“Sorry, I forgot to contact them.”
When he said “them,” he meant the magic stone workshop I had hoped to join after graduation.
Magic stones are mysterious minerals mined in this world. Simply speaking, they are stones that allow people to do things akin to magic. The magic stone workshop is a facility that develops new applications for these stones.
“Sorry isn’t quite enough for this situation, you know,” I said, bewildered by the absent-minded professor.
“Well, as an apology…”
“Do you have any other option for me?”
“There’s a workshop that’s perfect for you,” the professor said, unabashedly offering a new suggestion.
“And where might that be?”
“The workshop of a National Academic Doctor!”
In this kingdom, there is a National Academic Doctor system. Currently, four researchers in magic stone engineering hold the title. Three of them serve the king directly as royal advisors. The remaining one owns a workshop, but strangely enough, there’s no buzz or reputation surrounding it.
No one even knows what kind of work is being done there. While working in a National Academic Doctor’s workshop might sound prestigious, researchers often value substance over prestige.
“Are you telling me I have to go there?”
“Exactly. The doctor is looking for an assistant, and I’ve already recommended you.”
“What?”
I was dumbfounded by the professor’s forcible and efficient procedure.
“The doctor is quite pleased. You do realize what would happen if you opposed a National Academic Doctor in this kingdom, don’t you?”
National Academic Doctors occupy the substantial positions of the academic world. Opposing one would mean an automatic end to my career in magic stone research.
“So it’s already been decided. I have no choice but to go.”
“That’s right. Do your best!”
The professor laughed heartily, as if oblivious to the trouble he’d caused. I wanted to interrogate him for hours about why I was in this mess.
After six years of studying magic stone engineering, I had graduated at the top of my class from the National Academy. Despite that, I was at the mercy of my absent-minded professor’s blunder.
All my peers had already secured their positions. Just yesterday, we had shared celebratory drinks at the tavern. They were all headed to their first-choice workshops, and I had been expecting to join mine to pursue research on the healing properties of magic stones. But now, thanks to the professor’s negligence, I was being sent to a workshop I knew nothing about.
“This isn’t some kind of healing-focused workshop, is it?”
“No, it’s a technical workshop, as far as I’ve heard.”
My enthusiasm for research was crushed, and my focus was being forcibly redirected. But I had no choice but to endure it.
“I won’t complain further. Everything was over. But could you tell me what kind of research they’re doing there?”
“I don’t know. That woman never shows up at the academy.”
The professor leaned back in his chair, looking utterly unbothered.
“What kind of person is this doctor?”
“I don’t like her, that’s for sure. Well, you’ll meet her tomorrow, and then you’ll see for yourself.”
The professor handed me a map. A circle marked the location of the doctor’s workshop.
I left the professor’s office.
I would probably never set foot in this place again.
A day had passed, and I had somewhat steeled myself mentally. If this was fate, so be it. I decided to go with the flow.
A woman holding the title of National Academic Doctor must undoubtedly be a person of great experience and knowledge. She was likely an elderly lady, perhaps a white-haired scholar. Since the professor didn’t seem to like her, she might also be rather eccentric.
With such thoughts swirling in my mind, I followed the map toward the marked location. Along the way, a cute blonde-haired girl dashed past me in the same direction.
Perhaps she’s the doctor’s granddaughter, I thought. Even an eccentric old woman would likely dote on an adorable grandchild.
As these musings occupied my mind, I arrived at what seemed to be the destination.
“So, this is the magic stone workshop of a National Academic Doctor, huh?”
The building resembled a massive warehouse. I had envisioned a grand structure befitting such a title, but it was surprisingly simple.
I found a figure in front of the building.
She wasn’t white-haired but had short, golden hair. She didn’t appear eccentric but rather energetic. Not an old lady but a young girl who looked about sixteen or seventeen.
Wait… was this the same girl who passed me earlier?
“Hey, wait! Are you the person coming to be my assistant?”
The girl, slightly out of breath, called out to me.
“I’ve been assigned here starting today. Where is the doctor?”
“The doctor? The doctor is right here.”
The girl puffed out her chest proudly.
This girl, barely out of her teens, is the National Academic Doctor? That couldn’t be right.
“Um, the doctor is…”
“I said it’s me! I am the doctor!”
The girl emphasized each word as if trying to drill it into my head.
“I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Who else here could be the doctor?”
Something didn’t add up. This girl, who hadn’t been waiting at all, was now insisting she was the doctor.
“Sorry, I came here for work, not to play around.”
“This isn’t playing! I’m really the doctor. Sorry I look too young. I’ve worked hard to grow into the role, you know.”
“Are you really the doctor?”
“Yes, really!”
“And you’ve been waiting for me?”
“Of course! I was so excited when I heard you’d be coming that I’ve been looking forward to this day for ages!”
That was definitely a lie. Not something I could believe.
“Then, Doctor, why did you pass me on the road earlier?”
“Aaaah, can’t hear you, can’t hear you!”
The girl clapped her hands over her ears, pretending not to hear my question.
“I’ve always wanted an assistant. But no one at the National Academy seemed to understand my research, so it’s been hard to get someone assigned here. Finally, today, my long-awaited assistant has arrived, and here I am, waiting to greet you!”
It didn’t seem like she was lying about being the doctor. The part about waiting for me, though, was blatantly untrue. More likely, she had been too excited to sleep and ended up oversleeping, barely making it here herself.
If she really was the doctor, I figured it would be best to play along.
“Um, Doctor, I apologize for keeping you waiting. I look forward to working with you.”
I bowed my head to her.
The girl—no, the doctor—grinned from ear to ear.
“Welcome! I’m counting on you, Assistant!”
And thus, my first encounter with the doctor began.
The doctor led me inside the building.
The first thing that caught my eye was two massive gears, interlocked and moving in perfect harmony.
The gears were likely made of steel. Such enormous components, made from iron ore that couldn’t be mined with magic stones, were something I’d never seen in any other magic stone workshop. It was clear at a glance that the National Academic Doctor’s workshop was no ordinary place.
“Hahaha, pretty impressive, right?”
The doctor beamed with pride, gazing at the gears as though they were beloved treasures.
“These gears keep running all the time. They energize all the machinery in this building,” she explained.
A wooden platform was installed halfway up the massive gears, allowing someone to climb up for oiling and maintenance.
The doctor nimbly climbed onto the platform.
“This is my favorite spot,” she declared.
“It’s nice that you like it, but I can see under your skirt from down here.”
“Can you guess what color it is?”
“Light pink.”
“Ding ding ding! Correct!”
She struck a pose with her hands on her hips, emphasizing the view.
It did absolutely nothing for me. The doctor wasn’t remotely my type.
“Stop messing around. Also, that’s a dangerous place to stand.”
“I know, I know. I’m always careful when I’m up here.”
With a light hop, she jumped down from the platform.
“You can’t work on machines dressed like this. I need to change into my work clothes. I always change in the lounge. Come on, follow me.”
