“But then, does it mean the Chosen of Wisdom is already active?” Rosalyn asked.

  Sir Vu grinned, fangs flashing as he tilted his head.

  “Haven’t you noticed that the Tree of Wisdom was initially the only one of the Four Great Trees in good health? That means it had already chosen its representative long before our turns came. Chad healed when he chose me. Your Tree most certainly healed as well, judging by the pillar of light it emitted when you accepted your role.” He paused, eyes glinting. “You should go pay it a visit, by the way.”

  “Right…” Rosalyn replied pensively. She set her empty glass on the low table and stood. “I think I’ll go do that right now.”

  ----------------------------

  Humility’s plaza was crowded, much like those of the three other Great Trees. People - hopefuls and tourists alike - still camped beneath the branches, waiting to be picked and granted the immense powers of the Trees’ blessings. Most failed to notice the signs that, for three of the Trees, the act had already been done. People didn’t know how to interpret signs and many didn’t even try.

  Since the Memorial, the crowds had begun to thin. Some people grew tired or discouraged; others decided this Great Trees hype was nothing but an elaborate scam and packed their bags. Still, many remained, vendors and merchants among them.

  Rosalyn arrived with her jacket pulled tight around herself. A light drizzle hung in the air, not enough to soak her, but enough to be felt. She spotted the Tree of Humility from afar with ease: its towering 50 meter height, its spilling boughs filling the air, shimmering faintly as they sheltered the plaza below.

  The memory of the Memorial crowds was still vivid, her trauma still fresh, and she shivered at the thought of pushing through the mass of people to reach the Tree. But she clenched her fists in determination and began weaving through them, steps quick, eyes fixed on the polished floor tiles darkened by the drizzle. Her heart raced every time someone came too close, or even at the imagined possibility of being stopped. Her fear played tricks on her mind.

  At last, she reached the base of the Tree. She stopped and gazed up into its canopy. Its modest, moss-toned leaves fluttered calmly above her. They looked healthy, smooth and uniform now. No longer battered, torn or touched by mildew.

  A small smile tugged at Rosalyn’s lips, relief settling in her chest.

  “Hi…” she said internally as if the Tree could hear her. “I just came to see you… now that we’re linked. So… um… thank you for choosing me. I’ll be in your care.”

  She immediately felt silly, heat creeping up her neck. She lingered anyway, half-hoping for some kind of response which only made her feel even more foolish. For a moment, she wondered if she might hear that deep voice again, the one she’d heard at her choosing. Maybe it had been the Tree of Humility’s voice? Probably...

  But there was nothing. Only a subtle hum, barely perceptible.

  Then a single leaf drifted down, swaying gently before settling atop her head.

  She picked it up, blinked and then chuckled:

  “I see. I just earned a head pat.”

  Rosalyn smiled at the Tree of Humility once more, warmth blooming inside her. Carefully, she tucked the leaf into her jacket’s inner pocket. After one last glance upward, she turned and walked away. She considered returning to Sir Vu’s penthouse when a thought made her stop in her tracks. If three Chosen were already active, the only one missing would be the Chosen of Purity. Her gaze drifted toward the Northern District. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to head there, to Purity’s plaza to assess the situation there.

  A few bus stops and several hours later, Rosalyn stood beneath the Tree of Purity. The same blind crowds of tourists, campers, and vendors surrounded her, just as they had in Humility’s plaza.

  Her chest tightened. The Tree of Purity was in an alarming state. It looked as though it was beginning to petrify. Its small, heart-shaped leaves crumbled into powder, leaving only fragile skeletons behind. Its rough, peeling bark was cracking and bleaching white, smoky fissures crawling from the roots all the way to the smallest branches. Every creak and rustle of the branches sounded like a pained moan to her ears.

  A subtle piano melody suddenly made itself heard. It drifted through the plaza, slow, sorrowful notes, heavy with mourning. The music seemed to wrap itself around the Tree’s strained limbs, as though offering it solace.

  Rosalyn realized she had already heard this melody before. Drawn by curiosity, she followed the sound, weaving through the crowd. In a slightly more secluded corner of Purity’s plaza stood a synth, played by a lean man with his eyes closed in concentration. His messy brown hair was lightly damp from the drizzle, and a bark pendant swayed against his dark sweater as he moved.

