Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

The initial response was hesitant, Melina's sigh overshadowed what followed, she gripped the quill pen tightly, and the ink bottle tipped over in the violent movement.

"Soaring prices, the gap between the rich and the poor, ethnic conflicts... everything that can be seen and heard is heading towards an irreconcilable end."

"Propaganda, rumors, and incitement are like deliberate indulgence and intentional shaping."

"Doctor, I heard about your new authority from the church. Perhaps you, like me, are extraordinary individuals with some modest power. But in the face of the great power, I still feel like an ordinary person."

The sound of the pen nib cutting through the paper is like a sword being drawn from its sheath. "In those poems, the smoke of war always begins to burn from this moment."

"Doctor, do you think we can make a choice?"

The bright-eyed little parrot may not have a clear goal, but she is always the first to notice clues and will always take steps and make efforts for her ideal future.

Chapter 202 Who is Right and Who is Wrong

"Choices are never a one-way street with either/or outcomes, and war will not be altered by the will of one person."

Seeing the confusion on the little parrot's brow, Charlotte did not lean closer, but instead lowered her eyes and picked up the scattered manuscript pages one by one.

With a soft rustling sound, the papers covered in writing were stacked into a neat square in her palm, their edges as tidy as soldiers in formation.

"But what you think about and what you hope for is not... meaningless."

Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable power, and she smoothed out the last curled corner of the manuscript.

"Full of ideals, yearning to offer salvation and resistance, this is the brilliance nurtured by a small minority in an era of ignorance. Perhaps it is insignificant, perhaps it is biased and sharp, but the innate ability to distinguish right from wrong and the courage to dedicate oneself are the first steps toward change."

The doctor gently touched Melina's forehead with his fingertips, where it was slightly hot from anxiety.

“Young lady, perhaps you want to use this chance encounter to gain my approval or disapproval. But how can one person’s words represent the general public and the lives of ordinary people, even if that person is talented, virtuous, and renowned?”

"Even the wise words of sages cannot represent the unanimous voice of all people, so how can their own hopes and aspirations be so easily shaken?"

The action of pressing against the center of the eyebrows pauses slightly, then suddenly a light flick is given.

"Kindness is a good virtue, as is selflessness. Melina, you are the author, an extraordinary person, and a good girl. Ideals need to be tried in order to explore the possibility of their realization."

"At that art exhibition in Tingen, a young girl from the Goldenleaf art movement used her life to define herself, and with her blood and questioning, she reclaimed the fairness that workers deserved, even at the cost of everything, without hesitation. Did you ever hear her say whether it was worth it?"

It was a deliberate mention.

"You mean, Watson?!"

Before the little parrot could finish its exclamation, it clutched its forehead in pain. Just then, it heard the beautiful woman's soft laughter mingling with the evening breeze as she whispered in its ear, "Alright, instead of worrying about these things, let's deal with the more pressing disaster in your room first."

She turned and walked toward the trash can, which was covered in crumpled paper. The hem of her white coat swept across the mess on the floor: "The trash hasn't been taken out for three days, the coffee cup is almost moldy, and—" Her slender fingers lifted a corner of the curtain, "...the little neighbor hiding in the shadows, stealing breadcrumbs."

Rats and flies always like to gather in dirty, messy corners.

Melina's face flushed instantly. She jumped up in a flurry, her nightgown knocking over a stack of reference books. The yellowed "History of the Continental Wars" flipped to the illustrated page—a woodblock print depicting a man with a sword raised, commanding a vast army atop a mountain peak.

"I...I'll get ready right away!" The quill slipped from her fingers, and the ink bottle wobbled slightly on the table. As she reached out to straighten it, she found Charlotte staring at the war illustration, her amber eyes reflecting the ambiguity unique to dusk, a light that hung between shadow and light.

Yes. Perhaps the war was instigated and encouraged by Charlotte, driven by her own desire for advancement and by the selfishness of a wicked woman.

Standing on the shoulders of the Enlightenment, beside Melissant, she certainly had the right to make changes. But even without her intervention, would the generations-long hatred between the Plantagenets and Hastings simply vanish? Would those steel behemoths cease their swaggering and aggression at the borders of other nations?

The answer was revealed amidst the newsboys' cries that tore through the twilight—"Extra! Extra! Factory explosion on the East Coast! Thirty child laborers killed!" This was followed by an even louder second announcement: "Imperial Navy Headquarters Statement—This incident was purely accidental!"

How ridiculous! After turmoil, the newly established dynasty, which has just begun to recover, can naturally kneel down at the feet of the empire, using the blood and sweat of the people, their former dignity and demeanor, and their groveling to exchange for temporary peace.

But how is this any different from a silent murder? The clash of interests between great powers, when it comes down to the people, will eventually become the straw that breaks the camel's back, heavy and profound, crushing them until they can't breathe.

......

Charlotte's words and actions were nothing more than speaking out for the weak, resisting on behalf of the common people, protesting injustice, and rewriting the way conflicts were resolved with blood and gunfire.

History needs a catalyst, and so does war, which needs the first shot to pierce the dawn.

