The forest was quiet, save for the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. Paul moved slowly, his eyes scanning the base of ancient trees for the specific jagged leaves of Moonshade Moss. Beside him, Lisse was darting back and forth, her elven ears twitching at every rustle of the wind. She was taking her job as an assistant very seriously today.
"Young Master! I found it! I found one for you!" Lisse shouted, her voice echoing through the clearing. She was waving a bright, vibrant purple stalk in the air like a trophy.
Paul looked up and offered a genuine smile. "Good job, Lisse. Thank you."
But as she hurried closer, the smile vanished instantly. His expression went flat.
"Lisse," Paul said, his voice perfectly calm but firm. "Drop that. Right now."
Lisse froze mid-step, her eyes wide. "Wait, why? It's so pretty and—"
"That is a Hemlock Creeper," Paul pointed out, gesturing to the oily sheen on the leaves. "It's highly poisonous. If you get the sap on your skin, you'll be itching for a week. If you eat it, your heart stops."
Lisse let out a small shriek and threw the plant away as if it had turned into a snake. She wiped her hands frantically on her apron, looking startled and pale.
Paul let out a short, dry laugh. "Haha. Well, at least we know your 'pretty plant' radar is working, even if your 'safety' radar isn't." He shrugged, going back to his work. "Just stick to the list I gave you."
"I'm so sorry, Young Master! I'll be more careful!" she stammered, checking her fingers for any purple stains.
They continued their search for another twenty minutes. Paul moved deeper into a damp, shaded thicket where the sun barely reached the floor. Suddenly, his gaze locked onto a strange-looking plant nestled in the mud. It was pale green, with thick, succulent-looking leaves and tiny, translucent white berries.
He plucked it carefully by the root and called out, "Lisse, come here."
Lisse looked up in confusion, brushing dirt off her knees, and walked over to him. "Did you find something Master?"
Paul held the plant up for her to see. Lisse leaned in, squinting at the thick leaves. She poked it once, her expression shifting into one of silent assessment.
"Oh, that?" Lisse said, her voice dropping into a bored, informative tone. "That's just Silk-Suckling Weed. It grows everywhere near water. It's... mediocre, honestly. Most herbalists ignore it because it doesn't have any real healing properties. It can't close a wound or stop a fever."
"Hmm," Paul hummed, turning the plant over in his hand. "Is it toxic?"
"No," Lisse answered, counting the plant's flaws on her fingers. "It's actually very mild. The good point is that it's incredibly hydrating; the leaves stay full of water even in a drought. The bad point is that the sap is too sticky. If you put it on a wound, it just makes a mess and glues your clothes to your skin. It's useless for medicine."
Paul stared at the sticky sap oozing from the broken stem. A slow, calculating look crossed his face.
"I've decided," Paul said. "I'm going to make a cosmetic out of this."
Lisse's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "A... a cosmetic? Like, face cream for noble ladies?" She looked at him worriedly, her voice rising an octave. "Young Master, you almost floated away last week! If you put this on someone's face and they grow a second nose or start glowing, the Marquis will have both our heads!"
Paul looked at the plant silently, unbothered by her panic. "It's not going to make anyone glow. It has high moisture retention and a cooling effect. If I can stabilize the viscosity, it will be better than any expensive oil in the capital."
He tucked the weed into his satchel. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. Now, let's go. We need to head to the north area; the high-grade herbs should be ready there."
"Yes, Young Master," Lisse sighed, still looking unconvinced but following him nonetheless. "Just... please, no more floating."
---
The north area of the forest was noticeably cooler, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and pine needles. Here, the canopy was so dense that the ground was covered in a carpet of deep green moss rather than grass.
Paul moved with clinical precision. He wasn't just looking for plants; he was looking for the specific soil conditions that produced high-grade variations. He stopped by a rotted log, kneeling to inspect a cluster of small, blue-capped mushrooms.
