The Passionate Scientist

Part 1

Philip stood in the middle of the street, heart still pounding from Elora's sudden, theatrical embrace. Before he could blink, another flurry of flower petals drifted through the air, adding a bizarrely romantic glow to the scene. She had just dropped a startling claim: she had already handled the tricky matter of persuading Laura—an outcome Philip had barely begun planning himself.

"What…" he managed to stammer, brow furrowing in confusion. "You actually convinced Laura to get her fiancé to investigate that embarrassing photo? You… know about the scandal, my plan, and…" His thoughts spun in frantic circles. Who exactly is this woman?

Elora simply smiled, then responded by tugging him closer, looping her arms around his waist as though initiating a grand ballroom dance. The pressure of her body against his set his face on fire. Soft laughter tickled his ear, and he realized with a jolt that passersby were gawking unabashedly. Horse-drawn carriages and the occasional sputtering automobile slowed to observe the enchanting blonde wrapping herself around the hapless, chubby noble.

"Invite me into your motorcar," she whispered like a conspiratorial conspirator, "and I'll tell you all the details—away from prying ears. Fear not, Laura's support is secured, dearest Philip. But shall we not let the entire city eavesdrop?"

Time seemed to slow. Another wave of heat crept up Philip's neck as Elora tightened her hold, leaving him gawking at the graceful line of her shoulders. Realizing how many eyes were on them, he cleared his throat loudly, half in mortification. "S-so," Philip croaked, fumbling for a shred of dignity, "h-how did you even know about my situation with Laura?"

She simply leaned closer, lips hovering near his ear. "I'm Kendrick's sister, darling," she cooed with a sugary purr. "I excel at persuasion, and my family's… robust network helps. Let's keep the juicy details for somewhere more private, yes?"

Kendrick's sister. The revelation made Philip's eyes practically bug out of his head. How on earth did I miss that? It was almost painfully obvious now—she had the same razor-sharp confidence and golden hair that occasionally got her mistaken for a crossdressing Kendrick. Then a memory surfaced from old Philip's perspective, hitting him like a thunderclap: a graduation event at the Imperial Military Academy, where old Philip had kissed the back of Elora's hand and invited her to dance in front of a beaming crowd. She'd been so flushed with excitement, sweetly shy and brimming with admiration. That was how she'd first developed this near-obsessive fondness. Unbeknownst to Elora, Kendrick had coaxed old Philip into doing it as a favor—apparently a "dream come true" for his timid sister. From that night on, Elora's infatuation seemed to burn with unstoppable fervor.

"Elora, right," he managed, clearing his throat. With his best attempt at a polite smile, he gestured to the motorcar. "We can talk… inside. Let's, um, leave the public stage."

At that, Elora loosened her embrace, stepping back with triumphant laughter. "Splendid idea," she said, turning to beckon the tall, watchful redhead nearby. The woman carried herself with impeccable poise, a discreet pistol at her hip, and mahogany hair glinting in the sun. One glance told Philip she was no ordinary attendant.

Meanwhile, Lydia—already out of the motorcar—looked a little vexed, doubtless fearing more tabloid fodder. Philip noticed the mild relief on Lydia's face when she recognized the redhead, who presumably exuded an aura of calm authority that might keep things from spiraling.

With a dramatic wave, Elora summoned the redhead over. "Philip, this is Mia," she declared, as if unveiling a star performer. "My most trusted companion and bodyguard—one of my dearest friends in the entire world."

Mia bowed with perfect grace. "An honor, Master Philip. Lady Elora… speaks of you often."

Philip returned a hasty bow, muscle memory from old Philip's cavalry days rescuing him from total social collapse. Meanwhile, Lydia—who had hopped out of the motorcar as soon as she saw a fresh fiasco unfolding—fought to keep her expression neutral. She clearly dreaded yet another newspaper headline. But Elora wasted no time, hooking her arm through Philip's and sweeping him toward the open vehicle door while Mia went to the carriage and told the driver to drive off.

"Move along, darlings," she declared with a theatrical flair, as though awarding them all backstage passes.

Moments later, they packed into the motorcar: Philip in the front passenger seat, Lydia at the wheel, while Elora and Mia settled in the back. The engine sputtered, coughed, then came alive. Onlookers parted to let them pass, some frowning in confusion, others whispering in hushed glee.

