Only Understood by Oneself
A throbbing pain pulsed at the back of Professor Ferzen's head. As he agonized over how to navigate this situation, the sharp click of approaching heels echoed from across the way. He swiftly removed his suit jacket and draped it over Lizzy's lower body.
"Hah, hngh, guh—!"
She hadn't done anything outrageous, yet she recoiled in terror, shrinking away. Where had that bold girl from lecture gone, the one who had confidently countered his points? In her place sat a child who seemed to have endured long years of abuse.
To prevent any needless rumors from spreading, he took control of the corpse Lizzy had been manipulating, positioning the wheelchair and descending the ramp to stand in the corner.
"Ah..."
A girl coming the other way halted upon facing him. No, not a girl.
"..."
Uriel Wayne Daina Alfred.
Why of all people was she here? Well, her presence wasn't strange in itself. The timing, however—that was the issue.
"Do you have something to say? Why are you blocking the path...?"
"..."
She stared up at him silently. When no words came, she shot him a suspicious glance and brushed past.
He considered grabbing her wrist to stop her, but refrained. After all, he had done nothing wrong. He hadn't even touched a hair on Lizzy's head. If anything, he'd tried to show a modicum of kindness—though whether it held meaning was debatable, it seemed better than doing nothing. Even if the result had been disastrous...
"Lizzy? Your brother and I were waiting for you, but you didn't show, so I came looking... and found you here..."
Was it a foregone conclusion that the Alfred family's eldest daughter would marry the Claudia family's eldest son? If the second daughter had been waiting with him for Lizzy, the evidence seemed compelling.
"Lizzy...?"
Uriel's voice trailed off as she sensed something amiss.
"Professor Uriel."
"You...!"
"Let me say this first: I did nothing."
To preempt any misunderstanding, he spoke up.
"If you did nothing, then why is this girl...! How harshly did you corner her? Do you not even remember what you did to her in the past?!"
"..."
"I heard she was a bit cheeky in your lecture, countering you... But surely not over that alone...!"
"Don't misunderstand. I am not so petty."
In Uriel's eyes, he must have looked like he'd forcibly stopped Lizzy as she tried to leave school and berated her harshly. Given the outcome alone, it wasn't entirely wrong. Besides, Uriel wouldn't bother investigating the process in anything involving him.
"A man who chases a girl who twisted her ankle mid-dance and crushes her other foot claims he's not petty?"
"..."
An irrefutable past misdeed. A label that could never be peeled away. Of course, there were circumstances to that act. But no one else would accept those circumstances as a valid excuse.
Everyone had some compulsions, but Ferzen's were severe enough to be labeled a disorder. If rumors had spread from the start that Ferzen was mentally ill, it might have been different—but the Bruteins had fiercely hidden it. Ferzen himself saw it as a stain. Confessing now would only sharpen the dagger aimed at his heart. Too much time had passed to smooth it over.
"Ask the girl later. What actions I took."
She might twist the truth out of built-up resentment, but there were no better options anyway.
"With the Alfreds as her backing, she won't fabricate lies out of fear of the Bruteins, surely."
"..."
With that, Uriel furrowed her brow, glancing between him and Lizzy, seemingly torn.
"Lizzy!"
Just as he thought he'd wrapped things up neatly and turned to leave, a man's voice rang from the second-floor railing, followed by hurried footsteps descending.
A distinctive black uniform, embroidered with the imperial crest. A crimson brooch on the right breast. All markers of the Imperial Knights.
Yes, he was Lizzy's brother, an Imperial Knight from the Claudia family—the eldest son, Roer Paul Bistaen Claudia.
He must have ascended the opposite stairs and come down this way.
"Y-You...!"
Uriel, flustered by Roer's chilling expression, fidgeted anxiously and tried to grab his arm as he approached—but it was futile. He walked the path of an Aura Knight. No physical strength from an elemental mage could stop him.
"Ferzen von Schweig Brutein."
"...It's Ruerg. And we lack the familiarity for you to address me by full name. Call me Count, Sir Roer."
Locking eyes with those distinctive blue irises, Ferzen felt a chill wind brush his entire body—an illusion of killing intent. If glares could kill, Roer would have slain him hundreds, thousands of times over.
He's holding back.
His clenched fist trembled violently, veins bulging. Even if bones broke or flesh tore...
If Roer struck first and gave him justification...
"Wait just a little longer."
"..."
"My fangs aren't sharp enough to tear into you yet."