  Rosalyn stopped at a distance. She recognized him: the beggar she had once seen playing at night. There was something quietly captivating about both his presence and his music. She didn’t dare approach, and he didn’t seem to notice her.

  “Rosalyn?”

  She turned. Lana was approaching her, wearing her usual warm smile.

  “It’s been a while,” Lana said. “How are you? I was hoping you’d come by the Academy greenhouses again one of these days. You seemed so at peace the last time you visited.”

  “Ah… well, many things happened… I forgot.” Rosalyn replied. “But I definitely will come sometime to rest. I think of greenhouses as havens.”

  “Yes -havens for the soul above all!” Lana said, her eyes crinkling with delight. “How was the Memorial, by the way? I was sick so I couldn’t attend.”

  Rosalyn’s heartbeat quickened. She forced herself to remain calm, keeping her tone casual.

  “It was a bit hectic…”

  “Isn’t that always the case wherever large crowds gather?” Lana chuckled.

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  She curiously eyed Rosalyn, analyzing her stance, and asked with a playful tilt of her head “Mesmerized by the melody? I don’t blame you. I’m always captivated by it, no matter how many times I hear it.”

  Her eyes lingered on the man at the synth, softening with unmistakable affection.

  “That’s Beau, or ‘Bozo’ as he likes to call himself.” she added fondly. “My dearest friend since our Academy days. How about I introduce you two? He may not show it, stubbornly stoic as he is, but he’s always touched when someone appreciates his music.”

  “No, I don’t want to disturb-” Rosalyn began, waving her hands in protest.

  But Lana gently caught her by the elbow, laughing as she tugged her forward.

  “Oh, come on. He doesn’t bite! Don’t be shy!”

  Rosalyn let herself be dragged toward the man, already feeling mortified. She kept her eyes lowered until she heard Lana announce her.

  “Beau, this is Rosalyn, a fellow admirer of your funeral marches!” Lana said cheerfully, clearly trying to put her at ease.

  The piano music stopped. Rosalyn felt a sharp, assessing gaze settle on her. Slowly, she lifted her head. The man's deep hazel eyes bore into her, quiet, unreadable, piercing. The intensity made her palms damp. After a long, unsettling silence, he gave her a single nod.

  “Bozo,” he said simply, his expression serious.

  “You’re playing at Purity’s plaza today,” Lana continued with a smile. “Can I assume you approved my theory about how your music helps the Great Trees survive?”

  “You’re more lively than usual.” Bozo remarked flatly.

  “Because there’s reason to be!” Lana replied, undeterred. “Not long ago, three Trees were dying. Now, somehow, only one is. We can handle the decay if it’s just one!”

  Bozo regarded her in silence for a moment. Then his gaze shifted to Rosalyn, who felt too uneasy to speak. She met his eyes, then immediately looked away.

  “Confidence without the means to back it up is meaningless.” he said, turning back to his synth. He pulled out a clean handkerchief and began wiping the drizzle from the control panel.

  Lana sagged slightly, then straightened again. “I know science isn’t much help here, but still, if we narrow our research down to just one Tree…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Suit yourselves.” Bozo replied casually, continuing to wipe the keys.

  “You are such a Cucurbita pepo.” Lana said, crossing her arms feigning to sulk.

  That earned her a small smirk from him. Rosalyn too glanced at Lana, amused.

  “Cucur-?” she attempted.

  “Cucurbita pepo,” Lana corrected very seriously. “In blunt terms: squash. The name alone deflates enthusiasm.”

  Rosalyn laughed softly.

  “My neighbor has been talking to me a lot about squash lately,” Lana continued thoughtfully, “about how it used to be a home remedy for itchy skin.”

  “Itchy skin?” Bozo asked with sudden interest, lifting his head from the keyboard.

  “Yes. Her skin has been unnaturally itching and prickling lately,” Lana replied. “Oddly enough, she knows a few other people with the same problem. It’s really disruptive, and it all appeared overnight. It doesn’t seem contagious, though since her husband is perfectly fine.”

  Bozo went still. He stared at her without blinking, brows furrowed.

  “…What is it?” Lana asked, surprised.

  Rosalyn glanced between them, confusion settling into her features.

  Bozo finally broke eye contact, his gaze focusing on nothing in particular. His expression grew distant, tight as if his thought had leapt down to a dark abyss. An uneasy, agitated air clung to him. His movement became more curt. He turned toward the Tree of Purity, observing it. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Rosalyn kept following his gaze, uneasiness growing.

