Why I Fell (5)
How many people in this world could ever bring themselves to pity a murderer?
And that, too, when the first time we came face to face, I'd been so revolted and disgusted that I nearly retched.
When even now, deep down, I still cursed him as a murderous bastard.
When had it happened, that I ended up entertaining this absurd thought of feeling sorry for a killer?
It was just...
Because I kept feeling his emotions bleeding into me, and watching Niger's every move without meaning to, he didn't feel like a stranger anymore.
If I were pressed on it, well — fair enough.
We shared one body. Of course he wasn't a stranger.
And yet, even thinking that, I still knew almost nothing about Niger.
His heart remained unreadable, and I couldn't even properly parse his emotions.
Murder was still repulsive to me, and whenever I caught that cold gleam in his eyes, a shiver ran down my spine.
Whenever his feelings bled into mine and I found myself wanting to kill someone, the sheer grotesqueness of it made my hands tremble.
The thought that my inner self was being read sent a chill through me.
"...Kid."
And so, lately, my mind had only grown more tangled.
Because my heart no longer felt entirely like my own heart.
Because it seemed I kept understanding Niger without ever intending to.
"Mm..."
Which meant...
I wasn't even sure whether the thoughts I was having right now were truly my own will...
"Waaah."
"...?"
No.
What is it now, seriously.
And so my deep, brooding reflections were steadily demolished by the nonsense drifting in from beside me.
"Waaah?"
It was a mature voice.
A mature voice, issuing the cry of an infant.
That unavoidable clash of cognition was what made me lift my head.
I looked to the side.
There was Elia, having drawn close to me.
I had no idea what my face looked like.
But given that Elia flinched the moment she saw my expression and took a half-step back, I'd say I could hazard a guess.
Even so, she apparently envied the sight of Beati nestled happily in my arms, because her gaze kept flicking between the two of us.
And then she let it out again.
"Waaah...?"
Oh, come on.
"...Professor Elia."
"Waaah..."
"That's pathetic, Professor."
"Yes, sir..."
That was an exceptionally pathetic display, for the record.
I gave her an exasperated look, and Elia hung her head, her cheeks burning crimson.
No, really.
Thanks to her I did snap out of my brooding, but waking up because of that spectacle was not something I'd wanted.
Time passed quickly after that.
And during those days, Elia and Bellatrix visited my sickroom on what seemed like an agreed-upon schedule, alternating their turns.
Whenever they came, I was always with Beati, and each of them reacted to that sight in her own distinct way.
"Could you maybe pat my head too?"
Elia would gaze at Beati with naked envy.
The moment I raised my hand to rest it on Beati's hair, she'd tilt her own head forward expectantly, eyes sparkling.
That Beati burst out laughing at the sight of it was our secret.
"...Professor, if you'd treat me half as kindly as you treat that child, I'd ask for nothing more."
Bellatrix would pull a look of utter disbelief at how gentle and doting I was.
She said it was preposterous that I could be so merciless to her and to my students, yet play the saint around Beati.
Needless to say, Beati didn't believe a word of it.
She even insisted that kind, wonderful me could never possibly do anything so terrible. Truly an angel among children.
Anyway. That was how things went.
Barely any time had passed, yet my body was recovering at the remarkable pace Niger had predicted.
The frame that used to creak and groan just from lying in bed was now capable of handling a leisurely stroll without the slightest complaint.
And the moment it reached that point, Niger — unable to contain himself — propped up the body I'd been resting like the invalid I supposedly was.
"This is more than enough."
More than enough for what, exactly?
Niger left the hospital room and walked outside.
The moon hung fairly full in the sky, and his footsteps carried on, unhurried and unbroken.
"..."
His vision swept the surroundings.
He said nothing, but emotion bled through his gaze as it took in the grounds.
Affection.
And longing, too.
As if the word faithful he'd once so readily proclaimed had been no lie, he drifted from one corner of the Order's grounds to another, letting an uncharacteristic tenderness pour out of him.
I'd always thought that madness-soaked crimson suited Niger best.
But would you look at that — even steeped in feelings like these, it suited him remarkably well.
No matter how I turned it over, it was absurd.
How was a murderer allowed to look like this?
Elohim, that guy really went all out, didn't he.
I was still musing on this when Niger murmured quietly.
"...I sense an unpleasant emotion."
Why is it always him getting to feel unpleasant, huh. Real nice.
Here I was, still a long way from understanding him properly, while he picked through my feelings piece by piece — and then had the gall to sulk about it.