Inside the tinted windows, Elora relaxed into the seat with a self-satisfied grin. The quiet humming of the engine enveloped them. Mia's posture was upright and vigilant, though the corners of her mouth hinted at amusement—clearly, she had witnessed Elora's dramatic antics countless times.

Finally, Elora leaned forward, the neckline of her pastel gown dipping enough to make Philip avert his eyes. "Now, dear Philip," she said, voice full of sweet mischief, "we can speak freely."

He braced himself. "Yes. Right."

Elora's lips curved into a playful smirk, eyes gleaming with a cunning reminiscent of her flamboyant brother. "Resolving Laura's confusion was child's play. My father's team once employed Laura's father, so we've known each other since we were tiny girls in frilly bows, crossing wooden swords in the backyard. I am her emotional trash can. So I know the couple well. Laura is quite the forgiving type, but her fiancé—Ben—is stubbornly jealous. I told her a marriage without trust is like a carriage missing its wheels—it goes nowhere. Better to nudge him into investigating that 'scandalous photo' now than let suspicion poison their relationship for decades. After all, wasting decades of one's youth on a marriage only to be divorced at an advanced age is certainly not the ideal love story for a lady."

Philip found himself impressed. One hand braced on the seat to keep from rattling around on the uneven road. "But how did you guess I was planning to do that? Convince Laura to nudge him into investigating?"

Elora shrugged lightly, a triumphant sparkle in her eyes. "Of course I know. After all, great minds think alike, darling."

What she didn't mention was the countless hours she'd spent analyzing Philip's behavior, or hush-hush intelligence gleaned from her family's extensive network. She also left out how she had conjured a few magical birds, letting them nest in the hedges of his garden to overhear passing conversations. Elora even knew about that odd confrontation between Celestica and some mysterious blonde around Redwood Estate. But she didn't mind. As far as Elora was concerned, a commoner mistress hardly posed a threat; let Philip dabble in whatever amusements he liked, so long as she—the rightful lady—remained in his life. After all, mistresses come and go, but the wife is forever. However, this time, she was ready to fight tooth and nail for Philip, should anyone ever try to snatch him away from her life. No more would she back out of the competition meekly for the sake of Philip's happiness as she did when Rosetta burst into their lives.

Then her voice softened, eyes locking onto Philip's. "I would hate to see you get hurt over a petty misunderstanding, especially when I know for a fact it was an accident." She fluttered her lashes in mock innocence. "After all, you already have the most desirable woman in the entire realm right here at your beck and call, why would you risk everything for some ordinary beauty? It hardly stands up to logic."

From the front seat, Lydia nearly sputtered, choking on her own breath. In the back, Mia pressed her lips tight, trying not to laugh. The comedic tension in the motorcar felt thick enough to slice.

A surge of heat rose to Philip's cheeks. He scratched the back of his neck, face turning an alarming shade of red. After a brief struggle, he let out a trembling laugh. "Elora, you have no idea how grateful I am. Honestly, I… I don't know how to thank you enough. The fiasco was driving me insane."

Elora's smile turned downright mischievous. "Oh, I know exactly how you can thank me," she purred, causing Lydia to cough and Mia to stifle a laugh.

Part 2

Thankfully, Elora's desired "repayment" from helping Philip turned out not to be midnight rendezvous or stolen kisses—though she hardly minded crowding his personal space. Instead, she insisted that he accompany her to the University of Yortinto, a grand institution famed for its cutting-edge research, especially in the field of biology and "unnatural science."

Upon arriving at imposing iron gates that read University of Yortinto—a mashup of Gothic architecture augmented by mana-lamps overhead and brass piping that occasionally hissed with magical steam—students milling about the lawns halted, eyes widening as Elora hopped out, hooking her arm around Philip in a blatantly affectionate gesture.

He stiffened, acutely aware of how her bosom grazed his elbow every other step. This triggered another comedic wave of assumptions from curious students:

"Is that Lady Elora parading a … fiancé? He must be a nobleman."

