I'm in Morioh, just joined a chat group for cute girls.

This smell... I feel like I've smelled it somewhere before...

Ⅰ○ㄚi二２仈３0⑼ノ╲

Irisviel's eyes flickered slightly, and her extraordinary memory began to work at lightning speed.

Oh right, it was that "special milk" that Ilya handed her that day!

A bold idea formed in her mind.

She glanced at the door to make sure no one was there, and then, almost as if possessed, stuck out her pink tongue and gently licked it.

...!

This is the taste!

Warm, slightly sweet, with a unique aroma, it perfectly matched the taste of the milk she remembered!

Irisviel's body froze.

So that's what... was the "other ingredient" added to the milk that day.

She got it.

But what followed was not the joy of sudden realization, but an indescribable, sullen mood.

Ilya... this child...

Even though there was still so much of this 'material,' enough to accidentally get on her skirt... she just wouldn't share even a little bit with her mother.

why?

Is her mother usually unkind to her? Or does she feel that her mother doesn't deserve to drink such delicious food?

Irisviel couldn't understand it.

Her simple logic failed her to comprehend her daughter's "secret" behavior.

She felt a pang of grievance and frustration, like a child whose beloved toy had been taken away.

"Lady Irisviel, clothes that need washing..."

The maid Sera appeared in the doorway, preparing to retrieve the laundry basket.

"Ah, Sera."

Irisviel snapped out of her daze and instinctively hid the dress behind her back.

"You don't need to wash this dress yet."

She said, "Ilya has many more dresses, but this one... I'll keep it for now."

"Yes, I understand."

Although Sera was somewhat puzzled, she still respectfully withdrew.

Irisviel returned to her room, clutching the purple dress stained with the secret.

She carefully spread the dress on the bed, her eyes fixed on the mark, as if trying to see through it.

No, I have to figure this out.

This delicious 'ingredient', its source... its specific ingredients...

I must figure it out myself!

I am an Einzbern alchemist!

……

As night deepened, most of the rooms in the villa had turned off their lights, leaving only a few dim nightlights in the corridor, outlining the silent silhouettes of the furniture.

Irisviel, clutching the purple dress as if it were a precious secret, quietly descended the stairs.

Instead of going to the laundry room, she went straight to the depths of the basement.

That place is Medea's magic workshop.

Ancient runes were engraved on the heavy wooden door, emanating a faint magical aura that deterred any unauthorized intrusion. Irisviel stood before the door, hesitated for a moment, and then gently knocked.

"Tuk, duh."

There was no response from inside, but the runes on the door glowed, and it silently opened a crack. A peculiar scent, a mixture of herbs, minerals, and magical dust, wafted out from the crack.

Irisviel went inside.

Inside the workshop, the scene is completely different from the modern style of the villa.

A magic lamp emitting a ghostly blue light hung from the ceiling, illuminating the shelves piled high with bottles and jars on the surrounding walls.

On the long stone table in the center were scales, crucibles, distillation apparatus, and various alchemical tools whose names I did not know.

Medea stood with her back to the door at the long table, stirring the liquid in the crucible that was bubbling with purple light with a glass rod. She didn't even turn around.

"A late-night visit, Princess of Einzbern. Is it because you can't sleep, or is there some unresolved trouble?"

"Miss Medea."

Irisviel, holding her dress, gave a polite bow. "I'm sorry to bother you so late. I... I do have something I'd like to ask for your help with."

Medea stopped what she was doing and turned around.

"My workshop isn't a counseling center for solving family problems. But since you're so sincere, let's talk about it."

“I would like to… borrow your workshop to analyze the composition of a ‘material’.”

Irisviel said somewhat nervously, as she pushed the dress she was holding forward.

Medea's gaze fell on the skirt.

"Oh? A material that even the alchemists of Einzbern are finding trouble with, that's quite intriguing. What is it?"

“It’s…it’s Ilya’s ‘Special Milk’.”

