By the time Russell rushed into the lecture hall, panting for breath, Professor Fields was already standing on the platform.
"Mr. Watson, you're late." Professor Fields glanced at Russell, sounding somewhat surprised.
"My apologies, Professor." Russell said, still catching his breath. "My alarm clock broke."
"I'll let it slide this once. Go back to your seat."
Professor Fields said nothing more, merely waving a hand to signal Russell to take his seat.
"Thank you, Professor."
Russell nodded, then walked toward the back rows under everyone's gaze and sat down.
Mary rested her chin in her hand, watching with keen interest as Russell passed by her and settled into the seat beside her.
"Good morning." The girl lowered her voice. "Being late isn't really like you."
"Morning." Russell sat down in his seat and exhaled softly. "Got held up by a little incident."
"Oh really?" Mary raised an eyebrow noncommittally, as though she'd already guessed what that so-called little incident was.
Still, the girl didn't call it out for now, merely withdrawing her gaze in silence and turning it toward the blackboard.
Whatever there was to say could wait until the lunch break.
However, to her surprise, Russell didn't sleep at all that morning.
Whether out of guilt over being late or for some other reason, he maintained the posture of someone actually listening to the lecture the entire morning.
As for how much of it actually went in—well, never mind that for now; the point was that he didn't fall asleep.
Mary glanced at her deskmate with a touch of surprise, only to find that although his eyes were pointed toward the platform, his gaze wasn't focused on it at all.
To put it plainly, he was spacing out.
Mary observed him quietly for a while, and a flicker of understanding passed through her azure-blue eyes.
It seemed he hadn't known about the Hannigan affair.
Or rather, he too had only found out that very morning.
The girl didn't speak up to disturb him; she simply opened her notebook in silence and, in her elegant handwriting, clearly recorded every key point the professor covered.
By the time the morning's lessons came to a close, Russell was still in his daze, and it wasn't until Mary gently patted him that his scattered thoughts were drawn back into his head.
"Have you evolved to the point where you don't even need to close your eyes to sleep now?"
Mary asked softly, a hint of laughter and teasing in her voice.
"Mm... it's nothing. I was just thinking about what to have for lunch." Russell shook his head and brushed it off offhandedly.
Mary didn't expose the clumsy lie; she simply pulled him gently to his feet.
"Rather than sitting here thinking about it, wouldn't it be better to just go and see for yourself?"
With that, she dragged Russell out of the classroom.
On the way to the cafeteria, discussion of that morning's newspaper kept ringing in their ears.
"I really never thought Moriarty would actually kill someone..."
"Right? I always thought he was a good man."
"Good man, my foot—he's a thief! What's so strange about him killing someone?"
"But didn't he help Scotland Yard catch those bank robbers a while back?"
"That just proves it was crook eating crook, dog biting dog!"
"But why is it some obscure little tabloid reporting this? The Times and The Guardian haven't said a word. I think there's something fishy about it."
"Obviously—The Times and The Guardian all live off Moriarty. How could they ever smear him? That whole lot are in the same boat."
Similar chatter rose and fell, one wave after another, ringing endlessly in his ears.
Sometimes, having [Listening] leveled up too high didn't seem like such a good thing after all.
Russell listened with an expressionless face, gathering up every bit of the Malice Points that kept welling forth.
Mary matched her pace to Russell's, sweeping her gaze across the faces of those students clutching their newspapers and brimming with righteous indignation, before finally letting it settle on Russell himself.
"I think what that newspaper says isn't necessarily true."
She spoke softly, her voice reaching Russell's ears.
"Moriarty wouldn't kill anyone, would he?"
At her words, Russell's steps faltered slightly, then returned to normal.
"Who knows." he said, feigning nonchalance. "There was a card he left behind right there at the scene."
"But a card being there doesn't prove he was the one who did it, does it?" Mary smiled. "What does Charlotte say?"
"Charlotte says it was a frame-up." Russell didn't hide it.
"She got called to the scene by Lestrade yesterday. After examining the scene and questioning the witnesses, she said Moriarty was being framed."
The two of them packed up a couple of sandwiches at the cafeteria, then made their way to that familiar secret base.
"If Moriarty's been wronged, then why was this report published at all?"
Mary asked curiously.
"Who knows." Russell shrugged. "Maybe someone planned to make a bit of extra cash off this news, so they sold it to some newspaper on Fleet Street."
"Was it someone from Scotland Yard?"
"No idea." Russell shook his head. "Lestrade already had his subordinates keep it under wraps, but with this kind of thing... who can really say for sure. Scotland Yard isn't exactly fond of Moriarty."
He paused, then went on: "Of course, it could also have been one of Hannigan's servants—after all, they were the first witnesses."
"Mm..." Mary mused for a moment, then looked over at Russell.
"Does it bother you?"
"Me?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "Why would I care about something like that?"
"Because you've looked distracted all morning, ever since the day began."
Mary tore open the wrapper of her sandwich and took a small bite, speaking indistinctly.
"It's the first time I've ever seen you not sleep through class."
"I was already late—how could I have the nerve to sleep on top of that?"
Russell leaned back against his chair and picked up his own sandwich too.
"It's all Charlotte's fault. If not for her, I wouldn't have been late."
"Is that so?" Mary's gaze fell on his somewhat weary eyes, and a flicker of tenderness crossed the depths of them—but she quickly concealed it.
"But Moriarty has helped you plenty, hasn't he?" she said. "And you don't care even a little?"
"Moriarty has more messengers than you can count." Russell shrugged.
"Besides, no one knows about this except you and Charlotte. What do I have to care about?"
At that, Mary gave a helpless little smile and didn't pursue the topic any further.
She quietly ate her lunch, the sunlight streaming through the window, tinting her silver hair with a layer of warm gold.
Those azure-blue eyes, always carrying calculation and scrutiny, now seemed especially gentle in this rare moment of tranquility.
"Still," Russell's voice rang out again, breaking the quiet, "come to think of it, I'm rather curious about something."
"Hm?" Mary lifted her head and looked at him.
"You seem to have a lot of faith in Moriarty." Russell said.
"When everyone else thinks he's a murderer, you seem to be the first to stand up and say he isn't."
"Because he has no reason to do it." Mary's answer was calm. "And he wouldn't do it either."
"Why?"
"Because I believe in him."
"Your reason?"
"Belief doesn't need a reason." Mary smiled.
"And if he really did kill someone?" Russell asked.
At that, Mary fell silent for a moment, as though seriously pondering the question.
After a long while, the girl finally spoke slowly:
"Then that person must have deserved it."
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