We entered the lounge together.
Then, out of nowhere, the doctor started stripping.
Flustered, I quickly exited the room. What on earth was she thinking?
After a while, she emerged, dressed in her work attire.
“Why’d you leave? You can change dress with me!”
She sounded disappointed.
Ignoring her, I reentered the lounge. A set of work clothes for me was neatly laid out on the table.
A considerate touch, I thought.
“The size seems a bit large, but I can roll up the sleeves and pant legs to make it work,” I muttered.
When I came out dressed in the work clothes, the doctor eyed me up and down like she was appraising a product.
“Whoops, I got the size wrong.”
“It’s fine. This will do just fine,” I assured her.
“No way! Baggy clothes are a safety hazard around machinery. They could get caught. That’s why I keep my hair short, too. I’ll order a properly fitting set from the tailor.”
“Understood. I’ll follow your instructions.”
“Good! Since we can’t work on the machines today, let’s just stick to going over their purposes and functions for now.”
The doctor proceeded to give me an overview of the various machines in the building.
After that, with no pressing tasks to attend to, we decided to organize the steel materials used for development.
Together, we carried the heavy steel components.
“So, Assistant, what’s your specialty?”
“I was researching healing applications, particularly antidotes.”
“Gotcha. What about technical knowledge?”
“Almost none, to be honest. My classmate specialized in that area, so I only know bits and pieces from our conversations.”
“Were you close with that classmate?”
“Not just them. I was close with everyone. They were all like a bunch of mischievous friends.”
The doctor seemed unusually interested in my student life. Why?
“Hmm.”
“What about you, Doctor? What was your student life like?”
When I turned the question on her, she burst out laughing.
“Looking at me, do you really think I’ve had a student life? That’s impossible!”
Now that she mentioned it, she did seem far too young for someone of her status.
“I finished studying all the National Academy textbooks by the time I was seven. That caught the attention of the king and the other National Academic Doctors, and they forcibly made me a doctor at ten. So, I never went to school.”
“What about friends or classmates?”
“Never had any. I’ve always been alone.”
Her words carried a trace of loneliness. Being too smart had isolated her, it seemed.
“No need to feel sorry for me. I like being on my own.”
“But you wanted an assistant?”
“It’s not like I wanted someone to talk to. My research had reached a limit I couldn’t overcome alone, so I needed help.”
Still, she talked to me quite a lot. Perhaps she wasn’t fully aware of her own loneliness.
“In any case, I plan to do my best here as your assistant. Please don’t hesitate to teach me everything.”
“Oh, I won’t hold back. I’ll drill it all into you!”
The doctor’s tone lightened. Despite only spending half a day together, it felt like we’d grown closer.
Once we finished carrying all the steel materials, there was nothing else to do, so the day’s work came to an end.
Even though it was still before noon, we took a lunch break.
I had planned to return to town and grab lunch at a restaurant, but to my surprise, the doctor had already prepared lunch for both of us.
How much had she been looking forward to getting an assistant?
The two of us sat on a bench outside the building to eat.
“So, Doctor, what kind of development are you working on right now?”
“Munch, munch, munch.”
Her mouth was so full I couldn’t understand a word.
“What? What are you saying?”
Gulp. “Ah, sorry, sorry. I’m working on a magic stone-based jet engine.”
“A magic stone jet engine? What’s it for?”
“The sky, of course!”
The doctor pointed to the heavens.
“You mean like propeller-driven aircraft? Or is it something else entirely?”
“Completely different. Propeller planes go ‘whirrrrr,’ but a jet engine goes ‘whooooosh.’”
From her sound effects, I deduced it was much faster.
“So, it’s all about speed?”
“Exactly! It’ll fly way faster than any propeller plane.”
“And how far along are you in developing this magic stone jet engine?”
“Hmm… Zero.”
The doctor said this matter-of-factly.
“Zero… as in, nothing?”
“It’s still just an idea. But I have lots of ideas!” she explained defensively, noticing my reaction.
“The most promising one right now is the magic stone turbojet engine. It compresses ether from the air, mixes it with magic stone fuel, and then ejects it. Then…”
I had no idea what she was talking about. It was all over my head.
Noticing my blank stare, the doctor gave me an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, that was a bit complicated. But you’ll understand soon enough, so don’t worry!”
After lunch, the day’s work was officially over.
Tomorrow, the doctor planned to start technical lectures tailored to my lack of knowledge.
The new work attire had arrived. Two weeks had passed since the initial order, and they fit perfectly.
The doctor seemed quite pleased as well, observing me from her favorite spot on the middle platform of her beloved two giant gears.
“Going with black today, I see.”
“Yup! I thought a change of pace might be nice,” she said, twirling slightly to show off.
For some reason, checking the color of her underwear had become part of my daily routine. While one might call it a weird form of communication, it certainly felt unconventional.
“Alright, today’s the long-awaited practical training on the machinery!”
“I’ve gone through the manuals thoroughly, but handling the machines in practice still seems intimidating.”
“You’ll get the hang of it. It’s not that hard once you’re used to it. But remember, it’s dangerous work. You need to be careful not to lose a finger or worse. Safety always comes first when operating machinery. Improving your skills can come later. In the world of craftsmanship, everyone ends up at the same level after five years anyway. Being a quick learner doesn’t count for much in the long run.”
She said this while casually leaning on a drill press, her right hand resting on the table next to the spinning drill bit.
“Doctor, isn’t that dangerous?”
“Haha, I’ve got this! I’m good at staying safe!”
“No, you’re not!”
A loud, gruff voice cut through the air.
Startled, I turned to see a burly man, who looked like a seasoned craftsman, entering the workshop.
“Oh, it’s Master!”
The doctor greeted him cheerfully, but the man—whom she had called Master—stood there, arms crossed, glaring at her.
“I’ve told you countless times not to forget the basics!”
“Sorry!” The doctor apologized, sounding more like a scolded child than a renowned academic.
They really do seem like a parent and child.
“This is my Master,” she explained to me. “He taught me how to use all the machinery. Since I felt I couldn’t manage this alone, I asked him to help out.”
“I see. Nice to meet you, Master,” I said, bowing slightly.
“So, you’re the new assistant? I’m the one who taught this kid how to handle machines in a short time. I’ll do the same for you, so be ready!”
“I’ll do my best!”
I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated by the stern-looking Master. I had no idea what kind of training awaited me, but I resolved to face it head-on—or at least, I tried to sound like I would.
“Good! That’s the spirit. We’ll work you hard!”
Taking my words at face value, the Master seemed raring to go.
He started by demonstrating the basics, showing me how to operate the drill press, lathe, grinder, and more. Then, he let me try my hand at using each machine under his guidance.
“Well, that’s total beginner.”
“Worse than when I first started,” the doctor chimed in, grinning mischievously.
Their harsh comments stung.
“I’ve never done anything technical before,” I muttered in defense.
“Don’t let it get to you,” the Master said. “It’s just the beginning.”