The sunset outside the window was suddenly pierced by searchlights, and several armored airships were flying over the slums, casting shadows like giant whales swimming in the deep sea.

“When you utter the word ‘omen’…” Charlotte’s heel crushed a cockroach trying to escape, the sound of its shell shattering so crisp it made your teeth ache, “you’re already standing at the crossroads of history.”

In the distance came the sharp screeching of a steam locomotive screeching to a halt, followed by the shattering of a shop window. Melina rushed to the window and watched as military police in armbands escorted a group of sallow-faced men, women, and children away from the carriage. Their shadows stretched long under the kerosene lamplight, like a broken chain winding along the cobblestone street.

They were ordinary people from a foreign land, people who should have had families and happiness, instead of being captured, oppressed, and deprived of their dignity as slaves and commodities.

“Indeed, those editors stole your passage describing the slums.” The doctor turned to the corner of a page, his breath brushing aside the stray hairs by the predecessor’s ear. “They changed ‘they huddled in leaky shacks like discarded utensils’ to ‘these lazy termites deserve to rot in the gutter’.”

Upon hearing this, the little parrot lowered its head in silence, its slender fingers slowly clenching, oblivious to the wood chips piercing its palm.

She murmured softly and helplessly, yet with unwavering resolve.

"Society should not be like this now. There should be a more equitable system on ethnic issues. Similarly... the country should also make changes on issues such as the gap between the rich and the poor and the working conditions of workers."

"No nation is born lowly, no profession should be sullied, and no one should be high above others."

"This society needs change, people need it, this era needs it, it needs change, but it shouldn't be through war, it shouldn't be through loss of life..."

"Some things are unavoidable, dear girl. Would it be alright if I wrote a sentence in response?"

Melina stared blankly as the hand took the pen, feeling a warmth as their fingertips touched.

As she put pen to paper, her fingertips paused slightly, and the ink spread across the paper, creating firm lines—neither too many nor too few, neither argumentative nor contentious, but simply a resounding response.

Yes, the kind doctor only wrote this one sentence—

We are not footnotes to history.

Chapter 203 Reunion

In a corner of the police station, a plain-looking red-haired girl was fixing her makeup, reapplying a muddy color to her fair skin.

This was a necessary process; to conceal her sinful surname, the proud redbird could only hide her brilliance and become an ordinary, unremarkable girl.

Yes, her current name is Luna, but she was also the once-famous Sophby Dill in this city.

"call."

Adorned with tiny freckles, Sufby measured herself for a long time in the half-length mirror in the bathroom before finally letting out a soft sigh of relief.

Since she helped Dr. Bella get involved in the epidemic two weeks ago, she is no longer confined to a clerical job.

Despite being labeled as reckless and complacent, and failing to report what she knew, things ultimately turned out well. In this epidemic that was supposed to wreak havoc on the world, she and the former arrested Merman, brought the real culprit who spread the virus under control, and limited its harm to the world to that.

The lives of tens of thousands of people were saved. Based on reason, emotion, and above the standards of public opinion and morality, Luna, this unconventional girl who ventured into danger alone, deserves to be commended.

Indeed, this was the case. Even though she had her merits reduced due to her overambitiousness and was slightly criticized by her superiors, she still received a reward.

Promotion is only one aspect; climbing the ladder through extraordinary means is even more important. If the abilities of Sequence Eight 'Gardener' are categorized by direction, they can be simply divided into flower seed cultivation and weather surveying.

Of course, flower seeds are not limited to real plants. Spirit and thought can also be captured by florists and mixed into special seeds. These seeds can be planted using physical methods or taken root in the 'subconscious ocean' of others.

They are painters, extensions of the artist's imagination. As physical entities, they can influence the spirit; as figments of the imagination, they can also nourish the original being. Even as Sequence Eight, the influence of the flower seeds is limited. In a real battle, a moment's lapse in concentration can be fatal, let alone the silent implantation of the flower seeds, which only those with keen spiritual senses can detect.

As for weather surveying, this extension of duality is not prediction in a broad sense. Just as flower seeds are not just seeds, and irrigation is not just water, weather surveying is certainly not just about weather.

It doesn't require divination rituals or divination objects. Instead, like weather forecasting, it can determine whether the next action is dangerous through some 'minor omens' that occur. But that's all. No matter how hard you try, it won't produce specific images like divination.

Picking up the scissors, Sophie carefully trimmed the plants that the police department had placed on the balcony. After several days of getting used to it, she had become familiar with the abilities of this sequence.

Composing music using poetic and picturesque passages can be roughly described as follows:

Planting beautiful imaginations in any place that can be called 'soil', then watering them with one's own actions, waiting to create brand new 'flowers', and since those wild fantasies have come true, one should take on the responsibility of tending to them—this is what it means to be a gardener.

"The flourishing of ideas, the shifting winds..."

She murmured to herself, put away her tools, picked up her paintbrush again, and planted flower seeds in her heart.

Mental suggestion is similar to self-hypnosis. It has little effect, but it can provide an external force to oneself when one is controlled by others and has the will but not the power, so as to break the balance and break the control of higher sequences.

