Suspicion Bites Its Own Tail (6)

"What are you saying all of a sudden? You promised you'd leave the Academy matters to me."

"Just for one day. This once, I will go to the Academy in your stead. I am not so bereft of judgment as to commit any reckless foolishness, so you need not worry."

"You're buying worries and manufacturing them yourself, Teacher. This is because of the letter from Bellatrix, isn't it."

"Yes. I will deal with her myself. There was also something I wished to confirm."

Something he wished to confirm. Could it be anything other than the scent of her blood? He claimed he wouldn't go creating worries to fret over — yet there he was, a murderer personally brewing them by hand.

"Bellatrix is not a bad person. She is not someone who deserves to die."

"I never once said I would kill her. I merely said I would meet her in your place."

When a murderer says he has something to confirm and offers to meet her in my stead, that's hardly any different from announcing he intends to kill her.

The notes were as unyielding as ever.

Well… truthfully, this was the inevitable outcome the moment I started trading notes with Niger. He was a man who did not bend his will, and I was nothing more than a tenant.

Right now it was merely a plea — a fragile, crumbling plea — but if I kept refusing and somehow blocked him at every turn, there was no telling what he might do instead.

This is why they say if you want to see a beautiful world, first seize power.

Barely any time has passed since I was born into this world, and already I find myself lamenting a life of kneeling before a tyrannical landlord.

Seriously. My life.

In the end, I closed my eyes after earnestly imploring him, repeating over and over my plea that he please, please leave the mace sheathed and settle things amicably, party to party.

"My apologies, but until you took over my body, I was the professor. I haven't the faintest idea what you are worried about, so please go to sleep. I am mad — but I am not insane."

And with that, he told me to shut up already.

All the while being perfectly aware that he himself was the mad one. I could only find it absurd.

And so, swallowing my tears, I lay down.

Please, let the place I find myself when I open my eyes again be anything but an execution ground. With that prayer, I took one last look at the deep pre-dawn sky and sank into sleep.

Deep in the night, informants who should never have returned at this hour came trickling in one after another.

Hence the faint stirring outside my door — likely a noise made deliberately, so as not to startle me.

I had been passing the time staring up at the moonlit night like a miserable wretch, perched alone on my bed, rolling mana through my body, when a light knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

"My lady…."

The trailing way the words tapered off set off an instinctive alarm: this was not good news.

"So. How did tonight's surveillance go, that you've come back like this."

"The thing is… we were discovered. The fact that we were watching, I mean."

"Hm…."

At my soft sigh, the informant who had stepped into my room flinched and trembled. He seemed to understand just how absurd it was — a Duchess's informant, caught in the act of tailing a single priest.

"I beg your forgiveness. I have no face to show you."

"Explain. Briefly."

It had seemed a laughably simple task — shadowing one priest, nothing more — so failing at it was beyond irritating. Suspicious quirks aside, the man was still a priest.

"Yes, my lady. Whether he deduced that he was being watched or not, he suddenly vanished into an alley. And then…."

The informant began relaying everything he had seen and heard.

Starting with the fact that they had been lured into an ambush mid-pursuit. Down to how one of the informants had engaged Niger in a brief scuffle — only to be overpowered with humiliating ease.

"…Is that true?"

"Yes, my lady."

The informant bowed his head at my question.

Just who was this man, that he could subdue an informant of the Ducal house? Between the layers of suspicion, curiosity began to stir.

"And then?"

"He did not contact us directly, my lady. He left a message for us through the communication stone of the informant he subdued. This is the stone bearing the recorded voice."

With that, the informant held out the communication stone.

I gave it a once-over with half-lidded eyes, then played the recorded message.

His voice.

"Hm. Rather bold of him."

The tone carried a trace of amusement — and precisely that much insolence.

Did he even realize how ridiculous it all was? Noticing he was under surveillance, luring them out in turn, subduing an informant, and then leaving a message for me on top of it all.

What would he have done if these had been people intent on killing him? Or was he so confident that even that would have changed nothing?

I had found him suspicious — and so, I found myself curious.

And with that, my thinking shifted.

Truthfully, I had never intended to question him directly. But Professor Niger, having seen through the surveillance, had been so composed, so maddeningly nonchalant. 'If you have something to say, come and ask me yourself,' he'd said.

My suspicion and distrust of him seemed to have shifted, somehow.

Into curiosity, if anything.

Besides, if one were being strict about it — in the beginning, after all.

I had so gracelessly opened with suspicion, and yet turned up not a shred of evidence in his conduct. Call it a duchess posturing mightily only to come away with nothing to show for it.

Lost in such thoughts, I picked up the paper on my desk and scrawled a few lines. I folded the roughly scribbled sheet, slipped it into an envelope, and pressed the seal of Feltner into the wax.

"This letter. When you have the chance, leave it on the professor's desk."

"…You intend to meet him in person, my lady? It could be dangerous."

"Now that's an amusing thing to say."

A smirk tugged at my lips.