Despite his bluntness, he seemed like a straightforward person with a good heart.
“What do you think, Master? Will they pick it up quickly? I really want to start making something soon,” the doctor asked impatiently.
“Not a chance. Forcing a beginner to work on something advanced is just asking for trouble.”
“Aw, guess we’ll just have to take it slow,” the doctor sighed.
“Sorry for being so inexperienced,” I said, bowing my head slightly.
This was a moment to endure and persevere.
“Don’t worry about it,” the doctor said gently, perhaps realizing she’d pushed too hard.
“You’re young, and you’ve got time,” the Master added. “Making something great takes patience and effort.”
His words resonated deeply with me. It was a humbling day, but one that reminded me of the value of steady progress.
From that point on, my daily routine involved handling and maintaining machinery—and, inevitably, glimpsing the doctor’s underwear.
Time flew by, and before I knew it, a month had passed. The fatigue was starting to catch up with me, so at the doctor’s suggestion, we decided to spend an entire day relaxing at Central Plaza.
Central Plaza was the largest park in the capital, and coincidentally, the Flower Festival was in full swing. The flowerbeds were bursting with vibrant colors and shapes, creating a truly breathtaking sight.
The doctor, apparently not well-versed in flowers, seemed utterly fascinated by the variety of hues and forms.
“The flowers are smiling,” she said suddenly.
“Smiling? Don’t you mean blooming?” I asked, perplexed.
“Nope, they’re smiling—big, happy grins.”
Does the doctor have a romantic side?
“Oh! This flower looks angry!”
I take it back.
“And that one’s crying. Oh, and this one’s screaming!”
I gave up trying to understand her mind.
To me, all the flowers were simply vibrant, beautiful, and charming. Flowers with emotions? That was a stretch. What kind of mental framework did the doctor have?
“They’re all so pretty, but their emotions are all over the place,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, sure…” I replied, playing along because I had no other choice.
After we finished wandering through the flowerbeds, we encountered someone walking a Vissel on our way back.
A Vissel is a gentle, obedient animal native to a specific country, prized as a pet. They’re so rare and valuable that only upper-class nobles or the fabulously wealthy could afford to own one.
Suddenly, the doctor clung tightly to my left arm.
“That Vissel is naked! How can it not be embarrassed?”
Her remark caught me completely off guard.
“Uh… Vissels are normally naked. They’re animals.”
“It’s wearing a collar! How humiliating!”
“Well, it’s a pet…”
“It’s being pulled by a leash! Poor thing!”
“It’s just being taken for a walk by its owner…”
The doctor continued to mutter bizarre things while staring at the Vissel and its owner. Naturally, the owner glanced at us with suspicion as we passed each other.
“Now they’re looking at us. They probably think you’re some kind of weirdo,” I whispered.
“Does that owner have some sort of… special relationship with the Vissel? Is that it? Is that what’s going on?”
Yep. She’s a true weirdo.
That day at Central Plaza with the doctor turned out to be one I would never forget.
The time had finally come to begin manufacturing one of the key components of the magic stone jet engine. That was the compressor.
I still lacked the technical skills to take on critical tasks, so I could only assist with peripheral work. Meanwhile, the doctor had already settled on a design among her many ideas and was now bringing it to life.
She operated a large lathe with deft precision right beside the massive spinning gears. Behind her, the Master stood with his arms crossed, silently observing. He was likely concerned about the young doctor, despite her expertise.
The doctor occasionally glanced at her notebook while working. It was probably filled with detailed schematics and notes about the compressor mechanism. Carefully and methodically, she shaped the material, checking her progress at every step.
Her level of focus was extraordinary. The usual energetic and cheerful doctor was nowhere to be seen—she was entirely serious and absorbed in her work.
After about ten uninterrupted hours, the Master called for a stop. Continuing any longer could lead to fatigue-induced mistakes. For now, that marked the end of the day’s work.
At the signal to stop, the doctor seemed to relax, her energy visibly drained.
I handed her a drink and a small, easy-to-eat meat and salad sandwich. I tore off a piece and held it out to her.
“Here, say ‘ahh.’”
“Ahh.”
Like a child, the doctor obediently opened her mouth, and I popped the piece of bread in.
While chewing, she gazed at the partially constructed compressor. It was still far from complete. Nearby, the Master scrutinized the steel block that was destined to become the compressor.
“Munch, munch. Master, how long do you think it’ll take to finish this?”
“At this pace, about a week. But you’re pushing it too hard. You’d do better to slow down and focus on precision. That way, you’re more likely to get it right.”
“Got it. Let’s aim for ten days, then.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I’m so excited to see this take shape into a real compressor!” The doctor’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
“Let’s hope it works out. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like when it’s done,” I said honestly. My imagination wasn’t advanced enough to envision the final design.
“Here, take a look,” the doctor said, opening her notebook and showing me the sketches.
I leaned in close, shoulder to shoulder, to get a better look.
“This… this looks incredibly complex.”
“Not really. Out of all the ideas I’ve considered, this one’s the simplest.”
She flipped through the pages to show me other designs.
“These all look insanely difficult to build.”
“Right? That’s why I chose this one—it’s the easiest and most reliable for compressing air.”
“You came up with all of these?”
“Yup. And there are even more compressor ideas floating around in my head. It’s always tough deciding which ones to pursue.”
To me, it seemed like a luxurious problem to have. I couldn’t fathom how her brain worked.
“Once I’ve shaped it on the lathe, I’ll finish it using the other machines,” she said, her mind already busy planning the next steps.
The doctor’s thoughts were fully occupied with the challenges ahead.
Finally, the compressor was complete.
The doctor, overwhelmed with joy, leaped into the air, arms and legs spread wide like a star.
And then she promptly fell over. Clearly, she hadn’t planned the landing.
“It’s finally come to life,” I said, feeling a surge of emotion.
“We’re not done yet! We still need to build the measuring device to test if it can actually compress properly,” the doctor replied, her excitement tempered by her usual focus on the next steps.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” a familiar voice interjected.
It was the Master, who had somehow appeared in the workshop without us noticing.
“Oh, Master!”
“I had some free time, so I made the measuring device,” he said, as casually as if it were an afterthought.
For someone of his skill, he was likely swamped with work, but you wouldn’t know it from his words.
“Master~! Thank you so much!” The doctor looked like she was about to cry as she expressed her gratitude.
“Well, I just felt like making something after watching you work so hard.”
In truth, he was probably worried about the doctor and wanted to help in any way he could. But his response was classic Master: straightforward and manly.
We wasted no time in using the measuring device to test the compressor’s performance.
“Looks pretty good,” the Master remarked, watching the meter as it displayed the results.
“Hmm, it’s a little below what I’d hoped for,” the doctor said, frowning slightly.
“Is it not performing well?” I asked, concerned.
“It’s above the target values, so it’s not bad, but I had expected it to perform even better. I’m debating whether to push it further.”
“The precision here is slightly off,” the Master said, pointing to a specific area. “If you refine this part, the performance might improve.”
