"Then I'll wait for you to make the arrangements." Altaïr smiled as he bid the Guild Manager farewell.
It was settled!
He could not be sure whether Isis would push her way into the Arena Challenge once she learned that he was taking part, only for the Guild to turn it into another of those "rival speed-hunting contests" from years ago.
But truthfully, he did not care.
After all, his real goal was to use the Arena Challenge as an opportunity to practice Devouring Demon. If Isis wanted to win... then he could let her win for the time being, right?
A few wins or losses in the Arena meant little to him. Besides, who knew? Once he used Devouring Demon, victory might be all but guaranteed.
He trusted the Guild Manager to arrange everything soon and looked forward to the coming matches.
In high spirits, Altaïr strolled home with a spring in his step.
He ran into Isis in the yard just as she returned from the Training Area. One look at her drenched in sweat and radiating heat told him that she had been pushing herself hard again.
You keep hounding me to rest and recover, then go all out with extra training yourself, huh?
Hmph...
The faint guilt Altaïr had been hiding vanished at once.
Growing self-conscious under his stare, Isis scratched her head and searched for something to say. "Finished visiting the prison? How's Mr. Sid doing?"
"Pretty well." Altaïr glanced at her with the hint of a smirk. "He's taking his rehabilitation seriously and seems to be in decent spirits. Once he's served his sentence, he should be able to return to a normal Hunter's life."
"That's good, that's good." Isis nodded. "I'll rinse off and get changed, then we'll go to Alva's place for your checkup."
"All right."
Isis froze mid-motion, then suddenly leaned in until their noses almost touched and stared straight into Altaïr's eyes.
He instinctively leaned back.
"Something's off. I smell a conspiracy."
...? Are you a Palamute? No, even a Palamute wouldn't be this ridiculous.
Catching the slight shift in Altaïr's expression, Isis stepped back, folded her arms, and kept her eyes fixed on him. "You're definitely hiding something from me, and it's something you feel guilty about. Every other time I ask you to get a checkup, you drag your feet and make excuse after excuse. Why did you agree so readily today?"
Altaïr fell silent.
After a moment, he sighed. "Fine. It's about the Arena Challenge. I'll be taking part in a few matches soon. The opponents will only be low-star Monsters, of course, but I need to make the fights look 'impressive,' you know?"
Isis stared at him in surprise. "The Arena? Low-star Monsters? And you need to make it look impressive? Are you that bored? Was this your idea?"
"What do you think?" Altaïr replied with a sidelong glance.
Convinced that she had uncovered the truth, Isis muttered, "All right, it must have been that old man, the Guild Manager. He couldn't stand seeing you idle and decided to use you for publicity or something."
Altaïr seized the opportunity. "Are you going to join too? I'm sure the Guild Manager would be delighted to see both of us in the Arena Challenge."
"No. I'm not interested. I'd rather spend another couple of days in the Training Area or ask Instructor Altman for advice." Isis plainly had no desire to compete against Altaïr in a Challenge Hunt involving 2-3★ Monsters.
If the opponent were something like a Monoblos, that might be different. A Bulldrome or Velocidrome, however, would be far too dull.
At their current level, racing to defeat such low-star Monsters would test their ability to cut corners more than their actual skill.
Altaïr shrugged and said nothing more. He had successfully thrown her off the scent.
Francesca had taught him to conceal his true goal behind a pretext the other person would believe. Sure enough, it worked.
With her suspicions and wariness dispelled, Isis went inside, took a quick shower, changed into light clothing, and dragged Altaïr toward the Royal Academy.
The previous examinations had shown no changes, but Alva had told them to continue monitoring Altaïr for a full two months, so they could not afford to be careless.
When they reached the Academy, however, Alva was nowhere to be found. His students passed along a message explaining that he had temporarily left Dundorma to work on another research project.
Of course, he had not simply abandoned the question of the microbes inside Altaïr. According to the message, Altaïr could continue his examinations and treatment at the Frenzy Virus Research Institute while Alva was away from Dundorma.
