Suspicion Bites Suspicion's Tail (3)

Late at night, I wrote a note to Niger.

After casting a light sleep spell and closing my eyes, I soon reopened them to check his reply.

Excuse me, what?

If you already knew, couldn't you have told me?

I had said something because I was half-doubting, half-worried about Niger — or, to be precise, worried about my own safety, since I was the one possessing Niger's body. But still, whatever.

With that sentiment in mind, I had written my reply — and yet, upon reading the note that came back, I had no choice but to throw it straight into the trash.

Oh, come on.

For a murderer, he never gives an inch in an argument.

I tossed the infuriating note aside without ceremony and lay down on the bed. Fine. So that was how it was.

I was under surveillance.

The next morning, I left for work as usual, and once I stepped into my research office at the Academy and the watching eyes fell away, I let out a long, heavy sigh.

Surveillance? Where did that even come from?

Since submitting my written apology to the Headmaster, I'd been pacing my lectures carefully so no students would faint on me, and Niger — for reasons of his own — had stopped pestering me about killing people. Things had been peaceful. And that was exactly what had begun to nag at me: peaceful was the last thing someone in my position should be.

Granted, at first I wasn't sure. Sensing someone's gaze instinctively isn't the kind of thing you can easily confirm, and I was just an ordinary modern guy before all this, no special abilities to speak of.

Besides, there were rather pleasant glances mixed in — the sort that came from a person being good-looking — which made it genuinely tricky to jump straight to I'm being surveilled.

But whether Niger's body was unusually sensitive or his abilities were simply that exceptional, the prickling stares that had started a few days ago seemed to have grown more blatant by the day.

By now, the instinct that someone was watching me resonated through my whole body, undeniable.

Not that the gaze seemed hostile, exactly — but after days of it, an uneasiness I couldn't shake had taken root. Surveillance is never for a good cause, after all. The way I figured it, someone must have decided I'd done something worth watching. And who was I, exactly?

Niger Caritas — the worst serial killer in this world's history, who had very recently left behind a corpse whose blood couldn't have fully dried yet. Technically I was only the tenant, but being the tenant made it worse, if anything.

Even living honestly, harming no one, I kept picturing myself ending up in shackles right alongside the landlord.

"Haa…."

The sigh that escaped me was entirely justified.

"Professor Niger, do you have something weighing on you? How unlike you to sigh like that."

"Ah, hmm…. It's less a worry than something that keeps catching my attention."

Responding to that sigh with clockwork precision was Professor Elia, who had apparently slipped into my office yet again without my noticing. The way she tilted her head as she asked was, I had to admit, rather cute.

And as far as I knew, she was older than me.

Which is to say, behavior quite unfitting for her age….

"Hm…? You're giving me a rather rude look, you know."

No.

Why is she so sharp?

"…Could there be any such thing. I've merely felt lately as though I'm being watched. An unpleasant, unsettling feeling."

"Ahaha, I think I know that feeling. When the students' stares get particularly obvious, I get it from time to time myself."

That is not the admiring gaze of students I was talking about. Elia, it seemed, had assumed the students' passion was the source of my troubles.

"Haha…, I wish it were that kind of gaze, but I'm afraid it genuinely feels like surveillance."

"I'm sorry…? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You're being surveilled? You're not joking — you're serious? No, then you have to report it first! What kind of lunatic stalks an Academy professor…!"

At my hollow laugh and my words, her eyes went round, and the words burst out of her. Realizing I wasn't joking, she seemed to be venting the anger on my behalf.

"Hm…, well, yes, but. I'm not certain of anything yet. It's only a feeling, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you see."

And I have rather a lot of guilty corners myself, so I can't exactly go reporting it anywhere, can I….

Suppose I did report it and those people were caught. What would follow is obvious — they'd investigate why I was being watched, and if word came out that they'd witnessed my crimes, or merely suspected them…

I would transform from a victim of surveillance into a serial killer in the span of a heartbeat. And what exactly would I do then?

"No, you're too kind for your own good…. Ah, then how about applying for a personal protection detail?"

"Doesn't that feel a bit premature as well? It could simply be my imagination."

Reporting was, as I'd just established, a matter of tightening the noose around my own neck — and did I need protection, exactly? I doubted there was anyone capable of killing me in the first place.

"Then, hmm…! Oh — I'll escort you home from work from now on! B-because you could be in danger, Professor!"

"No, there's really no need to go that far…."

I was trying to refuse even that, but as I lifted my head to answer, I had no choice but to stop mid-motion.