I couldn’t tell the difference at all, but the doctor nodded, her expression lighting up with determination.
“You’re right. That could be it. I’ll polish it again and see.”
Without hesitation, the doctor set up the compressor on the machinery and began refining the indicated area, her small frame moving with purpose and precision.
“Let’s hope this works,” I said, watching her work.
“It will,” the Master said confidently. “She’ll make it happen.”
The two of us stood back, silently observing as the doctor threw herself into the task, meticulously improving the precision of the flawed area and other sections of the compressor.
Once the adjustments were complete, we mounted the refined compressor back onto the measuring device for another test.
“The meter’s gone up!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement.
“Yep, it’s looking good. I’m glad I did it. Thanks for pointing it out, Master.”
“I just said what I noticed. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal!” The doctor replied with a grin, clearly grateful.
It was heartwarming to see the mutual respect and care between the doctor and the Master.
Eventually, a crucial component of the magic stone turbojet engine had taken form.
The magic stone turbojet engine had progressed to the fourth stage, with the third stage mechanism recently completed.
Each time a stage was finished, the doctor would leap into the air in her signature star-shaped jump, only to inevitably fall on landing. Watching her antics always brought a smile to my face, even though I hadn’t contributed much to the progress.
By now, the Master had become a regular presence in the workshop, appearing as naturally as if he were part of the equipment itself.
One day, while the doctor was intently working on the fourth stage mechanism, deeply engrossed in her notebook, a man unfamiliar to me entered the workshop.
“Good day, Doctor,” he greeted her.
“Who’re you?” She replied, barely glancing up.
“I’m an assistant professor at the National Academy. I have something I’d like to bring to your attention.”
The doctor paused her work and turned to see him, curiosity written on her face.
“And what might that be?”
“It’s about a certain troublesome professor…”
The assistant professor’s demeanor suggested he was uncomfortable discussing the matter here.
“Perhaps we should continue this in the lounge?” I suggested, sensing his hesitation.
The doctor seemed to agree. “Sure, let’s head to the lounge.”
“Thank you,” the man replied.
Once in the lounge, the doctor and I sat on a sofa opposite the assistant professor, who began explaining the situation. He claimed that a certain professor, whom he referred to as “the bad professor,” was spreading harmful rumors about the doctor.
“Is that true?” I asked, my concern for the doctor overriding my usual restraint.
“Yes, it’s true. I’ve investigated the matter,” he said with a calm certainty.
“Hmm,” the doctor responded, her reaction ambiguous, as though she weren’t particularly invested.
“Furthermore,” the assistant professor continued, “my own supervisor, a good professor, has also been targeted by the bad professor’s rumors. I came here hoping you would cooperate with us to dispel these falsehoods and protect the Academy.”
“Ah, I see,” the doctor said, still detached, as though discussing someone else’s problem.
“Would you help us? Together, we can protect the Academy from the bad professor’s influence.” His tone grew more passionate, but the doctor remained nonchalant.
“I’ll think about it,” she said firmly, leaving no room for further discussion.
Her response surprised me. Why would she leave harmful rumors unchecked?
“Think about it? Are you sure that’s wise?” the assistant professor pressed.
“Yes, and until you hear from me, you don’t need to return,” she said, her tone colder than usual.
The assistant professor looked taken aback but eventually stood, bowing slightly as he left. “Understood. I’ll await your contact, Doctor.”
After he left, I couldn’t help but voice my concern. “Doctor, this could be serious. If the rumors spread, it could damage your reputation.”
“I know. That’s why I plan to speak with the bad professor directly,” she said matter-of-factly, catching me off guard.
“Speak with the bad professor? Don’t you believe the assistant professor? He said he investigated and confirmed it.”
“No, I don’t believe him. He’s too smooth-talking and just clever enough to be dangerous.”
I was baffled. What did she mean by “just clever enough”?
Without another word, the doctor began changing into her regular clothes. Embarrassed, I quickly left the room.
Once we were both ready, we headed to the National Academy to confront the so-called bad professor.
In his research lab, we found the professor alone, engrossed in a textbook.
“Long time no see,” the doctor greeted him casually.
“Well, if it isn’t the esteemed Doctor. What brings you here?” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I’ll get straight to the point. What’s this about you spreading bad rumors about me?”
“Rumors? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You haven’t said anything bad about me?”
“Nothing comes to mind,” he said calmly, though a bit perplexed.
“Do you hold a grudge against me or anything?”
“Not at all. I don’t care about you one way or the other.”
“Have you ever talked about me?”
“Once, when I criticized your research years ago for having some errors.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s all. Nothing else.”
The professor seemed confused but genuine.
“Got it. That makes sense. Thanks for clarifying,” the doctor said, her mood brightening as if a weight had been lifted.
Before leaving, the professor added, “Recently, the assistant professor asked me about your old research. I mentioned the same critique then.”
That must have been the “investigation” he referred to.
We left the Academy and sat on a bench in Central Plaza to process what had happened.
“So, what do you think of the bad professor?” The doctor asked me.
“He seems blunt and socially inept, but not malicious. If anything, he comes across as honest and principled.”
“I agree. But the assistant professor doesn’t see it that way.”
“Why would he lie about something that could be so easily disproven?”
“He wasn’t lying. To him, it’s the truth. That’s what happens with people who are ‘just clever enough.’”
“What does that even mean?”
“They’re people who think critically and form their own opinions”
“That’s good things.”
“But they don’t realize their biases. Their self-assuredness blinds them to the possibility that they might be wrong. Someone as truly intelligent like me can consider the facts objectively without any problem. But the world is full of people who are just smart enough to be self-satisfied with their intelligence, yet still look at the facts through a biased lens.”
“Do you think I am biased?”
“You’re average. Flat. Neutral.”
Harsh. I was the top graduate of the National Academy, after all.
“In the end, the bad professor turned out to be good,” the doctor concluded.
“And the good professor?”
“The good professor is probably the bad one. Especially if they’re using an assistant like that.”
“Exactly. The so-called good professor was likely fighting with the bad professor and wanted to use me to get rid of them. I don’t like being used, so it’s no longer our concern.”
“That’s for the best. It’s not normal to involve ourselves in conflicts that have nothing to do with us.”
“Assistant, you really get it. But you know, the good professor and the assistant are smooth talkers, and they seem to hold a strong position at the Academy. I bet a lot of people will be fooled by them.”
Her words left me with a bad feeling.
And soon, her prediction came true.
The Master brought us the news. The bad professor had been ousted from the National Academy. The good professor, along with the assistant and a group of other professors, had successfully driven the bad professor out, removing a thorn in their side.
That entire day, the doctor didn’t display any outward signs of irritation, but she worked in complete silence. Her quiet determination made it clear that anger was boiling inside her.
In the aftermath, the good professor and their group consolidated their power within the Academy, cementing their dominance over its operations.
“Why don’t you try making this part, Assistant?”
