Chapter Eighty-One: Is it Hilly or Silly?

Andy felt a surge of anxiety as he read the message and hurriedly prepared to head up the mountain in search of Catherine. Just as he was about to step outside, Catherine came running from afar, leaping straight into Andy’s arms. Stroking Catherine’s fur, Andy began admonishing her, telling her not to wander up the mountain without reason.

At that moment, Andy’s body was suddenly struck by a chill, fleeting and barely noticeable amidst his lecture to Catherine. He paid it no mind, unaware that two specters had just passed by him, slipping silently into Catherine’s room inside the villa—her new pets, caught on the mountain that day.

While Andy was busy educating Catherine, Flora had finished her own lecture to Caro. Unfortunately, it had little effect; when Caro left Flora’s quarters, her eyes still brimmed with defiance. She muttered under her breath, “So much for ‘secret arts not to be passed on’—you let your son learn them. Why can’t I? Why am I confined to the academy’s basic Gale Meditation? It’s just favoritism, pure and simple!”

“Favoritism, you say?” A resonant, magnetic voice suddenly sounded, startling Caro. She looked up to see a man with a thick beard—a middle-aged figure, gazing down at her with deep, penetrating eyes. This was none other than Healy Clarke, the current vice president of Grim Academy.

Seeing Healy so close, Caro blushed and hurriedly stepped back, bowing as she greeted, “Good day, Professor Healy!”

She rushed to explain, “I wasn’t talking about favoritism, just concern! My aunt always worries about my studies!”

Professor Healy made no comment, only gently reminding Caro to be careful on her way home. The magnetic timbre of his voice made her cheeks flush for reasons she could not name.

Healy stepped aside, allowing Caro to leave, then entered his own villa. Upon returning, he found Flora at the window, chin resting on her hand, lost in thought. Without a word, he began changing his clothes.

Hearing the movement, Flora turned and greeted him, “You’re back, Mentor!”

Healy couldn’t help but laugh. “You! How many times have I told you—stop calling me mentor. Are you trying to deepen my sense of guilt whenever we’re together?”

Flora smiled coquettishly, helping him with his clothes as she replied, “Maybe it’s not guilt but excitement. And besides, I’m used to it. If I don’t call you mentor, what should I call you? Rascal? Darling? Or perhaps… Daddy?”

At first, their exchange was innocent enough, but as Flora’s tone grew ever more provocative, her hands strayed, caressing Healy’s chest and slowly sliding downward…

Healy caught her hand and stopped her. “Wait! Not tonight. I still need to go to the study. I’ve run into some trouble with my experiment and need to think it over.”

He pulled Flora aside, but she pressed herself against him again. “Didn’t you say before that inspiration for tough problems often comes from a woman? Relax a little—maybe the answer will present itself after.”

She licked her lips enticingly. “Tonight, we can play however you wish…”

But Healy remained unmoved, as if he were no longer the charming, passionate lover of days past, but a saint with a heart of stone. He spoke to Flora in a deep, serious voice: “I said, not tonight. This research is especially important.”

Upon hearing this, Flora abruptly dropped all her seductive airs, adopting a cold demeanor so different from before. She fixed her gaze on Healy and said, “Not tonight—you’ve said that how many times now? I think the truth is, you can’t. Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve touched me? Nearly a year, I’d wager. Even when I had my pretty young niece try to tempt you, you were unmoved! Can you tell me, what is it that’s made you like this? Are you hoping to become an ascetic?”

Healy sighed, his voice resigned. “Fine, you’ve guessed it. I am indeed trying the ascetic lifestyle, to see if it can further my progress in sorcery.”

Flora scoffed, “You might fool your foolish son with that, but not me. In fact, I suspect another possibility—you’ve… taken a knife to yourself!”

With that, she suddenly grabbed at Healy’s lower half and squeezed.

Healy shuddered and barked, “You’re too bold!”

Flora laughed, “Well, so it’s still there.”

She released her grip and changed the subject, “Enough teasing. Go do your research. The materials you asked to be acquired for your experiment are ready—they’ll be delivered to your lab tomorrow.”

“I’ve got matters to attend to with the Clarke family, so I won’t be home for dinner tonight,” Flora said, dressing herself elegantly before leaving.

After Flora departed, Healy Clarke stood motionless for a long time. Then, with a sweep of his hand over his beard, it vanished completely, revealing a handsome, clean-shaven face.

He stood before the mirror, murmuring to himself, “Thank goodness—the side effects haven’t reached my face yet. Otherwise, I’d truly be unfit to see anyone.”

Despite Flora’s biting remarks, Healy felt no anger. He knew the problem lay within himself.

It had all begun when, by chance, he established contact with a merchant from another plane. Their subsequent transactions greatly benefited his sorcery research. Then, more than a year ago, he purchased a vial of mysterious green liquid from the merchant. Though its purpose was unclear, he sensed powerful vitality within.

While studying the liquid, he accidentally spilled a drop—nothing unusual, as he was protected by a force field. Yet, to his astonishment, the liquid penetrated the field and seeped directly into his body.

At first, he feared it might be deadly poison, but nothing happened. Instead, he discovered his sorcery cultivation had become vastly more efficient. He was delighted—until a few days later, when he realized his body was undergoing strange changes.

Standing before the mirror, Healy began to disrobe, removing his sorcerous disguises until his true form was fully revealed. Below his neck, his body had transformed into a graceful, fair-skinned figure—elegant, even surpassing Flora’s own beauty.

Yet Healy took no pleasure in this. He muttered, “Damn it, the feminization is getting worse. All these experiments, and still no solution. At this rate, Healy Clarke will soon become Celine Clarke.”

His voice echoed through the empty house, now stripped of its usual deep, magnetic resonance, and instead… clear and melodious.