  Suddenly, Bozo slammed several keys at once as if in frustration. The sound cracked through the plaza, harsh and jarring. Nearby people flinched, startled, Lana among them. Rosalyn’s heartbeat quickened.

  Bozo’s head hung low. When he raised it again, his hazel eyes fixed not on Lana, but on Rosalyn.

  “…It has started too soon.” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  ----------------------------

  Rosalyn entered the private lift in Vu’s skyscraper, the lingering unease from Bozo’s words and stare still lodged deep in her bones. She didn’t even register the absurd gnome jingle playing in the background.

  When the doors opened, she froze. Rodderick was sitting on the zebra-patterned sofa in Sir Vu’s living room. He sprang to his feet the moment he saw her. Before she could greet him, explain, or even voice her surprise, he strode forward and pulled her firmly into his chest. Rodderick rarely showed affection physically and when he did, it meant something had shaken him deeply.

  “Blasted pipes…” he muttered, his gruff voice hoarse. “If it weren’t for them, I’d have been there at the Memorial…”

  Rosalyn blinked back tears. For the first time since the Memorial, she felt allowed to let the pain surface instead of holding it in.

  “I’m okay…” she whispered, trembling against his shirt.

  He pulled back slightly to study her face, worry carved in his wrinkles.

  “I’m not askin’ for details,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you relivin’ it. But I want you to know this: I believe you’re innocent.”

  “Not entirely…” Rosalyn shook her head, tears slipping free.

  “That still doesn’t justify the overblown cruelty you endured,” Sir Vu’s voice cut in. “Nor the fact that you were denied any real defense. Don’t belittle your pain.”

  He was leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Rosalyn looked at him through glassy eyes and nodded. He winked then, grinning:

  “There, there, sweetheart.”

  “Sir Vu,” Rodderick turned toward the magenta-haired man, “thank you again for defendin’ her and for takin’ her in. I’ve said it already, but I’ll say it again. I’m deeply grateful.”

  Sir Vu chuckled and offered a playful roger that -two fingers tapping his temple before flicking outward.

  Rodderick released Rosalyn and reached into his pockets, pulling out several envelopes. He handed them to her.

  “I picked up your mail from your dorm on my way here. You can’t set foot there for now. Security’s been informed. Chairman’s orders.” He clenched his fists, irritation radiating off him.

  Rosalyn sorted through the envelopes, stopping when she saw the official Academy seal on one of them.

  Sir Vu smirked. “Davey boy works fast.”

  Her hands trembled as she tore it open and read in silence.

  “What does it say?” Rodderick asked after a moment, impatience creeping in.

  “That the social part of my punishment has been revised.” Rosalyn replied, eyes on the letter. “I won’t be expelled from the Academy but I’m suspended from all academic activity for a month. During that time, my academic privileges and dorm access are revoked.” She paused, then added, quieter, “After the month is over, everything returns to normal. Classes, lessons… and my dorm.”

  She exhaled, relief flooding her chest. Sir Vu nodded, clearly satisfied. Rodderick’s tense brow finally smoothed.

  After a few more minutes of chatting, Rodderick bid Sir Vu goodbye. Rosalyn escorted him out, wanting to spend a few more moments with him. He looked completely dizzy from the unbearable powdery milk jingle still ringing in his head from the elevator.

  “Gnomes just blew out the left side of my brain,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as they stepped out into the lobby on the ground floor.

  Rosalyn chuckled. Rodderick added:

  “I’ll come over tomorrow with a few boxes of your stuff from your dorm.”

  "Thank you.” she said, smiling gratefully.

  Outside on the street, the two gnome bodyguards at the entrance stood as still as statues. Rodderick waved her goodbye. Then, oddly, he reached with his other hand to scratch the exposed skin on his forearm. Rosalyn froze, eyes widening, heartbeat quickening. She might not have noticed it at all nor thought anything of it if it weren’t for her earlier interaction with Bozo and Lana.

  “Rodderick… do you have an allergy?” she asked uneasily.

  “Never,” he replied with a small shrug. “I’ve always been as healthy as a fish. Don’t know why, but my skin’s been pricklin’ since yesterday.”

  He joked lightly about it, but Rosalyn only half-heard him. She stayed on the street, watching him walk away and disappear around the corner. Bozo’s cryptic words echoed in her mind: 'It has started too soon…'