The doctor pointed to a section of the fourth-stage mechanism, one that seemed manageable for a beginner.
“Are you sure? What if I mess it up…?”
“Don’t worry about that. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll just start over.”
Her kindness made me hesitate even more. I couldn’t bring myself to risk wasting her hard work.
“I think I’ll pass,” I said, reluctant.
“Not acceptable. I want this to be something we build together.”
She wanted to make me a part of the magic stone turbojet engine project, to treat me as a true collaborator.
How kindhearted could she be?
Her faith in me lit a spark of determination. I resolved to accept her request.
“Alright, I’ll do it. Please let me try. I’ll make sure it succeeds!”
“That’s the spirit! Life is all about taking the plunge.”
For some reason, this turned into a life lesson.
I immediately mounted the raw steel block onto the lathe and began working. My skills were still those of a novice, but if I couldn’t handle something like this, I wouldn’t progress as a technician.
I could feel the doctor’s focused gaze on my back as I worked. She always took things seriously.
After completing the task, I turned to her.
“How does it look?”
“Well, let’s say it’s a pass. For now.”
“For now…?”
“Yeah, for now. As you get better, you’ll be able to make it look cleaner and more refined. From now on, try to keep aesthetics in mind when you work.”
“Aesthetics? Do techniques really need to look beautiful?”
“Most people wouldn’t notice, but you’d know if it’s beautiful. And when you focus on that, it becomes more fun. It’s something the Master taught me.”
“Speaking of the Master, he hasn’t been around lately. Is something wrong?”
“His wife’s been ill, so he’s been taking care of her.”
“I didn’t know he was married. That’s surprising.”
“That’s what surprises you?” The doctor laughed.
“Turns out, he’s really popular with female engineers. They say his work is full of heart.”
“People aren’t always what they seem. Who knows, maybe the doctor has admirers too.”
“No way. I don’t have any fans.”
“Yeah, you’re right. No way, not a chance.”
The doctor’s expression darkened, a rare sight.
Lately, we’d grown close enough that I felt comfortable teasing her like this.
The fourth-stage mechanism was almost complete. Once it was finished, only the final stage would remain. After combining all the components, the magic stone turbojet engine would finally take shape.
“Alright, your turn’s over. I’ll handle the rest,” she said, stepping in to finish the task.
Two days later, the fourth-stage mechanism was complete.
The fifth and final stage of the magic stone turbojet engine remained stuck at the concept phase.
The doctor, perched on her favorite spot atop the two interlocked gears, was poring over her notebook and letting out occasional frustrated sighs.
From below, I watched her intently. White, today. That seemed to have become a strange habit of mine.
“Assistant, got a moment?”
Called upon, I climbed up to join her on the platform.
“What do you think of this section here?”
She showed one of the design options for the fifth-stage mechanism, sketched in her notebook.
“You’re asking me? I don’t think I can help. This is way out of my depth.”
“I just want your honest opinion. Sometimes hearing a different perspective can help.”
Leaning closer, I peered over her shoulder to examine the design.
“Honestly, it’s too complex for me to make sense of.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. I’ve been trying to simplify this part, but nothing good’s coming to me.”
So that was the issue.
“Still, thanks. Just talking helps.”
With my role in the conversation over, I jumped back down from the platform. Once again, I found myself gazing up at the doctor with her white pants.
That day ended with nothing but brainstorming for the fifth stage. When it was time to wrap up, I left for home, but the doctor chose to stay behind and continue working.
The next morning, as I made my usual commute to the workshop, I noticed a commotion near the building.
A crowd had gathered, and as I approached, I realized they were guards. One of them spotted me and ran over.
“Do you work here?”
“Yes. Did something happen?”
“There’s been an accident. The doctor… has passed away.”
My mind blanked.
“What are you saying? An accident?”
“The doctor was found caught in the gears of the workshop’s machinery,” he explained grimly.
“No, that’s impossible! The doctor… no!”
I tried to push past the guards to enter the workshop, but more of them restrained me, eventually tying me up as I struggled against them.
“Where is she?! Where’s the doctor?!”
The captain of the guard arrived. His expression somber as he addressed me.
“I’m sorry, but you cannot see her. Please, remember her as she was—alive and well.”
“What are you talking about? She’s still in there, isn’t she? Let me see her!”
“I can’t allow that. Please, calm down.”
“I am calm! Just let me see her!”
“It’s for your own good,” the captain said firmly. “The memories you hold are precious. Please cherish them.”
It hit me then. The doctor’s body must have been… unrecognizable.
Memories of her flooded my mind: her bright smile, her golden hair fluttering in the breeze, her enthusiasm for every project she tackled.
But now, that vibrant presence was gone.
I couldn’t accept it. I refused to accept it.
“Untie me! I need to see her!”
“You can’t. Take him to the guard post,” the captain ordered.
The captain ordered the guards to tie me up and escort me to the guard post.
“Take some time to cool your head,” one of them said, seating me on a chair under watch.
I was in shock, unable to process what was happening.
The doctor needed me. She always needed me. So why was I here, tied up and unable to do anything?
The absurdity of it all was unbearable. My mind swirled with thoughts of the doctor—her kindness, her passion, her dreams.
What could I do for her?
Together, we had worked to create the magic stone turbojet engine. That had been my purpose, my goal. Could it really end like this?
“Doctor, what should I do? What can I do to live up to your expectations?”
The silence of the guard post offered no answers.
It wasn’t until midday that the captain returned.
“The accident investigation is complete. You will be allowed to see the doctor, but only in her coffin,” he said.
“A coffin? That’s not the doctor!” I protested.
“I understand your grief, but you must accept this. If you care for her memory, it is for the best.”
His words crushed me. The flow of time, which had always been bright and lively with the doctor, had come to a dead halt.
“Does this mean I’ll never see her again?”
“I’m afraid so,” the captain confirmed.
The following day, the doctor’s funeral was held.
I attended, but the Master was nowhere to be seen. Rumors said he had turned to drink, unable to face the loss.
As the coffin was lowered into the ground and earth was slowly shoveled over it, I saw her parents crying and clinging to each other. I stood in silence, bearing witness to the end of someone so vibrant and full of life.
In the days that followed, I lived like a shell of my former self. I let my beard grow, my hair became unkempt, and I stayed in the same clothes for days. I couldn’t summon the energy to do anything.
Six days after the accident, I was granted permission to return to the workshop to retrieve the doctor’s belongings.
The workshop was empty. On the worktable lay her possessions: familiar, everyday items that now felt profoundly significant.
Amid the belongings was her notebook.
I flipped through it, finding intricate designs for mechanisms that I couldn’t begin to comprehend. Her brilliance was laid bare on every page, a testament to her genius.
On one page, a scribbled note caught my eye:
“Today, my assistant arrived. Someone close to me who calls me ‘Doctor.’ I’m so happy.”
That was her first impression of me. Her cheerful grin that day finally made sense.
One page was torn, but luckily, it had been blank. Her ideas were intact.