"Lisse, keep an eye out for White-Veined Clover," Paul said without looking back. "They usually grow near the roots of the oldest trees in this sector. Avoid the ones with yellow spots—those are bitter and ruin the potency."
"White veins, no yellow spots. Got it," Lisse replied. She was being much more cautious now, checking her hand-drawn guide before even reaching for a leaf.
The two of them worked in a steady rhythm for nearly an hour. The only sounds were the occasional snip of Paul's shears and Lisse's heavy breathing as she climbed over tangled roots.
"I found the clovers, Young Master," Lisse called out quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence of the woods. She pointed to a patch of perfectly white-veined herbs growing in the shade of a massive oak.
Paul walked over and inspected her find. He nodded in approval. "These are high-grade. The mana concentration in this soil must be higher than the maps indicated."
As he began to harvest them, Lisse sat down on a nearby rock, wiping sweat from her forehead. "So... the sticky weed cosmetic. Are you really going to try it tonight?"
Paul carefully placed the clovers into a separate, lined compartment in his bag. "Yes. If the distillation goes well, I should have a prototype by morning."
Lisse looked at his satchel, then back at him. "You're always so busy. First the medicine, now this. Don't you ever get tired?"
Paul paused, his hand hovering over a leaf. He thought about his past life—the endless rows of shelves, the fluorescent lights, the feeling of being a cog in a machine that didn't care about him. Then he looked at the vibrant, living forest around him and the simple, shimmering vial in his bag.
"This kind of work doesn't make me tired," Paul said simply.
He stood up, slinging the heavy bag over his shoulder. "We have enough. Let's get back before the light fades. I have a lot of refining to do."
Lisse jumped up, brushing the moss off her skirt. "Right behind you, Young Master. I'll go prep the jars."
They turned back toward the path, leaving the quiet shadows of the north forest behind.
The edge of the woods was finally in sight, the golden light of the setting sun peeking through the thinning treeline. Paul and Lisse were just a few hundred yards from the main road when the temperature in the clearing suddenly plummeted.
A low, guttural growl vibrated through the air.
From behind a cluster of frost-covered rocks, three creatures emerged. They were Frost-Gnasher Wolves—beasts the size of ponies, with fur made of jagged icicles and eyes that glowed a predatory, freezing blue. As they stepped forward, the grass beneath their paws shattered like glass.
Lisse immediately dropped her basket, her hands glowing with a faint, green mana. Her expression went sharp, the playful maid replaced by a protector.
"Young Master, get back," Lisse said, her voice dropping into a serious tone. "I'll take care of them. Frost-Gnashers are fast, but they can't handle a direct wind-slice."
She took a step forward, ready to lunge, but Paul reached out and caught her shoulder.
"Wait," he said.
Lisse looked at him in confusion, her mana flickering. "Master? There are three of them. If they surround us—"
"I know," Paul interrupted, his voice remains flat and unbothered. He stepped past her, his eyes fixed on the lead wolf. "Let me handle it. I've been sitting in that lab for too long. I want to test my actual strength and the limits of my gravity."
Lisse blinked, lowering her hands. "Gravity? But your mana pool is still—"
"It's not magic, Lisse," Paul said, his gaze narrowing. "It's power. There's a difference."
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't chant an incantation. He simply exhaled and shifted his weight.
The lead Frost-Gnasher snarled, its icy fur bristling as it lunged through the air, claws aimed at Paul's throat.
Paul didn't flinch. He simply raised a hand and flicked his fingers downward.
"Weight."
In an instant, the air around the lunging wolf seemed to solidify. The beast didn't just fall—it slammed into the dirt with a sickening thud, as if an invisible mountain had suddenly dropped onto its back. The ground beneath it cracked, a small crater forming around its pinned body. It couldn't even howl; the sheer pressure had crushed the air right out of its lungs.
The other two wolves paused, confused by the sudden invisible force, before snapping their jaws and charging together from both sides.
Paul didn't move from his spot. He simply spread his arms slightly, his palms facing outward.
"Repel."
