Why wouldn't the apprentice confess?
Because in his heart, it wasn't murder—it was the fulfillment of his teacher's great art.
Russell couldn't speak for several seconds. It felt like his brain had been formatted and reinstalled.
He looked at the girl beside him—who had just peeled open the most insane side of human nature as if she were discussing the weather—and, for the first time, he felt something very close to awe.
This woman wasn't deducing.
She was empathizing with criminals.
No—worse. She understood crime better than the criminal did.
She really was a psychopath.
[Mary Morstan is very satisfied by your shock.]
Russell inhaled, forcing his pulse back down.
"So…" He licked his dry lips and looked at Mary. "Are you going to tell Miss Holmes?"
"Me?" Mary blinked. The innocent, guileless expression returned as if summoned on command.
"Why would I tell her? I'm just an ordinary student who's a little curious about gossip.
What I said just now was idle speculation. It doesn't mean anything."
She chuckled, elegantly tucking a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear—like those shocking conclusions had never come from her mouth at all.
"But—"
"There is no 'but,' Mr. Watson."
Mary cut him off. She leaned in slightly. Those blue eyes were suddenly very close; the scent of white tea and ink wrapped around him like a soft trap.
"Now, the person who knows this truth is you.
How you use it—how you make that arrogant detective look at you differently, or even make her owe you a favor—that depends on you."
Her voice was all velvet temptation.
"Consider it… payment for keeping me company."
Then she sat back upright, opened her book, and resumed the posture of a diligent student, as if everything that had just happened were a shared hallucination.
Russell sat there, stunned. He glanced at Mary—quiet, beautiful, composed—then pictured the detective next door teetering on the edge of a breakdown.
His life, he realized, was sprinting toward a direction that was objectively insane.
He had two options:
Tell Charlotte and enjoy the look on a genius's face when she's hit with the missing piece—solve her problem and save his ears.
Pretend he knows nothing and let Charlotte keep suffering—because the case has nothing to do with him anyway.
He chose option one without hesitation.
He still needed to sleep.
And, frankly… seeing a proud genius eat it a little sounded like fun.
Maybe he'd even squeeze out some malice value.
As for Mary…
Russell stole a glance at her calm profile.
Too dangerous.
He should keep his distance.
[Mary Morstan senses your intention to distance yourself and feels mildly displeased — Malice +30]
"…."
Even that registers?
See? This is exactly what he meant.
In any case, the morning classes ended without catastrophe.
As Russell prepared to go find food, Mary stopped him again.
"Come to think of it," she said, looking around, "I haven't seen Miss Holmes all morning. Isn't she a freshman too?"
"Mycroft got her a waiver. She can skip everything if she wants," Russell explained.
"How nice." Mary sighed. "I want a waiver too. I don't want to come to class either."
"Is it that you don't want to come to class," she asked with a lifted brow, hands behind her back as she leaned in, half teasing and half interrogating, "or that you don't want to see me?"
"Hah, Miss Morstan, that's quite the accusation. You and I have no grievance—why would I not want to see you?" Russell forced a polite smile.
"So you do want to see me, then?"
"…Not that much."
"Hm?"
"Ahem—given the circumstances, let's just eat." Russell hurriedly changed the subject. "I've always wanted to know what Imperial College's cafeteria tastes like."
"Sure." Mary agreed cheerfully. The smile at her lips deepened. "Let's go. I'm hungry too."
"…You're coming as well?" Russell hesitated.
"What, still don't want to see me?" Mary arched a brow.
"No, I just—" He trailed off and glanced sideways.
A number of students were already watching them.
Staying unnoticed was impossible.
This was Mary Morstan—the Duke of Morstan's daughter, famous in the upper circles. If anyone had a chance to curry favor, why wouldn't they?
Outside the university, socially speaking, the Duke's words could shape a person's future far more tangibly than Mycroft's ever could.
Mycroft might influence a bill.
The Duke could influence a life.
Russell felt the stares sticking to his back like needles, and he could hear the hushed whispers around them.
"Look, that's Miss Morstan…"
"Who's the guy next to her? Never seen him before."
"If he's walking with her, he must be somebody…"
"What is it, Mr. Watson?" Mary's voice floated over, carrying a smile that was clearly intentional. "Your expression looks reluctant. Is walking with me… inconvenient for you?"
"No." Russell kept his eyes forward and quickened his pace. "I just think maybe you should—"
He was about to invent an excuse to shake her off when the system chimed again.
More malice value.
But this time it wasn't from Mary.
It was from the spectators.
[Timmy Roy is jealous of your interaction with Mary Morstan — Malice +10]
[Isabella Clark thinks you don't deserve the noble Miss Morstan — Malice +15]
[Unknown passerby despises you — Malice +5]
Oh.
This comes with bonus income.
Russell froze mid-step. The "please let me escape" expression on his face hardened for a fraction of a second—then melted into a bright, sincere smile.
"What is it?" Mary caught the shift instantly, curiosity flashing in her blue eyes.
"Nothing." Russell shook his head, smile widening into something almost radiant. "I just suddenly realized—having lunch with Miss Morstan is the honor of my lifetime."
He even slowed down, perfectly gentlemanly, matching her pace, posture straight—like he'd never been trying to flee at all.
[Onlookers despise your performative behavior — Malice +20]
Lunch is good.
Lunch is necessary.
Lunch gives strength.
-------
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