As I leafed through the notebook, it became clear: my current knowledge wasn’t enough to grasp even the basics of her designs.
I realized what I had to do. I needed to return to the National Academy, to study until I could stand at her level.
If I didn’t, her brilliance would remain buried—forgotten, like her resting place in the ground. I couldn’t let that happen.
I went back to the Academy and sought out the professor I had sworn never to face again. Though pompous and now Yes-man of the “good professor’s” groups, he allowed me to establish a workspace.
And so, my journey began.
Two years had passed since I returned to the National Academy.
Driven by an obsession to honor the doctor’s legacy, I poured myself into my studies, forgetting sleep and food. My efforts paid off—I had become one of the most knowledgeable individuals on campus.
Slowly but surely, I began to grasp fragments of the intricate mechanisms drawn in the doctor’s notebook.
The Academy, however, had transformed. The so-called “good professor” and their entourage now dominated the institution. But I had no interest in their politics or power plays. I ignored their greetings and focused solely on my research.
Occasionally, I would visit the doctor’s magic stone workshop to hone my technical skills. The Master, however, had disappeared from my life entirely.
One day, an unexpected announcement came from the professor. I was to be promoted from researcher to professor.
At first, I suspected it was a ploy by the “good professor’s” faction, but I was wrong.
Apparently, word of my knowledge had reached the ears of the king, who had personally endorsed my promotion.
It was an honor, to be sure, but it brought me no joy. Those emotions had been buried alongside the doctor’s coffin.
Even on the day I received my appointment, I continued my research as usual, poring over the doctor’s notebook. Every idea in it, no matter how outlandish it seemed, was grounded in a logic that only a genius like her could conceive.
She had once told me that the notebook contained only her strongest ideas, implying that there were countless more left unexplored in her mind.
I was still nowhere near her level, but understanding even a fraction of her brilliance felt like an achievement in itself.
Later, I received news that I would be assigned an assistant. To my astonishment, the assistant was not a typical student but the kingdom’s Third Princess. The professor who informed me advised caution, warning me to avoid any missteps.
Apparently, my promotion had been necessary to justify granting me such a distinguished assistant.
We arranged to meet at the doctor’s magic stone workshop. I stood at the entrance, waiting for her arrival.
A young woman approached.
Her hair was cut even shorter than the doctor’s, a silvery hue that added to her commanding presence. She had an air of elegance tempered by determination.
Without revealing her identity, she began discussing her research background.
“I specialized in engines for agricultural machinery at the Academy. When I heard about your work on jet engines, I couldn’t resist applying to be your assistant,” she explained enthusiastically.
“There was no program for agricultural machinery engines at the Academy,” I replied.
Her expression froze in surprise.
“Well, no matter. Welcome aboard, Third Princess.”
“You knew?” she admitted, resigned.
“The truth is, I’ve been receiving training in technical magic stone research from the three royal court scholars. I also learned about the jet engine project from them.”
“I see. Then I should be honest with you as well. The development of the jet engine is not my original work—it is based entirely on the ideas of a brilliant researcher who has passed away. My role is simply to recreate what she envisioned. I’m not as remarkable a researcher as people might think.”
“But I’ve heard you are the most knowledgeable person at the National Academy,” the Third Princess replied, her tone earnest.
“The doctor was far more knowledgeable. I can’t even compare to her brilliance.”
“I understand. Even so, I wish to assist you. As a researcher, I want to dedicate my life to pursuing my curiosity and advancing knowledge.”
“In that case, I gladly welcome you aboard, Assistant.”
“Thank you! I look forward to working with you,” she said with a determined smile.
To gauge her technical skills, I decided to test her proficiency with the workshop’s machinery.
Since the doctor’s passing, the twin gears that powered the facility had remained largely inactive except during my rare visits. I started them up, filling the workshop with the familiar hum of machinery. It felt as though the once-dormant space had come back to life.
“Try using the lathe to make anything you like,” I instructed.
“Yes, Professor,” she replied, her enthusiasm tempered by a calm seriousness.
After some time, she presented her work.
The results were impeccable—precisely machined and aesthetically refined. Even I could tell her craftsmanship was superior to my own.
“Well… not bad,” I said, attempting to mask my astonishment.
“Not bad? I’ll strive to do better,” she said earnestly.
“We’ll test your skills on the other machines as well.”
“Understood!”
By the end of the day, it was clear. She possessed the skills of a seasoned professional. It was humbling, but also reassuring. I realized it would be best to leave much of the fabrication work in her capable hands.
“I now have a clear picture of your abilities,” I told her. “However, until I can fully comprehend the mechanisms the doctor designed, there won’t be much use for the machinery. For now, we’ll focus on research at the Academy. Are you alright with that?”
“Of course. I’m eager to learn more about jet engines and contribute however I can.”
And so, as a newly appointed professor, I began this new chapter of research with the Third Princess as my assistant. Together, we would honor the doctor’s legacy and continue advancing the magic stone turbojet engine project, turning her dreams into reality.
Today was a special day for me.
It was the day of the Flower Festival, the same festival I had once attended with the doctor at Central Plaza. Every year since her passing, I’ve made it a point to visit the festival.
This year, I brought my assistant along.
The flowerbeds around the plaza were bursting with vibrant, colorful blooms, their beauty drawing people of all walks of life.
“The flowers are smiling again this year,” I said, nostalgia for the doctor filling my heart.
“Smiling?” my assistant asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
“Yes, smiling. Some are even angry, crying, or shouting.”
“I can see the smiling part, but angry or crying? And shouting? Do you think the flowers have something they want to say?”
“Uh…” Her question caught me off guard. She was absolutely right. I had simply repeated the doctor’s words, assuming her perspective as my own. Regret washed over me.
“Could you explain what you mean? I’d like to understand,” she said, her curiosity piqued.
“Well, um… it’s just a feeling, I suppose?” I tried to brush it off, though it was far from convincing.
“A feeling, you say,” she replied, her expression skeptical but willing to let it slide.
“Never mind that. Isn’t it refreshing to see something so beautiful?”
“Yes, it is. Spending all my time in the lab, I’d forgotten how nice it feels to get out and see the world,” she admitted, her tone lightening.
Together, we gazed at the flowerbeds and the lively crowd. Families, couples, and elderly pairs filled the plaza, their laughter and chatter blending with the beauty of the flowers. The festival felt like a masterpiece, completed only by the mingling of flowers and people.
“This is my first time at the Flower Festival,” my assistant confessed. “As you know, my upbringing didn’t allow for such things. I never imagined it would be this beautiful.”
Her genuine wonder brought a faint warmth to my heart, melting away a piece of the cold emptiness left by the doctor’s absence. Perhaps, just perhaps, the hole in my heart was beginning to heal.
On our way back, we encountered a wealthy man leading a Vissel.
My assistant, startled, quickly hid behind me. Realizing he wasn’t an aristocrat of high rank, she relaxed and returned to my side.