If she cannot shake the powerful, she will resort to self-stimulation; this is her only means of doing so.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the end of the corridor. Sofby precisely turned the flowerpot to the southeast—an angle that would allow the sunlight to cast the shadow of the person who was coming onto the frosted glass in advance.

"Miss Luna!" The clerk in the archives pushed open the door and saw the red-haired girl standing on tiptoe watering the pothos.

Sunlight streamed through the wisps of hair around her ears, illuminating her meticulously drawn freckles almost translucently.

"What's wrong, Maggie? Don't panic."

The girl in front of her was the kindest and most familiar among her colleagues.

"Ugh, I don't know how to explain this, but lately, everyone's been talking about it."

Maggie's cheeks were already flushed from running, as she twisted her fingers together.

"This morning, while I was organizing the files, I also saw the draft transfer order signed by the Director... Our Security Department may be merged into the logistics department of the Imperial Military Police and placed under the unified management of the regional governor."

"The logistics department?" Sophie's scissors hovered over the pothos stem for a few seconds, feigning curiosity as she glanced sideways. Her gardening skills allowed her to detect the seeds of anxiety floating in Maggie's subconscious—fluffy and transparent like dandelions, trembling slightly with her breath.

"It's said that all police forces involved in extraordinary events are being concentrated here. I don't know if this counts as a lateral transfer or a promotion. Perhaps it's due to the current situation, but it seems... there are no major reports about it in the newspapers, and everything is calm."

Hearing the girl's doubts, Sufby did not make a fuss.

In reality, who can predict the current situation? The pace of history always comes slowly and goes heavily. People caught in it often don't feel it firsthand, and most people aren't even prepared for their own lives.

Perhaps only after years of torrential rains that brought endless suffering will future generations realize where they are and be able to trace the course of this tragedy as—a world war.

"It's calm?"

The little peacock was certainly not such a dull-witted bird. She repeated softly, the knife twirling gracefully in her palm.

Signs of an approaching storm lingered in the air, and as a florist, Sufby should have been aware of them and taken preventative measures for her plants.

“I… I mean, from the surface…” Maggie lowered her voice and unconsciously took a half step closer. “The archives have received too many encrypted documents lately. Even old Jack said he’s never seen so many sealing wax marks.” She drew a circle next to her temple with her finger. “They’re all at this level of security.”

"Furthermore, this kind of cross-departmental restructuring should, according to procedure, require at least a two-week review period, but in just one afternoon, the draft became an official transfer order."

The rest of the conversation was not very clear, and the girl's words were also incoherent, mostly just speculation and conjecture, lacking any useful information.

Unwilling to listen any longer, Sufby said a brief goodbye and then left the police station alone to visit her only friend in Florence, avoiding all eyes and ears.

Isabella Valenti.

As fingertips touched the door hinge and applied slight pressure, a clear, cool female voice came from inside the clinic.

"I thought you would have arrived earlier."

I'd like to recommend a friend's book. The title is below; feel free to check it out if you're interested:

Terra Succubus Raising System, but a peaceful office worker.

Don't forget me when you go there. I'll keep writing until the end. ┭┮﹏┭┮.

Chapter 204 A Noble Death

"I thought you would have arrived earlier."

As soon as Sufby pushed open the door, she saw that beautiful figure with her back to her, picking up a pen and writing words in a continuous flow.

"You knew I would come?" The red-haired girl closed the door behind her, her fingertips lightly tapping the lock—an invisible flower seed quietly landed on the lock cylinder, a new habit she had developed.

With a clear understanding in her heart, Charlotte was now able to stand in the ocean of spirituality after her main body advanced to Sequence Eight, observing the birds that were influenced and affected by her.

Well, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it's surveillance anytime, anywhere.

Although neither Winnie nor Sophby could keep up with her own pace of advancement, with Watson's sacrifice as a precedent, the previous inducements had become a set goal, driving them to climb upwards with all their might, and thus becoming an aid she could now draw upon.

Therefore, she had already sensed the situation and made ample preparations while the former was on its way.

"No, it's just that as a friend, I'll naturally welcome you whenever you visit."

The pen nib left a small stain on the medical record paper, which Isabella gently wiped away with her pinky finger, calmly and gently.

"Friends..."

As she murmured softly, Sophie's thoughts involuntarily drifted back to the past.

As spring turns to summer, the wind, frost, rain, snow, and bitter cold seem to have all left her, no longer bringing the scent of winter, yet the memories that belong to her are hard to forget.

At that time, she also had a lively and cunning friend named Watson.

Their first encounter was not peaceful; it even contained sharp conflicts, until that figure insisted on equal treatment and helped them out of their predicament.

The favor of a noble banquet, a distant and lofty ideal, the injury sustained while trying to bring back my sister, and now the opportunity to embark on an extraordinary path.

Sufby was destined to owe that person something, even if she was deceived and misled, the outcome would not change. Moreover, in their daily interactions, she had already developed a different kind of feeling.

It is by no means limited to friendship; it encompasses affection, dependence, need, and gratitude, and is destined to be a profound emotion.

"Miss Luna, what are you thinking about? Since you've come today, you must have important business to attend to, or perhaps you're simply seeking some comfort?"