"How could you not know him! He is that passionate pacifist guy who preached passion overcomes violence. He used to be a fearsome cavalry captain and the grandson of the Duke of Redwood. But he turned into a pacifist and intentionally got chubby and refused to draw his weapon in the face of an assassin and kissed his lawyer instead. He put his life on the line to protest against the current endless war."

"No wonder! I wish I had such guts."

Elora's grin grew as she overheard bits of gossip. She wore it like a crown, lightly guiding Philip through corridors lined with heavy doors, old coats of arms, and the occasional magically driven mechanical contraption. Lydia and Mia followed at a respectful distance—Lydia looking faintly resigned, Mia scanning for threats with professional calm.

Philip sighed. He could almost feel the comedic rumor swirl tightening around him, especially as Elora glowed under the attention. She urged him briskly forward across manicured lawns where scattered groups of students either stopped mid-conversation or turned 180 degrees to gawk. The majority wore tidy suits or simpler working-class garb, but a few female students—rare in this male-dominated institution—kept glancing back to gauge who that flamboyant blonde woman had snared.

Trailing a step behind them, Lydia moved with her usual air of reluctant acceptance, though Philip caught the faintest shadow of exasperation in her eyes. Mia, Elora's tall, redheaded bodyguard, shadowed them with an aura of calm vigilance, hand occasionally brushing the hidden holster beneath her coat whenever an overly curious onlooker sidled too close.

Elora took her sweet time pointing out different buildings, smiling at flustered professors who bowed and stammered "M-my Lady" in bewildered respect. More than once, she tugged Philip closer whenever fresh crowds gathered, pressing her ample bosom into his arm. Each time, his cheeks burned anew. She seemed to relish his embarrassment as well as the rising tide of onlookers' murmurs.

Eventually, she led them to a quieter zone near the campus's eastern edge. There, an engraved plaque read: Medical Faculty Wing—Advanced Research in Unnatural Biology. The label made Philip pause. He'd heard people call magic "unnatural science," but biology conjured images of test tubes and dissected frogs, not wands and runes. His confusion only deepened.

"I can't wait for you to see my lab," Elora purred, guiding him down a corridor that smelled of disinfectant and motor oil. "Initially, I studied medicine to, well... let's say, understand the male body better. If I were to be a devoted wife to you someday, I reasoned, I should know exactly how your body worked—how everything functioned inside and out." She cast him a sideways grin that shot heat straight into his ears. "I wanted to ensure I'd be fully prepared to handle all your needs, both psychological and physiological."

Philip made a strangled sound, halfway between a laugh and a cough. Lydia, behind them, cleared her throat in outrage, her face coloring. Mia, presumably having heard far wilder statements from Elora, only kept watch as if nothing was amiss.

"B-but," Elora continued, unperturbed by the collective embarrassment, "once I actually started classes, I realized: I love medicine. The intricacies of the human body, the interplay with what the masses call 'magic'—I can't get enough of it. So my silly reason for enrolling turned into genuine passion. And here I am!" She gestured to a tall oak door labeled in elegant script: Research on Human Aging Processes. Flashing Philip a proud smile, she swung it open. "Welcome to my domain, dear."

Inside lay a spacious research chamber: beakers, tubes, and contraptions faintly pulsing with mana. A chalkboard crammed with anatomical sketches, notes about "cell senescence," "ERV triggers," and references to "Telomere Mage-Cut Hypothesis." Journals stacked haphazardly, some pinned with runic placeholders.

Philip nearly staggered at the sight. He stared at the chalkboard. The notion that this half-industrial, half-Edwardian society knew about DNA was mind-blowing. "DNA," he repeated softly, then thought to himself. "That's unbelievably advanced for folks who still ride horse-drawn wagons."

Philip stared, astonished. "This… this is amazing!"

Elora laughed too, her eyes sparkling. "Some brilliant scholars detected these 'spiral-coded molecules' in cells, which served as the blueprint for life. They called the structures DNA, and I'm building on their findings, namely to see how mana interacts with and affects DNA replication and aging. Honestly, few beyond specialized researchers have heard of it. I'm shocked you actually recognize DNA."

