Natasha:
How have you been? I hope you are doing well.
I am, as I stated in my previous letter, envious of you. You always show unwavering kindness to your patients... I'm envious of your inherent compassion.
I remember giving a speech on stage when I first started school, waving my arms, and advocating for the development of "Blizzard Immunity." In hindsight, I was a fool. During my final days of medical school, I became increasingly stubborn and withdrew into myself. Experiments and ambitions consumed my heart, and the patients who were supposed to be in my care were progressively ignored...
Natasha, I dare not beg your forgiveness. I owe the people of the Underworld too much already.
I might have spent the rest of my life as a madman wallowing in my convictions if you hadn't agreed to my desire for self-exile. The cold has revealed to me my arrogance. How can a child who grew up in warmth ever begin to comprehend a cure to bitter cold? Thank you for giving me one last chance to discover the answer.
I live in abandoned houses under broken roofs and continue my experiments. One step after another, I've made breakthroughs. I'm trembling, not because of the cold... but because I can feel I'm getting closer to the answer I seek... I'd become a pariah, unable to return to civilized society nor to face my parents... but I didn't despair, because I'd discovered the meaning of my existence. I had a feeling I was on the right track.
The reagents I developed in the Underworld have a serious flaw: the medication only addresses the issue of organ hypothermia and failure, and it will be caught in a never-ending vicious cycle of consumption and recovery. I should have changed the focus of my study a long time ago and tried to figure out how to raise the temperature of the organs and of the body in a controlled manner.
Natasha, thank you very much. You helped me find the missing piece in the development of Blizzard Immunity.