The Reason I Collapsed, (2)
Something warm kept stroking my forehead.
It was probably a hand, and it was a rather gentle one at that. The fingertips were a little cold, as if the owner suffered from poor circulation, but there was real affection wrapped up in that clumsy touch, and it felt pleasant, actually.
Basking in that touch, I opened my eyes.
So Elia must have been nursing me back to health...?
"Professor, you're awake?"
"...Sister Bellatrix?"
Why are you here. And why are you stroking my forehead with a hand that awkward?
"Yes. A pleasure to see you, Professor."
"What exactly are you doing...?"
"Nursing the victor back to health. Is there a problem?"
"...?"
What does 'the victor' have to do with bedside care. What exactly did you win to earn the right to nurse me?
"Is something the matter?"
"No... no, of course not."
Bellatrix let out a soft snort of laughter at my reaction.
Her smile was composed.
Back when we first met, her face had always been frozen hard, glaring at me and regarding the students with cold indifference. But now she faced me with a smile that came surprisingly naturally.
As I was musing on this, she spoke in a voice that was, for her, almost tender.
"I didn't know professors were capable of falling ill. Tell me, Professor — are you not actually a priest? Or perhaps not quite as devout as you'd have us believe?"
"Haha... Perhaps you're right. A lack of faith, most likely."
That one stung a little.
I was no priest, and I didn't believe in Elohim. If anyone ever asked me whether I was truly devout, all I could offer in return was a smile.
I mean, who held a knife to my throat and forced me to possess a serial killer? Until this injustice was resolved, not a single leaf of my faith was ever going to bloom.
"I'm only teasing. The doctor says it's serious overwork — the body of a man who hasn't rested in nearly two months."
"Ah..."
I nodded slowly at her words.
Two months without rest — that matched up almost exactly.
Two months since I'd possessed this body. I'd moved it by day, and Niger had moved it by night. Even a body brimming with divinity was bound to collapse eventually.
There I sat, wearing a bitter smile.
I couldn't quite bring myself to reject the awkward hand patting my forehead, so I just blinked at the ceiling. And then, amid it all, I caught Bellatrix's small murmur.
"...Could it have been my fault?"
"I'm sorry — what was that...?"
Her voice was cautious.
Uncharacteristically hesitant, she continued, and I thought I detected a flicker of guilt mixed in.
"Hmm. I did keep doubting you. I put surveillance on you, made your life difficult at every turn... so I can't help wondering if all this happened because of me."
Ah.
So that was what she was thinking.
It had certainly been taxing, in its way, but it seemed too vague to pin the whole collapse on that. The body had simply gone without a single day's rest for two months running.
So I snorted a quiet laugh.
"Well, I can't say it played no part whatsoever."
"...I thought as much. Then, perhaps you'd like some form of compensation?"
Compensation from the Imperial Ducal daughter.
Now that was a tempting offer. If anyone could lay hands on things I couldn't get myself, it was the Empire's public treasure.
But instead, I flashed a sly grin and shook my head.
"Sister, asking a priest — one who was, until quite recently, rumored to be shameless with a taste for holy women — to name his price? Isn't that a little dangerous?"
"...Professor, has the illness addled your mind?"
No.
Don't jump straight to are you insane, please.
"That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for... but regardless, my point stands. It wasn't your fault."
"Hmm... I see. Still, if there is anything you desire, I can grant it."
If I truly wanted compensation, that is.
"Then keep attending my lectures with the same diligence. Better yet, register for Divinity Studies next semester — and through your second and third years."
I hoped we could keep getting along like this, going forward.
That, stranded alone in another world, I might never again have a spare moment to feel lonely — that I could simply keep smiling.
I'd been possessed against my will regardless, so I wanted the people around me to fill my days, so I'd stop gazing longingly back at the life of Kim Dohyun.
"...You really have gone mad from the sickness. Professor, if you insist on losing your mind, at least do it gracefully. Don't go spouting villainous nonsense like that."
"I wasn't—"
When you consider a split personality — a serial killer and a burnt-out author sharing one body, a collaboration from hell — maybe I was insane, but hearing it said to my face still stung.
"Well. Regardless — I'll make an effort."
The corner of Bellatrix's mouth lifted.
An uncharacteristically warm smile spread across her face.
Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, casting a halo at her back.
Was it because I was sick and hazy, or because she was the one sitting at my bedside?
It was quite.
Truly, beautiful.
Well, she was the main heroine — she'd always been beautiful.
But I really shouldn't laugh right now.