Her ears were scarlet red, her pupils shaking wildly, her hands trembling — she was broadcasting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her embarrassment with every inch of her body.

"…Perhaps you're right. Then might I trouble you for the time being?"

"Yes! I mean — of course. Ahem. I'll protect you thoroughly."

"Yes…, I'll be in your care."

Her true feelings were written all over her face, but I pretended not to see any of it and nodded along.

From then on, Elia always attached herself to my walk home. In truth, it was less that she followed me home and more that I ended up waiting for her to get off work.

Naturally so — I was a professor scraping by on general lectures twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, while Elia taught mandatory swordsmanship courses. Five days of lectures a week. Who does that?

So whenever I finished my own work, I would pass the time reading in the library.

It was my creation, this world, but I had once been an ordinary human, and there was plenty I'd already forgotten.

Besides, there existed all manner of lore and settings that had never existed in my memory, so the Academy's library overflowed with fascinating material I couldn't resist.

And so, buried in histories and miscellaneous books, time would slip by until, at some point, a hand arrived to poke me repeatedly in the shoulder.

"Professor, I'm done for the day."

She always whispered it, tiny and close against my ear. It was the library, I suppose, that demanded it — but honestly, I suspected she was hoping for exactly this.

Evidence: every time she finished whispering, her cheeks were faintly flushed.

And so we would walk home together, and she would talk without a single pause for breath. So much chatter that I genuinely wondered how she managed to restrain herself the rest of the day.

"Oh, and you know what I said back then? Guess. And then when I saw that…"

She dredged up the weekend's events unprompted to keep the conversation going, laughed a bright, infectious kekeke, and occasionally let her hand brush against mine — fitting, for her.

I'd always thought of her as a puppy of a woman, and my own authored memories said the same, but facing her in person, she was less puppy and more fox.

That was my daily life.

On the surface, a perfectly peaceful daily life.

If only the blatant stares I felt even now would go away.

I sharpened my eyesight and whipped my head around.

Far off in the distance, my eyes locked with a man's — a man watching me, unblinking, from amid the crowd. He flinched as if startled, then ducked his head deep and melted away into the sea of people.

"Professor Niger, was there something over there?"

"…No. I thought an acquaintance was passing by, but it seems I was mistaken."

As the days passed, the surveillance grew ever more flagrant. It almost seemed as though my recent, spotless behavior had made the watcher's employer desperate — that whoever had hired them was running out of patience.

One could only hope they wouldn't provoke the murderer, sir, while being quite this obvious about it.

On a dark night, unlike my usual habit, I did not sleep and instead went outside.

Whether the knowledge of being watched had been quietly grinding on me, or simply because sleep refused to come — either way, I couldn't rest.

And besides, the more it went on, the more vividly I kept picturing the image: the watchers being massacred at Niger's hands.

I drew a hooded robe around myself and hid my appearance. I hadn't come out to do anything wrong, but platinum-blond hair was simply far too conspicuous.

Tap. Tap. Tap—

The sound of my footsteps rang out through the quiet streets.

How many days had it been now? Setting aside the uncertain ones, I'd been under watch for well over a week.

Seriously. Don't they get tired of this?

Look at them even now. Were they really rotating in three shifts, or what? I could still feel gazes all around me.

In the dead of night, no less.

I walked, feeling out every one of those stares. Casually, and with the careful air of someone who noticed nothing, I turned toward an alley.

The stares trailed after me, and I laid a reinforcement spell over my body.

Just before the turn into the alley, I rolled lightly off my feet and broke into a sprint.

Startled by my sudden movement, the watchers made noise and came rushing after me — but I leapt with everything I had, scaled the wall in moments, and concealed myself upon the rooftop.

I was, I admit, a little afraid.

Until now they had only watched from a distance; there was no telling how they might react if I behaved erratically.

Even so, I judged it a necessary move, at least once. Yes, I had plenty of guilty corners — but I couldn't spend the rest of my life with my tail pinned down, either.

Swish—

Faintly, I heard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sound of clothing brushing past. From above, I watched them scatter in several directions, searching for me in a frantic hurry.

Then I caught a single set of footsteps making for the rooftop of the very building I occupied.

The moment he crested the roof and turned his head toward the far side from me, I took him from behind.

"Good evening, Brother."

I stared down into his eyes, expressionless.

I heard him gulp — a small, strangled hnk. I was holding him from behind, and even after meeting my eyes, I could feel his whole body trembling.

What? What did I even do to you?