"For some reason, the unpleasantness doesn't seem to fade today."
"...I'll take your word for it."
Niger let out a long sigh and moved on.
Unlike his usual gait, his footsteps made a slow, shuffling scuff-scuff.
Having been swapped into comfortable patient slippers against his will, he sounded uncharacteristically listless.
And even in the middle of all that, Niger spoke to me.
"Tomorrow, we return to the Academy."
"Already? A considerable amount of time has passed. Are you planning to hold your lectures or not?"
Not, is what I wanted to say.
Just as he said, a whole week had already slipped by.
Counting the time in the Academy Infirmary, I'd been lying down for nearly two weeks — so he had a point.
Ugh.
Lectures are such a chore.
"Shall I kill someone, then? I'll take the lecture for you."
I answered with a scowl.
And really, could you blame me?
This murderous bastard.
You hand me a choice between murder and a lecture, and just how exactly am I supposed to pick anything else?
"Then kindly stop grumbling. You're not a child, and watching you whine every single time is exhausting."
"Haa..."
Niger's sigh reached me.
A faint flicker of disdain stirred in his eyes, but the feeling soon faded, and he turned his gaze back to the moon.
Frankly, this was rather astonishing, if I did say so myself.
Only days ago I'd been terrified of him, never knowing what he might do next.
Now we exchanged jokes like this.
Mostly it took the shape of me grumbling while he sighed about how pathetic I was — but both Niger and I were growing used to this kind of banter.
I'd said over and over that I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but perhaps I, too, had begun to understand him, in my own way.
Maybe that was why.
I finally let out the words I'd been holding in.
"Yes. Speak."
"...Yes. I'm fine. There will be no need for me to see her myself in the future, after all."
I was asking whether he'd be all right never meeting Beati face to face again.
And it mattered, because in the novel, Beati had been Niger's one and only refuge.
Nowhere in the story were there any detailed descriptions of Niger's inner life — yet every so often, the author had slipped in a scene of him crossing paths with her.
It wasn't proper characterization, of course.
I'd simply wanted to give the "murderer" character some hint of depth. I'd been greedy for that one trope: the deranged serial killer who spares a single small girl.
So, utterly uselessly, even I don't know whether there was anything more to it than that.
But both back when I first possessed this body and mentioned her, and now whenever he came face to face with Beati at the temple, I could feel Niger's emotions.
That was the reason.
It was the guilt born of pitying him.
Couldn't I have written the novel a little more ordinarily?
If this world were the reality I had to face, couldn't I have written stories without anyone suffering in them?
That was what had brought me here.
"...Let's go in and sleep."
I answered with silence.
Pitying a murderer. Carrying guilt toward a murderer.
It was, honestly, hilarious.
And so, the next day, I said my farewell to Beati.
"Teacher... can't you just... not go...?"
"Hmm... I'm afraid that's a little difficult."
"...Okay."
Beati, who until yesterday had been beaming as she threw herself into my arms, now pouted her lips and dropped her head.
It was adorable.
She was a lovely child to begin with, so of course there was no way she could look anything but cute like this.
And yet, seeing that hurt expression, it somehow felt wrong to just coo over how cute she was.
"...Instead, I'll make you a promise. Every week — or if it's truly impossible, at least once every two weeks — I'll come and see you."
"Really...?"
"Yes. Would a faithful priest of the Elohim Order ever speak falsehood?"
Of course, I believed in no Elohim, and I wasn't even a real priest.
But this body of ours was a faithful priest... was it?
A serial killer, technically — but on the surface, a devoted man of the cloth, no less.
What do you want me to do about it?
Even so, I put on a gentle smile.
I might not be a faithful man in any true sense — but for Beati, at least, I could be a kind one.
"Th-then... you'll come see me next week too... right...?"
"Yes. I'll visit next week. In the meantime, eat well, and make sure you're sleeping on time."
"I will! And I'll listen to everything the sisters say!"
Beati lit up in a radiant smile.
That untouched, untainted smile of hers was truly beautiful.
And so I naturally patted her head, then turned away.
It was, at long last, time to return to the Academy.
My body had fully recovered.
The frame that once creaked at every movement now felt astonishingly light, and the fog that had clouded my head had lifted entirely.
Which meant there was no more time to linger in feelings like these.
After all, I was a full two weeks behind on lectures.
You're all dead, you little bastards.
The hour of the 500x Lecture — sworn upon the midterm exams — had arrived.