An invisible shockwave rippled out from his center. It wasn't a blast of wind or a shield of light; it was a sheer distortion of space. The two wolves were launched backward as if hit by a speeding carriage, tumbling through the air until they slammed into the trees behind them with enough force to shatter their icy armor.
Silence returned to the clearing. The lead wolf was still pinned to the ground, whimpering under the crushing atmospheric pressure Paul was exerting.
Paul looked at his hands, closing them into fists. The strain was there, but it was manageable. He looked over his shoulder at Lisse, who was standing completely frozen, her jaw slightly open.
"Progress is... acceptable," Paul said, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the tension.
He released the pressure, and the lead wolf scrambled to its feet, tail tucked between its legs, before fleeing into the shadows with its companions.
"Let's go," Paul said, picking up his satchel as if nothing had happened. "We're losing the light."
Lisse just stared at the crater in the ground, then back at Paul's retreating back. "That... was definitely not magic," she whispered to herself before hurried to catch up.
---
The lanterns in Paul's secret laboratory flickered, casting long, jumping shadows against the rows of glass jars. On the main workbench, the Silk-Suckling Weed lay washed and prepared. Lisse stood off to the side, clutching a stack of clean towels and watching with a mix of fascination and dread.
"You're really going to use that… crushing thing on the plants?" she whispered.
"Compression," Paul corrected. He didn't look up. He was busy setting up a reinforced glass beaker inside a heavy iron frame he had modified himself. "Traditional distillation uses heat. But heat destroys the delicate moisture-retaining enzymes in this specific weed. To get the serum I want, I need pure mechanical force."
He dropped the thick, succulent leaves into the beaker. Normally, a person would need a massive industrial press to get every drop out of such fibrous plants.
Paul held his hand over the mouth of the beaker. He closed his eyes, focusing on the invisible threads of the world—the weight of the air, the pull of the ground.
"Condense."
Lisse gasped as the air inside the beaker seemed to shimmer and warp. The leaves didn't just get squashed; they began to shrink inward, collapsing under a localized gravitational field that was focused into a space no larger than a coin.
A low, vibrating hum filled the room. The iron frame groaned under the sheer tension.
Slowly, a liquid began to separate. It wasn't the cloudy, green juice Lisse expected. Instead, under the extreme pressure Paul was exerting, the impurities were being forced to the bottom while a crystal-clear, glowing serum rose to the top.
Paul's brow furrowed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Controlling gravity at such a micro-scale was far more exhausting than simply slamming a wolf into the dirt. It required the precision of a surgeon.
Finally, he snapped his hand away. The hum stopped instantly.
At the bottom of the beaker sat a dry, grey husk of fiber—every single molecule of moisture had been wrung out of it. Above it floated about two ounces of a shimmering, viscous liquid that looked like liquid diamonds.
"It's… it's actually clear," Lisse murmured, leaning in. "It doesn't look like a mess at all."
Paul picked up a glass rod and dipped it into the serum. He lifted it, watching how the liquid clung to the glass, thick but smooth. He touched a tiny drop to the back of his hand.
The cooling sensation was immediate. It didn't feel oily or sticky anymore; it felt like his skin had just taken a deep breath of cold mountain air.
"The gravity removed the excess mucilage," Paul noted, his voice a bit tired but satisfied. "This is the ultra-fine serum. The base is complete."
Lisse looked at his hand, then at the tiny vial. "So, what now? We sell it?"
"No," Paul said, capping the vial. "Now we see if it can survive a shelf-life test. And," he glanced at Lisse's wind-burned cheeks, "we need a human trial."
Lisse took a step back. "Young Master, if my face turns into a diamond, I can't be held responsible for the consequences."
Paul let out a small "haha" and started cleaning his tools. "Get some rest, Lisse. Tomorrow, we see if the future of cosmetics is born in a storage closet."
---
The lanterns had long since burned out, replaced by a single, flickering candle as Paul hunched over his workbench. He had been at it for six hours, trying to balance the Silk-Suckling Weed's natural "stickiness" with a stabilizing mineral powder.
