiff. He didn't seem to be good at "threatening" others in this way. Instead, he seemed to be asking for death. As a result, the old man, who always doted on his students and had a hard mouth but a soft heart, couldn't say a single harsh word to him. Looking at the still red eyes, Rabelais was silent for a while, and finally sighed, giving in.
"Alright, alright, I'll do as you say!" The old man angrily pushed him away, but with very little force: "Stand up straight, you're such a grown man, what's wrong with you!"
Seeing the slightly delighted look on the other person's face, he fumbled for the handle of the chair again and slowly sat back down. He turned away to stare out the window and waved his hand with a hint of exasperation: "I'm going to have dinner and leave tomorrow morning. Are you satisfied? Now both of you get out of here. I'm getting mad just by looking at you!"
Finally, the study door slammed shut, isolating the two worlds inside and outside. The old man sat quietly in his armchair, silently gazing at the sunlight streaming in from the window, which created a clear boundary between light and dark in the room.
When he no longer spoke loudly and vigorously, and no longer waved his cane to try to beat people, people could not help but be surprised to find that this famous theologian had become terribly thin, as if even the thinnest shadow could easily swallow him up.
After a long time, the old man suddenly rubbed his eyes hard with the back of his hand.
…
Elsewhere, the professor returned to his room. With a blank expression, he tore off a piece of letter paper and quickly wrote a few lines. Then, with a whistle at the window, he slipped the urgent message into the mailbox at Crow's Feet, which had arrived at his command. He then wrote several letters in the ghost's name, intending to deliver them to several famous healers that the People's Party had met. Azuka didn't disturb him and helped adjust the spell path while he prepared to use the crystal ball.
While doing all this, the black-haired young man remained calm, almost frighteningly so. He finally stopped, at a loss, when he realized he had already done everything he could. One hand tightly grasped the pen, while the other hand had already been raised to his lips, and he began to bite his fingers.
"Don't bite yourself."
The savior bent down slightly, slowly hugged the person sitting at the table from behind, and gently but firmly grasped his wrists.
He curled his fingers, placed them next to his lover's cold lips, and pressed them gently with an indulgent tone: "If you can't help it, bite me. It's okay."
The other man remained silent for a moment, then suddenly pulled his hand back. The black-haired young man turned around and gestured to him, extending his arm. Azuka was stunned for a moment, then leaned down and hugged him tightly.
The uncapped pen fell to the ground. His nemesis hugged his neck and buried his face deep in his shoulder, without making any sound... but his whole body was shaking uncontrollably, as if he was extremely cold.
Azuka felt the clothing around her neck grow inevitably damp. A tide of sorrow and love flooded the god's chest. Her lover's body slid uncontrollably from the chair, his breathing heavy and rapid, as if his bones had melted from the immense, horrific pain. At this moment, words were the most frail and powerless. The savior could only hold him tighter, deeper, and more firmly.
"Azuka," another person whispered his name. "I'm here," he replied softly, gently stroking the bony, trembling back.
But the other party did not continue to speak, but just quietly rested his forehead on his shoulder, which made him feel sad and tried very hard to calm his breathing.
After a long time, the person in his arms finally made a sound again, and sounded like he had regained his composure.
—Azuka, I feel so bad, he whispered.
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