“A Vissel. It’s been a while since I last saw one—probably the last time I came here with the doctor,” I mused.
“Are Vissels rare?” she asked innocently.
“Aren’t they? Aren’t they rare, Vissels?” I replied, mimicking her phrasing.
She hesitated before admitting, “We have fourteen of them at home…”
“Fourteen?!”
I couldn’t hide my astonishment. Of course, as a royal, her family likely received them as gifts or bred them over time.
“Well… I guess that’s a perspective to keep in mind. If we can’t think outside the box, we’ll never catch up to the doctor’s genius,” I said, trying to spin it as a lesson in creative thinking.
“That’s quite a leap in logic, but sure, let’s go with that,” she replied, stifling a laugh.
Once we returned to the National Academy, we planned to discuss the theories behind the mechanisms in the doctor’s notebook.
Her enthusiasm for research had been an enormous help. Discussions with her often brought clarity to the doctor’s ideas, and sometimes, she offered perspectives I hadn’t considered.
There’s no doubt that having her here has greatly accelerated our progress in deciphering the doctor’s notebook.
Every day, my assistant and I discuss the mechanisms sketched in the doctor’s notebook. Lunchtime was no exception. We often ate in the lounge, seated across from each other.
Because of her royal background, her family’s maids prepared lunch for both of us, a luxury I was grateful for.
Today was no different. I sat with the notebook in one hand, taking bites of bread with the other. It was admittedly bad manners, but the habit had become second nature.
“Professor, are you still in love with the doctor?”
The sudden question caught me completely off guard.
“What? No! What are you talking about?”
“But you never let go of that notebook, even during meals. I know what that means—it’s love.”
“I’m not doing this out of love. I just don’t want the doctor’s achievements to be forgotten or left incomplete,” I protested.
“I think you’re just unaware of it. You’re in love with the doctor, Professor. There’s no other way to explain why you can’t stop thinking about her.”
Her argument was strangely logical, yet completely off the mark.
“The doctor was important to me, but I never felt that way about her. She wasn’t my type, for one.”
“Then what is your type? I bet it’s someone like the doctor.”
“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. If I had to choose, I’d say someone like you—serious and straightforward. The doctor was a bit too playful and mischievous. And honestly, there was an age gap that made her more of a mentor figure than anything else.”
“Eh?”
Her startled reaction puzzled me. Had I said something odd?
“I worked with the doctor on developing the magic stone turbojet engine. Now that she’s gone, I feel compelled to complete it—not because of love, but because I owe it to her and myself to see it through.”
She seemed distracted, her thoughts elsewhere.
“Assistant?”
“Ah, yes? Did you say something?”
“You were spacing out. Everything okay?”
“Was I? Oh, no, I’m fine.”
“Really? You dropped your bread on the table and didn’t even notice.”
“What? Oh no!” She quickly picked it up, flustered.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I suppose I wasn’t paying attention,” she admitted, looking slightly dejected.
“You’ve been working hard. Maybe you’re a little burnt out. But honestly, having you here has been a huge help to me.”
“Do you really think so? I’ve been so absorbed in the work that I wasn’t sure if I was making a difference.”
“You definitely are. Understanding all the mechanisms in the doctor’s notebook up to the third stage wouldn’t have been possible without your insights. You’ve helped me see things I never would have thought of on my own.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve sometimes worried that I might be holding you back instead.”
“Far from it. If anything, you’ve propelled our research forward. I’m genuinely grateful for your contributions.”
“You’re too kind, Professor,” she said with a shy smile.
“Not kind—just honest. Though I have to say, your theory about me being in love with the doctor is quite imaginative.”
“Do you think so? My intuition is usually pretty accurate.”
“Even the best intuitions are wrong sometimes. This was one of those times,” I replied playfully.
“Too bad,” she said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t particularly upset. If anything, she seemed to have enjoyed the conversation.
“Alright, let’s get back to work. The doctor’s fourth-stage mechanism is waiting for us this afternoon.”
“Yes, let’s do our best!”
And with that, my assistant and I resumed our shared mission with a shared sense of purpose.
We successfully understood the doctor’s fourth-stage mechanism. Only the fifth and final stage remained. With the design phase nearing its end, we were ready to move into manufacturing.
To clear my mind before the challenges ahead, I decided to take a stroll through Central Plaza with my assistant.
As we walked, we stumbled upon a familiar figure.
There, sitting on the edge of a flowerbed, was the Master. He looked utterly worn out, drinking heavily in broad daylight.
We stopped and watched him for a moment. Noticing us, he raised his head.
“Hey, how are you doing, assistant?” he slurred.
“The professor is no longer an assistant. I’m the professor’s assistant now,” my assistant snapped back, her voice sharp.
“Ah, is that so? You’ve climbed the ladder, eh?” the Master said, his tone indifferent.\
“What are you doing here, drinking at this hour? Don’t you have work?” I asked, concerned for his well-being.
“Work? Haven’t done a lick of it since the doctor passed. What’s the point? Don’t you get it?”
“The professor has been continuing the doctor’s research to honor her legacy. Unlike you,” my assistant retorted, clearly unimpressed by his defeatist attitude.
“Research? What research?”
“We’re working on the ideas in the doctor’s notebook,” I explained. “We’ve been analyzing the fifth-stage mechanism for the jet engine and are preparing to begin the manufacturing phase.”
“Still chasing that jet engine dream, are you?”
“Yes. I believe we owe it to her to bring her ideas to life,” I said firmly.
“You really are… something else,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“And you?” my assistant interjected. “If you were truly close to the doctor, are you just going to sit here drinking and wasting away?”
“Now hold on,” the Master grumbled, but her words had clearly hit a nerve.
“We’re planning to prototype the first of the doctor’s mechanisms soon,” I said. “Would you consider joining us?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Of course. We need your expertise,” I replied earnestly.
“You’d take someone like me back?”
“Absolutely. You were the doctor’s mentor. Who else could we rely on?”
Hearing this, the light of determination seemed to reignite in the Master’s eyes.
“The doctor… I want to help fulfill her vision. Let me be a part of this.”
“Then start by getting rid of that reek of alcohol and cleaning yourself up,” my assistant said bluntly, though her tone carried a note of encouragement.
“Give me three days. I’ll sober up by then.”
“Fine. In one week, we’ll begin the prototype. Use the time to shake off the rust and get back in shape,” she said decisively.
“Got it. Just you wait.”
With that, the Master rose, and for the first time in years, he looked ready to face the world again.
The doctor’s unfinished dream had brought him back, and together, we would work to honor her legacy.
The prototype for the fifth-stage mechanism, developed with the Master’s participation, was successfully constructed. However, the test results fell short of expectations.
Frustration hung heavy in the air as we all wrestled with our disappointment.
“Professor, please come to the royal castle tomorrow,” my assistant suddenly announced. “The king wishes to meet with you.”
“The king? What could he want? As long as it’s not to cancel the research, I can handle anything.”
“I’m not sure. His intentions weren’t shared with me,” she replied, her usual composure intact.