Lisse stood a few feet away, clutching a bucket of water. She was yawning, her eyes half-closed, but she stayed alert every time Paul's gravity hummed.
"Young Master... maybe we should stop," she whispered. "The sap is getting everywhere."
"Just one more adjustment," Paul muttered. He was struggling; the serum was refusing to bind with the base. Every time he tried to compress the mixture, it became thick and tacky, clinging to his stirrers like industrial glue.
In a moment of exhausted frustration, Paul decided to test the viscosity on his own skin. He spread a thick layer of the experimental paste over his cheek and forehead.
"Hmm. The cooling effect is excellent, but the—"
He stopped.
A faint click echoed from his face.
The air in the lab was dry, and the mineral powder he'd added reacted instantly to the moisture in the weed. Within seconds, the "face mask" didn't just dry—it petrified.
Paul tried to open his mouth. He couldn't. He tried to blink. His eyelid was glued shut.
"Mmph! Lmph!" Paul grunted, his voice muffled behind what felt like an inch of solid granite.
Lisse snapped awake. "Young Master? What happened? Why are you a statue?!" She rushed over, poking his cheek. It sounded like she was tapping on a tombstone. Clink. Clink.
"It... it hardened like stone!" she shrieked. She grabbed the bucket of water and splashed it over him, but the liquid just rolled off the smooth, grey surface.
Paul gestured frantically toward the tool rack.
"You want me to... use the chisel?" Lisse asked, horrified.
Paul nodded as much as the stone would allow.
For the next hour, the quiet lab was filled with the sound of clink-tink-clink. Lisse, trembling with fear, had to carefully hammer a small metal chisel along the edges of Paul's jaw, flaking off bits of the grey "cosmetic" while Paul sat perfectly still, radiating an aura of deep regret.
Finally, the last piece fell away with a crack.
Paul exhaled, rubbing his sore jaw. His skin was slightly red from the scrubbing, but he looked remarkably calm. "Note to self: reduce the mineral ratio."
"You almost became a permanent garden ornament!" Lisse wailed, dropping the chisel.
Paul ignored the drama and looked at the remaining serum in the vial. He had filtered out the hardening agent. It was pure. "The stone mask was a failure. But the base serum is now perfected. Lisse, come here."
"No! No more stone!"
"It's not stone. It's the final version."
He didn't give her a choice. He applied a small, pea-sized amount of the clear serum to her face. It vanished instantly into her skin, leaving no residue, just a faint, healthy glow.
---
By the next morning, Lisse stood in front of the small mirror in the servants' quarters, her jaw dropping.
Her skin didn't just look "good"—it looked ethereal. The wind-burn from the forest was gone. Her pores were invisible, and her face felt as soft as silk. She looked like an elf princess rather than a tired maid.
When she walked into the kitchen to start her chores, the other servants stopped mid-motion.
"Lisse? Did you... get a blessing?" one of the cooks asked, squinting.
"Your face... it's sparkling," another whispered.
Lisse hurried back to Paul's lab, looking genuinely distressed. "Young Master! You have to take it back! Or make a version that works less!"
Paul looked up from his notes, blinking. "Why? Is there a rash?"
"No! It's too effective!" Lisse cried, pointing at her radiant reflection in a polished beaker. "The butler looked at me three times! The guards are acting weird! I'm a maid, Paul! I can't be this distracting while I'm trying to scrub floors! People will think I'm slacking off to do my makeup!"
Paul let out a short, amused "haha" and shrugged. "That sounds like a personal problem, Lisse. For me, it means the product is ready for the market."
---
Paul stood on a busy corner of the capital's commercial district, holding a small, unassuming wooden box. Beside him, Lisse was constantly pulling her hood lower, trying to hide the "distracting" glow of her skin from the curious stares of passing merchants.
"We need a 'Face', Lisse," Paul murmured. "Someone high-status. If a maid uses it, it's a curiosity. If a Duchess uses it, it's a revolution."