Irisviel's cheeks flushed slightly; she felt like a mother caught stealing candy from her daughter. "I want to know what else is added to it besides milk."

Medea did not answer immediately. She stretched out a hand, her slender fingers emerging from beneath her long legs.

"Let me see your skirt."

Irisviel obediently handed over the dress.

Medea took the soft dress, first bringing the damp, sticky stain to her nose and gently sniffing it.

...Just as I expected, this is the taste.

It smelled exactly like that man.

At dinner, when Irisviel innocently asked about the "special milk," Medea already knew the answer in her heart.

As a witch from the Age of Gods, her senses were far more acute than those of ordinary people. She had long ago noticed the increasingly sticky magical energy and aura intertwined between Gu Ye, Hai Meng, and Ilya.

She looked up at Irisviel's expectant yet confused eyes and suddenly found it somewhat amusing.

"That alone is not enough to make a judgment."

As Medea spoke, she did something that Irisviel never expected.

She stuck out her tongue and gently, carefully licked the half-dried mark.

Chapter 150 Irisviel feels abandoned by her daughter.

Irisviel's eyes widened slightly.

Medea closed her eyes, savoring the complex and unique flavor on her tongue.

It is mild, sweet, and carries the most primal scent of life.

Without a doubt, this is it!

...It was even more concentrated than I had imagined.

It seems that man has been working very hard lately.

She became even more convinced of her judgment.

She opened her eyes, returned the dress to Irisviel, and then shook her head.

"Irisviel."

This was the first time she had addressed the other person with such formality: "I will not participate in this 'cracking' process."

"Eh? Why?"

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Irisviel was puzzled.

"But I advise you that it's best not to continue."

Medea's gaze seemed to pierce through Irisviel's body, reaching the depths of her soul, which was composed of magical circuits. "Because the answer you get will not do you any good."

Having said that, she gave Irisviel no further chance to ask questions, walked straight past her, and left the magic workshop, leaving only a single sentence floating in the air.

"You can borrow the workshop. However, you are responsible for the consequences."

The heavy wooden door closed slowly behind her, leaving Irisviel alone in the room filled with mysterious instruments.

Irisviel stood frozen, clutching her dress. Medea's words lingered in her mind like a riddle.

No benefits? ...Why?

She looked down at the marks on her skirt, her craving for "deliciousness" and her desire to uncover the "truth" clashing violently with Medea's warning.

……

Medea returned to the living room on the first floor and sat down on the sofa.

She took off her hood, revealing her beautiful yet somewhat plain face.

She leaned back against the soft sofa and sighed softly.

What a troublesome yet interesting woman.

Of course she knew what it was.

She knew even better than Irisviel who the "producer" of this "material" was.

In this house, she, Kitagawa Kaimu, Illya, and even the battle maniac Esdeath have all tasted this "delicious" flavor.

She always had to be careful, staggering the time, and acting like a thief when she met Gu Ye. This was really not in line with her identity as a witch from the Age of Gods.

ー澪﹄２⑵ノ╲⒊○⑨⑻

Why don't we... let everyone speak frankly and openly?

A bold idea took shape in her mind.

She began to make plans.

Haimeng and Illya are young allies, while Esdeath is a powerful fighter but not very bright.

Medusa... that silent woman, deep in thought, but essentially yearning to be loved and needed.

After several attempts to persuade and hint at it, I believe she will soon take that step.

All that was left were Irisviel and her two maids.

Putting the maid aside, Irisviel is the key.

A nominal "wife," a "saint" who deeply loved her deceased husband.

Trying to persuade her to remarry would be pointless and only make things difficult for her.

Therefore, Medea was constantly in a dilemma.

But today, when she saw the longing look in Irisviel's eyes as she gazed at that "essence," she understood.

This is not impossible.

Once the seed of desire is planted, it will take root and sprout sooner or later.

Her seemingly profound warning was the first drop of water poured on this seed.

Will fear wither it, or will curiosity make it sprout?

Medea was eager to see the result.