“The king himself, huh? You’ve come a long way, Assistant,” the Master mused, a hint of pride in his voice.
The next day, I headed to the royal castle.
Inside, a court official of considerable rank escorted me to an audience chamber where the king awaited.
Seated on the throne, he radiated authority, yet his demeanor seemed approachable. By his side stood my assistant—no, the Third Princess—her expression unreadable as she regarded me.
I knelt at the designated spot.
“Your Majesty, I am honored to be in your presence. How may I serve you today?”
“Relax,” the king said warmly. “This is no weighty matter.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Based on the recommendation of the three court scholars, I have decided to appoint you as a National Scholar.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Academy has no one more knowledgeable than you,” he continued. “From this day forward, you are a National Scholar. Dedicate yourself to furthering your research.”
A National Scholar? The same title the doctor had held?
My mind struggled to process the enormity of it.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the princess’s composed expression shift slightly to one of satisfaction. Of course, she must have known.
“I’ve heard of your work on the jet engine. I expect great results,” the king added with a small smile.
“Yes, Your Majesty!” I replied, bowing deeply.
With that, I left the castle and returned to the workshop.
Back at the workshop, my assistant had already arrived ahead of me, having prepared a small celebration for my appointment.
The Master seemed incredulous but offered his congratulations nonetheless.
“If you’re a National Scholar now,” he said, “then make sure to test every mechanism in that notebook. Turn the doctor’s dreams into reality, no matter what it takes.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” I replied firmly.
“The doctor would be proud of you,” the Master said, raising a mug of malt juice in a toast.
We were close—so close to fulfilling her vision.
But little did I know, what lay ahead would teach us all the depths of despair.
We had completed prototypes for every design in the doctor’s notebook regarding the fifth stage, but none achieved the desired performance. The results were far below expectations—an outcome I hadn’t anticipated.
“Even the final prototype failed. I don’t know what else to do,” I admitted, defeated by the harsh reality.
“Professor, there’s still hope!” my assistant interjected, her voice filled with determination. “What if we combine the best features from each prototype?”
“Kid, that’d be way too complex for even me to build,” the Master said, shaking his head.
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m as lost as you are,” he replied, frustration evident in his tone.
The tension between the two grew palpable, and I knew I had to intervene.
“Let’s take a step back,” I said. “We need to accept these results and think about what comes next. If the doctor were here, she’d have something up her sleeve.”
“There is… one thing that’s been bothering me,” my assistant said hesitantly.
“What is it?”
“Professor, could I see the notebook?”
“Of course.”
She carefully examined the worn pages, her focus sharpening as she turned to the torn section.
“Look here,” she said, pointing at the edge of the ripped page. “There’s a faint black stain on the fibers. I think something might’ve been written here.”
“Let me see that,” the Master said, leaning in as she handed him the notebook.
“Yeah, there’s definitely something faint here,” he confirmed, passing it back to me.
I snatched the notebook and stared at the torn edge. I had dismissed this section as blank, but now I realized I’d overlooked the faint marks.
Could this be another one of the doctor’s ideas?
Memories of the doctor sketching ideas near her beloved twin gears came flooding back. She had a habit of jotting down thoughts as they came to her.
I imagined the scene: She must have sketched the fifth-stage mechanism here, only to leap up in excitement upon realizing it was the solution. Her enthusiasm often led to such outbursts, and in the chaos, part of the page was torn away.
“Doctor… you had the answer all along, didn’t you?” I whispered, half in awe.
The notebook had always been a testament to her genius—her unique, unpredictable mind.
“But now it’s gone,” my assistant said, her voice tinged with regret. “We have no clue what the design was. There’s not even a hint left to guide us.”
“It must have been something extraordinary,” he said.
I have fully grasped the contents of doctor’s notebook.
My resolve is firm. I will devote all my knowledge and imagination to challenge the creativity of my doctor. Even if I don’t yet know what it truly is, I will see it through.
“I’ll recreate it,” I declared. “Whatever this missing idea was, I’ll find a way to bring it back.”
“Let’s do it. Sounds like fun.” he said.
“I’m with you! If anyone can do it, Professor, it’s you.” she added.
The room buzzed with renewed energy.
“Then it’s decided. Let’s not waste time. Back to the National Academy—we have work to do!”
We immediately left the doctor’s workshop.
“The meter is far exceeding the target value! The operation is stable. It’s a success!”
My assistant’s shout echoed through the workshop.
“Did we really succeed…?”
After so many failures, it felt surreal. I could hardly believe it.
“You did it! So, this is what the doctor’s genius looks like from the other side. Amazing! Look at that meter go—what a beauty!”
The Master was just as thrilled, his excitement pouring out in his words.
The solution I arrived at, after thinking through what my doctor would have done, had finally borne fruit.
“We did it… we did it, Doctor… we did it!”
I clutched the notebook tightly to my chest, sinking to the floor, overcome with emotion.
My assistant knelt beside me and gently wrapped her arms around me. I could hear her sobs as her tears fell. The Master let out a triumphant roar, his joy unrestrained.
The three of us celebrated in our own ways, each sharing the weight of this victory.
I wished, more than anything, that the doctor could have seen this moment. That she could have been here to witness how close we had come to her brilliance, to tell us she was proud.
The five mechanisms were assembled into a single unit, revealing the true form of the magic stone turbojet engine.
“It looks incredible!”
“It’s so rugged and powerful!”
“This… this is the turbojet engine the doctor wanted to create.”
When we activated it, an earth-shaking roar reverberated through the workshop and beyond, shaking the air itself.
“Doctor, it’s a truly astonishing sound. Can you hear it, Doctor?”
I looked up to the heavens, speaking to her.
The completed engine was taken to the aircraft factory, instantly becoming the center of attention. It wasn’t long before a compatible aircraft was built, and for the first time, this nation’s skies were graced by its flight.
“Now we don’t fear the neighboring nation’s massive aircraft anymore,” the king said, relieved, as he watched the plane soar.
This aircraft, powered by the magic stone turbojet engine, was named the “Jet Fighter,” marking the dawn of a new era of aviation.
My name was officially recorded as the inventor of the jet engine. But I never failed to clarify at every lecture and event, the true inventor was the doctor.
“Still, there’s always someone trying to flatter me, insisting the achievement was all mine. Leave them alone.” I would not let anyone undermine the doctor’s genius. Just as the doctor once explained, these were the “half-clever” types. I ignored them without hesitation, their sour faces meaning nothing to me.
Since then, my assistant has achieved her own remarkable breakthroughs and has also become a National Scholar.
It’s said that being a husband-and-wife pair of National Scholars is a first in the nation’s history.
Now, my wife is carrying a new life within her.
We don’t yet know if it will be a boy or a girl, but if it’s a boy, I’ll be in trouble—I’ve only thought of a girl’s name.
That name, chosen by the two of us, was never in question.
It’s the name of the one we respect most.
You know, it’s Doctor’s name.