He coughed, recalling bits from his old Earth knowledge. "I, uh, studied biology as a hobby so I know DNA and stuff," he hedged, mind racing. Her face lit with pride. "I knew you were both gallant and clever!" She squealed happily, hugging him tight enough to make Lydia cough in warning. A wave of warmth flooded his chest, half from her embrace, half from the realization that he truly followed her explanation. She eventually released him, smoothing her skirts. "Ahem. Sorry. I get carried away."

Lydia muttered, "No kidding," under her breath, while Mia stifled a grin.

After providing a brief lesson on the building blocks of life, Elora was ecstatic to find that Philip totally understood her, and she was more convinced than ever that they were soulmates.

Elora kept a firm grip on his arm, practically bouncing on her toes. "So what I do is try to study the effect of mana and various magical processes and their impact on humans. We run experiments, gather data, replicate results. The biggest hitch is that we lack any theoretical basis behind all the established, replicable magical processes. The field of unnatural sciences has always just been a field full of empirical experiments backing a set of applied processes that allowed us to leverage them in various technologies, such as mana lamps and mirror phones, but the scholarly community still couldn't formulate a proven theoretical basis behind these various inexplicable phenomena. But as for me, I am just applying the various magical processes, including the channeling of mana into the human body, and observing their impacts from the DNA level all the way to the organ level."

As Philip stepped closer to the chalkboard while listening to Elora's speech, he noticed references to possible ancient viral insertions that might limit human lifespans. "You're studying… lifespan constraints?"

Elora's green eyes sparkled. "Yes. And I actually found something."

She shifted to a diagram marked with runes highlighting "telomeres" and "mana synergy." "Telomeres," she explained, "are these protective caps at the end of our chromosomes. Once they degrade too far, cells can't replicate properly. Typically, you see that as aging. But we noticed that mana can slow telomere degradation, and it also keeps some viral sequences in our genome from reactivating and wreaking havoc on our health, accelerating our aging. That's why powerful magic-wielders tend to live longer. It's scattered evidence, but the data lines up—especially in hush-hush labs like mine."

Philip tried to process it. He recognized the concept of genomes and telomeres from his high school days, but he was shocked to learn that it was taught in this world too. "So… mana might let you stall aging if you handle it properly?"

Elora beamed. "Precisely. We're still exploring. But imagine how many lives we could improve if we succeed."

"But what's that viral sequence that you mentioned?"

Upon Philip's question, Elora's eyes sparked. "Yes, that's the juicy part. We discovered that about eight percent of the human genome consists of embedded ancient viruses. We call them endogenous retroviruses or ERVs. Under normal conditions, they're dormant. But stress—aging, injuries, big emotional trauma—can stir them awake, messing with cellular stability and fueling the aging process. But with a sufficiently large amount of mana, we can actually completely suppress these viral sequences, significantly delaying the aging process."

He admired the raw fervor shining in her eyes. Despite her comedic, lovestruck antics, there was real brilliance here, real passion for science—even if it involved magical frameworks. "That's… interesting. So do these viral sequences make that big a difference?" Philip asked musingly.

Elora clasped her hands in a delightfully girlish gesture, leaning close enough that her perfume drowned his senses. "Brilliant question." With a conspiratorial wink, she directed his gaze to a final chalk scribble: Myth or History? Right underneath the heading were references to ancient texts describing humans living for centuries. "It's only a conjecture, but based on what I have observed, I suspect the complete suppression of these viruses could lead to a lifespan many centuries longer. Remember the old myths about people living several hundred years in ancient times. We all thought those were just myths, imaginations of our ancestors. But maybe it's not. It might realistically reflect a time in the past before the entrance of these viruses into our DNA."

Philip's stomach did a flip. "You're telling me that humans might have once had lifespans of multiple centuries, and some random virus ended that?"

Elora nodded, tone hushed but insistent. "Yes. It's just speculation so far, but the data points to that. So if we find a way to remove or suppress them, a mythic lifespan might become reality."

He swallowed a rising wave of shock, nodding slowly. "That is incredible." The possibility of living for centuries truly stunned him.

Elora suddenly leaned towards Philip, flicking her pointer aside. "You have no idea how much it means to me. Because if we succeed in reversing these embedded viruses," her voice soared with excitement, "we could spend centuries together. Just you on me, oops, I mean you and me."