And why not? This was a man who, even deep in the night, had let his subdued watchers go unharmed. What conceivable business would he have committing some atrocity in broad daylight, amid a crowd?

Moonlight spilled over the window and fell across the letter resting on the desk. The crest of Feltner gleamed, drinking in the light.

And so the day came.

Today was the day I was to meet Professor Niger privately.

Without thinking, I slipped into the Academy uniform. Shirt on, tie knotted above it. The swishing skirt displeased me, so I gave it a pointless tug downward.

If asked why I was donning the uniform alone, I could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only say that even a duchess has her pride — it was simply that other people's touch had always chafed. From the start, I had no desire to mingle with others, no wish ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be touched, no intention ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of granting anyone my attention.

In that sense, Professor Niger was a truly remarkable man.

His conduct was stuffed to the brim with suspicious deeds, and yet somehow they kept prodding my curiosity — until he had wrung my interest out of me whether I liked it or not.

I stepped outside.

Since I lodged in the Academy dormitory anyway, a short walk brought the Academy into view.

With every step, the surroundings filled with other students. Huddles of them murmuring together, already-familiar friends matching strides, each group wearing its own flavor of laughter.

None of them walked beside me, but I paid it no mind.

I was the one who kept everyone at arm's length, after all. I had no intention of scolding those who had scuttled away from my side.

"Bellatrix! Good morning!"

"…."

And yet, even among all that, there were people like this one.

His name was Lutz. The student who had crossed blades with me at the entrance ceremony. When the duel ended and we were assigned to our classes, he'd come up chatting away like we were old friends.

"You never say anything, Bellatrix. Are you really not going to return my greeting?"

"…You're persistent."

"Haha, there's nothing wrong with being friends, is there?"

I had zero intention of becoming friends. He was, frankly, a graceless creature. That careless laughter of his reminded me of the professor, and I disliked it. Seeing that easy grin made the professor flash through my mind, and my face soured against my will.

That wholesome, professor-evoking face, paired with such a total lack of dignity — it made him unbearable to deal with.

So I ignored him and kept walking, and he laughed awkwardly, offered another greeting anyway, and moved on ahead.

Time passed, and it was time for morning assembly.

The raucous atmosphere displeased me, but I said nothing. It would not have been right to sour the scene — everyone smiling, chatting away — simply because I disliked it.

Amid that continuing buzz of noise, the lecture hall door opened.

The professor entered.

As always, with a smile — with a smile, he offered his greeting—

It never came.

He swept his gaze over us with that terrifyingly expressionless face from the day of the entrance ceremony, and then he spoke.

"I am Niger Caritas. Is anyone absent?"

"If no one is absent, then we shall conclude this morning's assembly quickly. Please prepare for your respective lectures."

The other students spilled out a jumble of reactions — that even the expressionless professor was handsome, that surely something dreadful must have happened — but only one emotion was available to me.

His frigid eyes, among the sea of students, fixed on me and me alone. And I stared back, unblinking. Within the coldness directed at me, something unnameable flickered.

A chill crawled up my spine.

After that, I couldn't tell you how the lecture went.

My head was stuffed to bursting with nothing but the professor's eyes, and a basic magic lecture hardly mattered.

I waited only for the clock's hands to spin faster. And, at the same time, wished they would not.

I had waited for this meeting with the professor — and in waiting, fear had taken root. When he wore that perpetual smile, irritation spiked through me; but faced with a face stripped of it, the memory of that day surged back, vivid and raw.

Truly, he was a man impossible to read.

Whether I knew my own heart or not, the hours slipped by astonishingly fast.

Before I realized it, I was seated in the café ahead of him, waiting, searching for his figure among the passersby.

And then the café door opened. The little bell hanging from it chimed, soft and bright.

The platinum-blond hair came into view first. The flowing priest's robes beneath it caught the eye — but more than that, those vivid eyes found me.

And at their corners, that same unfathomable emotion still flickered.

Tap. Tap.

The sound of leather soles echoed through the café.

He approached and took the seat across from me. Meeting my eyes, he spoke.

"Lady Bellatrix Feltner."

So, lady, is it.

"Hm. I was starting to wonder if 'Brother' and 'Sister' were the only words you knew how to say."

"If you wish to be addressed so even outside the Academy, I would be happy to oblige."

His tone was profoundly earnest.

Unkindly put, he sounded so rigid as to be devoid of emotion — as if he wanted to declare that every smile he'd shown until now had been a lie.

"…Is that your true face, then?"

"Hmm… it is my true face, and it is not. A child of Elohim wears no false visage."

He couldn't possibly be toying with me. An unreadable expression, unreadable words.

"I didn't call you here to trade riddles."

"Nor did I intend to trade them. Then speak what you wish to say, my lady."

He went on watching me, his face unaltered to the fraction of a hair.

"…Fine."

Truthfully, I knew it too.

Summoning a man to press charges with not a shred of evidence was laughable in itself — and if anything, I owed the professor my thanks for humoring such obstinacy.