Alva had already spoken to a former colleague who now headed the Institute, so Altaïr could go straight there.
Altaïr considered letting the matter drop until Alva returned, but Isis would not hear of it.
After asking for directions and weaving through the city, they finally reached the unassuming Research Institute, which was little known among ordinary people.
Isis frowned at the modest two-story building that housed the Frenzy Virus Research Institute.
"It looks tiny. Not very professional."
"You cannot judge a research facility's professionalism by the size of its building." A woman's voice, carrying the hint of a smile, came from behind them.
Altaïr and Isis turned. An ornately decorated, Gargwa-drawn cart had stopped by the roadside, and a slender Wyverian woman stepped gracefully down with the help of a Felyne driver.
Her hair was pure white, and her pallid skin made her look unwell. What drew the eye most, however, was her gaze.
The woman's pupils were an exceedingly rare shade of pink.
Taken together, those traits suggested that the Wyverian woman had albinism.
"S-sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Mortified that someone had overheard her disparaging the Institute, Isis rubbed the back of her neck.
"It's quite all right. You must be Mr. Altaïr and Miss Isis. Alva told me about your situation. Follow me." The Wyverian woman raised one hand in a graceful gesture of invitation, then led the way into the unassuming Institute.
Altaïr and Isis exchanged a glance.
If they had guessed correctly, this Wyverian woman was the head of the Frenzy Virus Research Institute mentioned in Alva's message.
Isis stuck out her tongue, and the two quickened their pace to follow her inside.
The Institute's interior was somewhat cluttered. In addition to piles of documents and instruments, it contained an assortment of alchemical tools more commonly found in a laboratory or pharmacy.
The Frenzy Virus Research Institute's work clearly extended far beyond written research.
The director offered no introduction. Once inside, she kept her interested gaze fixed on Altaïr.
She did not seem to be looking at a person so much as sizing up a precious research specimen.
Altaïr felt the urge to run.
As though sensing his unease, the director smiled. "Don't worry. I am indeed very interested in your body and the little lives inside it.
"But I won't do anything to you. I only need a small sample of your flesh and blood.
"Many infected people resist being studied. That is a mistake. The evidence shows that only deeper research and a more thorough understanding can provide practical, effective solutions when a problem arises."
"That's the first time I've heard someone justify human experimentation with such confidence."
Even so, the director's argument was not unreasonable.
The Radiant Dragon had been slain, and the Guild had overseen the complete destruction of its corpse. Altaïr was the only infected person, leaving no other cases for comparison.
What choice was there but to study him?
"Go ahead." Altaïr rolled up his sleeve and offered his arm for the sampling.
Excitement flickered in the director's pink pupils. She immediately fetched her tools and drew a tube of blood without ceremony. After obtaining Altaïr's consent, she used a scalpel to take a tiny sample of muscle tissue.
Compared with wounds sustained during Hunts, the small incision barely counted as a scrape, yet Isis's gaze toward the director grew noticeably more hostile.
The director noticed but did not seem to care. Once she had the flesh and blood samples, she launched into a series of tests and observations no layperson could follow.
Perhaps because Altaïr was a new "specimen" to her, the director examined him with exceptional thoroughness.
After nearly two tedious hours, she finally lifted her head from the clutter on her desk.
She glanced at Altaïr, whose expression had not changed, then at Isis, whose impatience was becoming obvious, and laughed softly.
"I have good news."
Isis's eyes lit up. "Are those microbes gone?"
"No." The director looked at Altaïr as though appraising a treasure.
"Whether the cause is a viral infection or a parasite, the body will normally digest, absorb, and metabolize inactive foreign matter until it disappears completely.
"But your body does not seem inclined to digest these microbes. Instead, it is accepting them.
"Congratulations. It seems you and those microbes are going to merge into one."
Isis stared blankly at her.
* * *
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