With bold declaration of vengeance, Roer turned away.
Yes—so he'd grown enough to bare his fangs openly, if only briefly.
Objectively, Roer's fangs held no terror. But mixed in was the variable of Ciel Midford, the novel's protagonist. How that might transform things, Ferzen couldn't predict. Ironically, that sparked a subtle fear of the fangs Roer had just revealed.
No, not subtle. Cold sweat beaded on both palms.
Only Ferzen's ego kept the fear from showing.
"Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia. No need to return filth-stained clothes. Discard them later. And... the cleanup, I leave to you, Professor Uriel."
Finishing, he turned. His legs nearly buckled from a moment's tremor, but they held.
"..."
Exiting the lecture hall, the drizzling rain greeted him still. He opened his umbrella and walked slowly through it.
Ferzen von Schweig Ruerg.
The villain understood only by himself.
Not even his blood brother Jeremiah could fully comprehend Ferzen. He merely showed the magnanimity befitting the family head.
Was there anyone in this world who could understand Ferzen? Perhaps. But in 24 years, none had appeared around him. So he stopped seeking understanding. Stopped wanting it.
Thus, Ferzen was always alone. And such solitude was doubtless the natural yoke of a villain.
If Isabel Ron Pierre Genova still lived, she and I might have gotten along well.
The core memory of the witch called a pleasure killer, read via one-time Psychometry on her corpse. The Genova family's lycanthropy curse etched in that memory overlapped with his severe OCD, stirring an inexplicable sense of kinship.
* * * * *
"Take good care of yourself..."
"D-Don't... w-worry too... m-much... P-please go... b-back. Y-You're away... d-during the f-festival..."
"Yes. Understood. Then I'll be off. I love you always, dear."
"M-Me t-too..."
Shy yet embracing her father's warm familial affection with open arms, Laura bid farewell. Belly full, she headed to the academy dorms.
Let's see...
The academy dorms were sown with rules via black mages' deals with netherworld horrors. Only professors, some staff, and students could enter. Once inside, no exit until 8 a.m. the next day—barring specific exceptions.
Memorizing all these rules right now seems tough.
Abandoning the effort during her walk, Laura neatly folded the dorm rules paper and tucked it away.
"...?"
On the path between A Dorm and A Lecture Hall—precisely before a beautifully tended flowerbed—stood a man. His back view seemed familiar, so Laura approached slowly, keeping distance, and peeked at his profile.
"P-Professor... F-Ferzen...?"
Her voice was a near-whisper, drowned by rain, yet Ferzen turned his head.
Startled! Meeting his crimson eyes, Laura instinctively shrank.
"Laura, is it...?"
"Wh-What are you... d-doing h-here?"
He didn't seem the sentimental type lost in flower-gazing reverie.
"Merely muttering to myself."
"I-Is th-that s-so."
Awkward. She regretted approaching. Her stutter and aversion to others left her without conversational flair.
"Laura de Charles Rosenberg."
"Y-Yes...?"
"Suppose a mass murderer, plagued by an impulse he can't endure without killing—is tormented by mental illness. Could you understand him?"
What was he asking a mere 19-year-old? Yet as Laura's ruby eyes filled with seriousness, he patiently gripped his umbrella in the rain, awaiting her reply.
"I... u-understand."
"You understand? Playing the good girl?"
"N-Not... th-that... M-Most p-people... t-tell someone s-seeking r-revenge... th-that doing it... m-makes you the s-same..."
"Yes. Sickeningly convenient words."
"P-People... c-can't u-understand... e-experiences they... h-haven't h-had. Cl-Claiming to... u-understand what... y-you d-don't... i-is j-just f-flattery... o-or b-brown-nosing..."
Ferzen smirked at her words.
"Your logic's flow is odd. Pointing out understanding's duality—how does that make you claim you comprehend? Unless you're confessing you've killed from such impulses."
"Ah... Th-That's n-not!"
"No need to panic. It was precociously mature-sounding."
"..."
"Though you truly lack eloquence."
Unable to voice his own compulsion directly, he'd simplified Isabel's lycanthropy as an example. Laura's response rang like a child's act of feigned maturity to impress, drawing an involuntary chuckle.
"..."
Beyond the drizzling rain, Ferzen's retreating figure faded.
"Br-Brat..."
Once fully out of sight, Laura scowled, muttering. Past and present lives combined exceeded forty years—Ferzen seemed the child to her. Being openly called one to her face was infuriating beyond imagination.