Besides, an emotion that had begun as pointless suspicion and distrust had quietly dipped its toes into curiosity.

"I'll apologize for the surveillance. It was highhanded. On the night of the entrance ceremony, I witnessed you vanish into a dark alley at that late hour. The Empire's nights are hardly clean — that much is common knowledge. If you ask why I set watchers on you in the first place, that's where it began."

Even thinking it, I said the words aloud.

The thick suspicion had been slowly fading, but there was a slippery, evasive quality about him I wanted unraveled.

"And not long after you were seen wandering at night, Professor Prodi vanished — a whole disappearance, no less. How's that for grounds for suspicion? Reasonable, would you say? I'll admit I'm speaking from instinct alone, with no material evidence to back it."

"…If that was your reasoning, might it not have been simpler to ask me outright? I do tend to take walks at night as a habit. I'm fond of gazing at the moon… and of the night air besides."

So the professor liked looking at the moon, too.

"I'm hardly in a position to demand proof, but if that's the whole of your reason, isn't it rather thin?"

"There is also the matter of patrolling to reform the ruffians who hide in the alleys. As you may have heard, I am closer to a combat priest than an ordinary one — no one will be getting the better of me. And as for Professor Prodi… I consider it a tragedy."

"…."

I should have answered. Instead, I simply held his gaze.

It had been getting on my nerves for a while now.

His answers, his expression, his every movement — all of it cold as frost — and yet my eyes kept dragging back to the one place where emotion showed: his eyes.

The eyes are the window to the soul, so they say.

How true it was. Of everything about him — unchanged as he watched me — it was the only part that differed.

And now, I thought I finally understood what that unnameable emotion was.

It was something I had never once received in my life.

It intrigued me more than any of the shapeless suspicions I'd harbored against him — suspicions without a single shred of proof.

And so I said it.

"…Professor. Tell me something. Who exactly do you think you are, pitying me?"

Who was this author, to pity me?

Pity was, by every measure, an emotion I should never have been on the receiving end of.

"Is it wrong for a professor to pity his student?"

He answered flatly. Turned the question back on me — what was the problem with pitying a student?

Of course, it wasn't wrong.

Only.

"It isn't. But a priest pitying the Empress's own peer in nobility — that's a joke, isn't it. Pitying a power second only to the Emperor himself. You must see how absurd that sounds."

"Pity has nothing to do with authority or power, I should think. And this is merely my own observation, but you never seemed suited to that seat, my lady."

"…Why do you think that?"

Had he not known anything about me, such a small, baseless emotion as pity could never have existed.

"Am I not somewhat famous? Bellatrix Feltner, called the greatest talent the Ducal house has ever produced. And yet, looking at your temperament, I doubt those expectations and ambitions have done you any good."

"Hm… presuming things on your own and pitying me for it — that's hardly proper behavior."

"If I am wrong, then I am simply sorry."

He'd called it a presumption, yet not a single syllable of it was off. The expectations and the lessons forced on me since childhood had been crushing beyond endurance.

Because I had never once wanted to climb to some lofty height.

I hated all that suffocating attention.

I had longed for an ordinary life, only to be crushed beneath the title of duchess.

Talent had to overflow, of all things. I had to be born a Duke's daughter, of all things.

So that must have been the reason.

The reason I fled, as if in escape, to the Academy when there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was nothing left for me to learn here. I had come to the Academy to run from those expectations, that attention.

"Enough."

I gave a short reply and raised my teacup.

Even after I'd spoken, his demeanor remained perfectly indifferent. Nothing like a man who had just spouted nonsense about pitying a duchess.

"Haha…."

And so the laughter came.

It was absurd — absurd enough to wring a hollow laugh out of me. Both myself, for ever suspecting a man like this, and the professor, who'd been the one under suspicion and still came out spouting talk of pity.

"…."

And at my laughter, his eyes, too, seemed to flinch — just for a moment.

"What's with that reaction? Am I not allowed to laugh?"

"My apologies. Are the matters you wished to discuss concluded, then?"

Whatever desire I'd had to question him further had long since evaporated.

Perhaps it was because, unlike his usual self — forever hiding everything behind that fixed smile — today his emotions kept leaking through.

"Yes. One piece of advice, though. Your suspicion was hollow, but even so, professor — refrain, so far as you can, from conduct that invites it. Evasive behavior invites suspicion from anyone, not just me."

"…Yes. I shall bear that in mind."

With those words, he rose from his seat.

He walked naturally to the café's owner, handed over a gold coin, then turned his gaze back toward me. He looked at me, steady and unblinking.

And then he spoke.

"…Bellatrix Feltner. May you make the right choice."

Once again he uttered something unreadable, and with that, he left the café.

Make the right choice, all of a sudden — what was that supposed to mean?

One thing only was clear: when he spoke those final words, his eyes had rippled with that emotion once more.

And as I watched his retreating back, somehow, inexplicably, my own heart felt as though it had sunk with him.