"Can we just find a Face quickly and go home?" Lisse whispered. "I feel like a lighthouse."
As they navigated the crowd, a carriage bearing a familiar crest slowed nearby. A woman stepped out, dressed in elegant but practical robes. Her eyes were sharp, yet carried a warmth that seemed to soften the air around her.
It was Amelia Dunham.
She gasped, her face lighting up with genuine surprise as she spotted them. "Oh! It's you two! The ones from the forest!" She hurried over, ignoring the confused look from her attendant. "It's great to see you again! I was worried you might have run into more trouble after we parted."
Paul bowed politely, and Lisse followed suit. "It is an honor to see you again, My Lady," Paul said calmly. "I realized we never properly introduced ourselves. My name is Paul, and this is Lisse."
"Paul and Lisse. What lovely names," Amelia smiled. She looked at Paul's wooden box and then at Lisse's radiant face, her pharmacist's intuition tingling. "You look like you're searching for something. Or perhaps... trying to sell something?"
Paul hesitated, but before he could speak, Amelia's eyes sparkled with an idea.
"You know," she started, "I own a small, private pharmacy not far from here. Why don't you come and work there? You could sell your goods through my shop."
The two looked at her in total surprise. Paul blinked, his usual stoic mask slipping. "Is that... truly okay? We are strangers, My Lady."
Lisse added quickly, "We wouldn't want to trouble you. You've already helped us once."
Amelia waved it off with a gentle laugh. "It's no trouble at all. To be honest, I couldn't just leave you alone." She stepped closer, her expression turning soft, maternal, and professional all at once. "As a pharmacist, I can see the potential in your eyes. And as a mother... well, I see a young man carrying a very heavy burden by himself. You shouldn't have to walk the streets hoping for a chance when I can give you a door to walk through."
Paul froze. The way she said those words—the sheer, unrequested kindness—triggered something deep in his mind.
[Flashback]
The small apartment in Seoul was quiet. A young Jaekyun was hunched over by the door, hurriedly tying his shoes. "I'm going! I'll be late for the morning lecture!" he called out.
"Wait! Jaekyun!"
His sister, Jaehyun, came running from the kitchen, holding a wrapped bento box. "You forgot your lunch. Again."
Jaekyun paused, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah. Thanks, Noona. I stayed up too late studying."
He reached for the bag, but Jaehyun didn't let go immediately. She looked at him silently, her eyes scanning his tired face, the dark circles under his eyes, and his thin shoulders.
"Noona? What's wrong?" Jaekyun asked.
"Jaekyun..." she started. She let go of the lunch, reached out, and straightened his collar. She gave him a small, bittersweet smile. "Please don't work too hard, okay? Your health is more important than a grade."
[Present Day]
Paul looked down silently, his grip tightening slightly on the wooden box. The noise of the capital seemed to fade for a moment, replaced by the ghost of that old apartment.
Amelia and Lisse looked at each other, sensing the sudden shift in the air.
"Young Master?" Lisse asked softly. "Is everything okay?"
Paul shook his head, clearing the fog of memory. He looked back up at Amelia, his gaze clearer and more determined than before. "It's nothing. Just thinking..."
He bowed again, more deeply this time. "We accept the job. Please... take care of us."
Amelia beamed, overjoyed. "Wonderful! Then there's no time to waste. Follow me, we'll get you settled at the pharmacy immediately!"
---
A few days later
That same evening, a minor noblewoman—the Countess of Beltran—was visiting Amelia's shop for her usual digestive tea. While Amelia was in the back, the Countess spotted a small, unlabelled jar on the counter—a sample Paul had left behind.
Thinking it was a hand cream, she applied a generous dollop to her dry, cracked knuckles.
By the time she reached her carriage, she let out a scream of delight. Her hands looked twenty years younger. By nightfall, three different tea parties in the capital were whispering about the "Miracle of the Dunham Pharmacy," and the hunt for the mysterious "alchemist" had officially begun.