Chapter 27
Once again, Irene couldn’t answer.
It wasn’t because she missed her chance. She simply didn’t know whether money was the most important thing or if there was something better. And as a researcher, she never gave definite answers to things she wasn’t sure about.
“That so?”
Miguel frowned.
“Are you siding with that guy just because you’re his student?”
Standing in the middle of the room, Miguel spread his arms dramatically, his theatrical voice filling the space.
“Real medicine isn’t trapped in some ivory tower—it’s out in the field! I don’t even need to ask what Figuéras is teaching his students. He probably thinks he’s carrying the entire medical field of the Diboa Kingdom on his back. But listen to me. Real medicine isn’t inside the university—it’s outside! Figuéras is just a bookish loudmouth!”
The more Miguel ranted, the more he resembled a sunfish. Setting aside everything else, the fact that sunfish are called “jellyfish killers” made it easy to understand why Miguel disliked Professor Figuéras so much.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Does that mean you don’t agree with me?”
The sunfish waddled closer, his plump cheeks jiggling. Irene, unfazed, calmly placed the book she was holding back onto the shelf.
“I wouldn’t know whether medicine is inside or outside the university. I’m not a physician who treats people.”
“Hmm. Not a physician?”
Miguel crossed his arms over his belly, looking displeased.
“If you don’t treat people, are you saying His Highness isn’t a person? That’s quite rude…”
He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, as if something had crossed his mind. Then, in a sly voice, he whispered,
“Or maybe being a royal physician is just a cover, and you’re here for another reason?”
Unlike Irene, who had little interest in Miguel, he was very interested in her.
When Divoa first announced he would be looking for a new physician, Miguel had been filled with anxiety. Maybe it was his insecurities, but he couldn’t help feeling like Divoa was implying he was incompetent.
After all, how could you compare internal medicine to surgery? They were completely different fields!
But when the new physician turned out to be Irene Rios, Miguel’s first impression wasn’t great. She was too young to be a real competitor, and something about her seemed… unreliable.
Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. He had gone from being Divoa’s only physician to merely the chief physician because of Irene’s arrival. No matter what, he had to protect his position and maintain his advantage over her.
Besides, he had ambitions. Next year would mark his tenth year as a royal physician. Surely, by now, he deserved a noble title—at the very least, a knighthood.
And yet, out of nowhere, a new physician appeared.
Miguel was on high alert, watching for any opportunity to undermine her. He narrowed his eyes and smirked.
“Did you… spend the night with His Highness?”
Spend the night?
Irene hesitated, trying to figure out what he meant.
Did he mean that, before hiring her, Divoa had tested her skills by having her dissect a corpse all night long?
Or was he referring to something else? Noble gatherings sometimes lasted all night, so was he asking if she had attended a banquet with Divoa?
If it was the latter, the answer was no. If it was the former, it was… complicated. She hadn’t dissected bodies all night, but Divoa had watched her perform an autopsy before.
“……”
Miguel must have taken her silence the wrong way because his expression flickered with disdain. For a moment, she could almost hear him scoffing—I knew it.
“Not just anyone can be His Highness’s physician. It takes someone of real skill—someone like me. But a fresh graduate? And a woman at that? Guess I worried for nothing.”
His gaze slowly scanned her from head to toe, filled with obvious ridicule.
“But I still don’t get it. Maybe His Highness is tired of beautiful women. His taste is… peculiar.”
“And what exactly is peculiar about my taste?”
A voice cut in from behind.
Miguel flinched. He turned around slowly, forcing a smile as he spotted Divoa entering the office.
“Your Highness…”
Divoa smiled pleasantly as he looked at him. Miguel immediately broke into a cold sweat.
“What was it you were talking about so enthusiastically, Dr. Flich?”
Miguel took a step back and answered quickly,
“I was just giving the new physician some advice as a senior. There’s a lot to learn when serving Your Highness.”
“How admirable of you, thinking of your juniors.”
“Not at all, Your Highness. Well, I’ll take my leave now.”
Miguel bowed hurriedly and bolted from the room. On his way out, he accidentally bumped into Javier, who was standing by the door.
“Ugh.”
While Miguel groaned and clutched his shoulder in pain, Javier looked completely unfazed. Moments later, Miguel scurried away.
“He’s usually so slow, but look how fast he moves when he needs to.”
Divoa muttered to himself, chuckling. Then, he turned his gaze toward Irene.
She had just placed the last book on the shelf, looking utterly unconcerned about whatever misunderstanding Miguel might have gotten from their conversation.
Divoa arched an amused eyebrow.
“Why didn’t you tell him we hadn’t spent the night together?”
Maybe Irene was more cunning than she seemed. She had no problem using Divoa’s authority to handle workplace politics.
But then he noticed something—just for a moment, a flicker of hesitation passed across her usually blank expression.
“The question wasn’t clear,” she finally said. “Did he mean spending the night dissecting corpses? Or did he mean attending a banquet together? It had to be one of the two, but I’m not great at interpreting people’s intentions.”
Despite her words, there was a subtle note of pride in her voice. She had improved—at least now, she could narrow down Miguel’s vague question to two possible meanings.
“Huh?”
Divoa’s amusement disappeared for a moment, caught off guard.
Irene continued, perfectly serious.
“Besides, we have spent the night together—at close range, even.”
“We have?”
Divoa looked genuinely confused. No matter how much of a playboy people thought he was, he wasn’t the type to forget spending the night with someone.
He never drank to the point of memory loss. He avoided alcohol precisely because he didn’t want to risk making reckless mistakes.
But he had spent a night with Irene? When?
Just as his thoughts started to spiral, Irene nodded.
“On the steam train to this place. There was a wall between us, but we were close enough that I could hear you tossing and turning.”
“…Oh.”
“I wasn’t sure which scenario Dr. Flich was referring to, so I couldn’t answer. He has a habit of asking vague questions.”
Divoa stared at her for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing.
She hadn’t understood Miguel’s intention. She hadn’t even realized she was being insulted.
All that effort for nothing—she didn’t even get offended.
Still chuckling, Divoa leaned in slightly.
“Next time someone asks you that, just say no. ‘Spending the night together’ usually implies… intimacy.”
“…Intimacy?”
“Yes. Ah, I should be clearer. I don’t mean political affairs—I mean physical ones.”
Irene stood frozen as those words sank in.
Divoa, amused by her reaction, casually turned to the bookshelf. But as his gaze swept across the shelves, he frowned.
“…This isn’t organized by title. Or by subject. Not even by body part. Or publisher. How did you sort these books?”
Still distracted by the word intimacy, Irene hesitated before answering.
“By size and color.”
“…Size and color?”
“It looks more pleasing that way.”
“….”
For a moment, Divoa was speechless.
It was the most bizarre way to organize medical books he had ever seen.