Congratulations — you've just signed up for Lectures: 500x.
This is no time to be smiling.
Once a body started creaking, it moved about as well as an unoiled machine.
It was a body that had endured a full two months of abuse. No matter that Niger was the final boss, a priest brimming with divinity besides — apparently even he couldn't withstand that kind of treatment.
I tried casting a divine spell over myself once or twice, but nothing changed. The doctor said there was only one cure for a body driven this hard: time.
So I remained in the infirmary.
And whenever they could spare the hours, Bellatrix and Elia took turns visiting. Other students came too — my advisees and the Divinity Studies enrollees — but the ones who showed up nearly every day were those two.
It was honestly entertaining.
Whenever their visiting hours happened to overlap, I got to watch Elia growling and snapping, while Bellatrix calmly needled her right back with a couple of leisurely words.
A delightful sprinkle of drama amid the boredom.
That said, my old, naive hope that the two of them might become friends had long since been folded up neatly and thrown in the trash.
Good grief.
And so, in the midst of this tedium, there was one thing I did every day without fail.
"Niger."
Calling on our resident serial killer.
On the day I collapsed — whether I'd taken Niger down with me or not, I couldn't say — he had stopped responding to my calls entirely, from that day forward.
"Niger, sir."
So in my spare moments, I would quietly speak his name like this.
If I could just read his thoughts when it mattered, I wouldn't have to keep looking like a lunatic who mutters to himself. Thanks to all my fervent appeals to Elohim, I was already being written off as an ordinary religious fanatic, and I suppose this counted as part of the same tableau.
"...Nige... haa..."
Honestly, I hate this.
I could roughly picture how all of this looked to the people around me, which made it even worse.
So answer me already, you murderer.
[Yes. Speak.]
"Ah, motherf—"
Wow.
I nearly swore out loud in the infirmary.
One declaration of "Goddammit" from a priest is more than enough, thank you very much — I already have Bellatrix for that.
[I would advise you to moderate your language, Brother.]
"...My apologies."
I offered a quiet apology.
But even as I did, my curiosity won out, because in my experience, apology and curiosity are directly proportional.
Perhaps that's what they call rudeness.
"So what were you doing all this time? I was calling you so earnestly."
[Just as you collapsed, so too did I faint.]
Wait, that's actually real?
I was genuinely surprised. Part of me had wondered, but the idea that Niger had actually blacked out felt strange.
Because in the novel, Niger had been, without question, the strongest of them all. It was precisely because of him that I, a man with no combat experience or technique whatsoever, could subdue people so effortlessly in this body.
In my mind, Niger was a runaway locomotive that nothing could stop.
The problem was just that I happened to be the passenger.
"You can actually collapse too...?"
[I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, though I do recognize the irreverence.]
"It wasn't that irreverent..."
There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, honestly.
As I sat there smiling awkwardly, Niger spoke again. Though to my ears, it sounded less like conversation and more like a superior issuing the next set of orders.
[Once your body is able to move, go to the Elohim Grand Temple. You may cancel your lectures for a few days.]
I see.
That was very much the tone of someone about to announce the next kill.
So I answered accordingly.
"Uh... don't tell me there's someone at the Temple who needs killing too...?"
Murders at the Temple — that was something I hadn't even considered.
In the novel, there had never been a killing incident at the Temple.
Truly.
Leave it to a professional murderer — bold even in his own front yard.
Or so I thought.
But a faint note of puzzlement crept in as well. The fact was, my heart felt remarkably calm even while entertaining the notion that murders had to be committed.
Maybe it was because I'd killed those illusions in the Forest of Hallucinations. In the past, the very first thing I would have felt was revulsion at the idea of murder. But because I had already done the deed — even against mere phantoms — all I could manage now was a flicker of discomfort and admiration for the sheer audacity of Niger's itinerary.
Perhaps this was what it meant to grow accustomed to killing — a slow marination in madness.
That was what I was thinking.
Right up until Niger's frosty voice cut in.
[Brother.]
"Yes?"
[It means go for treatment and convalescence. It has been some time since you last visited the Temple, and the priests are innocent and devout besides — so kindly put an end to these strange imaginings.]
"Ah. Yes. Sorry..."
[Moderate your profanity, and your delusions as well. I am not quite that deranged.]
"..."
No.
I merely assumed that wherever a serial killer told me to go, a river of blood would naturally be flowing. His track record spoke for itself — this much misunderstanding was fair game.
But tell me.
If the priests there are so devout and blameless — then what does that make you, exactly?
A devout serial killer. Honestly.