Russell took his seat and greeted the white-tea-scented girl in his usual manner.
Then he felt the whispers coming from all around him.
Whenever this time of year came around, people were always especially eager to listen to stories.
"Is that him? The guy who was in Phoenix magazine…"
"Yeah, yeah, Charlotte Holmes's assistant, Russell Watson."
"I read the whole report. What do you think I figured out?"
"What?"
"The part of the report about him and Miss Morstan was especially… well, you can imagine."
"Shhh, stop talking! Do you want to risk your life?"
Russell: "..."
He couldn't help but turn his gaze toward Mary.
The girl was completely absorbed in flipping through a poetry collection. Her expression was focused on a single point, as though she hadn't noticed the whispers around her at all.
However, the slight upward curve at the corners of her mouth seemed to reflect her current mood.
It's probably just my imagination.
Russell looked away and closed his eyes to rest while the professor was still absent.
However, when his vision was blocked, his hearing became even sharper.
He heard several girls in the row in front of him leaning close together and whispering.
"You know, Miss Holmes likes to stay up late, drinks strong coffee, and has the habit of pulling all-nighters."
"Watson prepares breakfast for Miss Holmes. Their lifestyles complement each other."
"Complement each other…" another girl repeated the words meaningfully.
"And here——Watson said that Miss Holmes said it wasn't necessary, but in reality she remembered everything."
"She says 'leave it alone,' but if you do, she'll stay awake until dawn."
"That's an exaggeration."
"Doesn't this description sound like it's saying..."
"What did it say?"
"It's saying... they have a very intimate relationship."
The girls exchanged glances, their eyes conveying a clear message of "You know what I mean, right?"
"But what about Miss Morstan..." one girl whispered.
"Didn't the newspaper say she thinks of Watson as 'a very good friend'?"
"Then let me ask you——which relationship do you think is more intimate: 'friend' or 'trouble'?"
"Let me ask you——which is better? Being told by the person you like, 'We're just friends,' or being told with a troubled yet somehow sweet expression, 'You're a troublesome'?"
"..."
"See for yourself. When Miss Morstan said 'a very good friend,' she used adjectives like 'reliable' and 'the warm flames of a winter fireplace.'
"When Watson spoke about Miss Holmes, he used the word 'troublesome.'
But look at the tone of his description, that helpless smile..."
She paused before lowering her voice.
"It's not dissatisfaction at all. It's the kind of tone only people who are truly close would use."
"Why do you know so much?"
"I have a friend..."
"I understand what you're saying. There's no need to say anything more."
The girls around them fell silent.
Then, as if by unspoken agreement, their gazes turned toward the silver-haired girl in the back row who was flipping through a book—only to quickly look away again.
"So, what do you think..." the curly-haired girl said in a low voice.
"What exactly is the relationship between Miss Morstan and Watson?"
"Didn't the newspaper already say it? They're very good friends."
"Do you believe that?"
"...I can't."
"Then it's settled."
The group exchanged glances once more.
"I think..." the short-haired girl carefully chose her words.
"Miss Morstan's feelings toward Watson are definitely more than friendship."
"Sister, let me tell you something others don't know."
"What about Watson? Didn't he say Miss Morstan was 'a very good friend'?
"Do you really believe that?"
The curly-haired girl snorted.
"I have no choice but to believe it... Otherwise, how would you explain Charlotte Holmes?"
The girl with glasses stopped mid-sentence.
Because she saw that the silver-haired girl in the back row had at some point raised her face and was smiling at them.
That smile was gentle and appropriate, even carrying a hint of well-intentioned warning.
"You were talking too loudly. I could hear you."
The girls instantly fell silent, their faces turning bright red. They all lowered their heads and pretended to be reading, unable to say another word out of guilt.
Mary withdrew her gaze, then turned her face to look at the person beside her who had his eyes closed and was resting.
In the girl's heart, the conversations she had been constantly hearing since earlier replayed over and over.
The center of the topic was the three of them—Russell, Charlotte, and herself.
However, compared to the commotion surrounding Russell and Charlotte, she felt somewhat... weak.
This story was supposed to be about three characters, yet she always felt like she wasn't even given a name.
Even though it was clearly a story about three people, everyone's attention was focused on only two.
What others were more concerned about was the ambiguous relationship between Charlotte Holmes and her assistant.
As for the daughter of the Morstan family, she was simply there to enjoy herself.
It seemed that, in everyone's subconscious, Mary, Russell, and Charlotte had never lived in the same world from the very beginning.
There had always seemed to be someone like Charlotte Holmes between her and Russell.
No matter how close she tried to get to him, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she stayed by his side——in the eyes of others, she had always been nothing more than "just a very good friend."
Yet even a person who had never shown their face could easily stir people's imaginations with just the word "troublesome."
The whispers around her continued.
People lowered their voices and no longer tried to look in their direction.
However, like fish slipping through a net, a few words still managed to reach her ears.
Mary quietly took a breath.
It was very light.
But after inhaling, she felt a part of her chest tighten even more.
She recalled yesterday afternoon in that empty classroom.
The sun had been bright, the breeze gentle. She had been so close to him that she could see her own reflection in his eyes.
She remembered the moment she had hugged him—his hair brushing against her cheek, his breath right beside her ear.
She remembered his final words: "Your perfume today smells really nice."
At that moment, she had felt like she had won.
But now——
Had she really won?
Why did it feel like she had already opened the champagne halfway through?
Romance novels don't write it like this! She don't accept this!
Logically speaking, shouldn't it be about time for me to see Russell's special CG?
Thinking this, Mary couldn't help but raise her face and look at Russell, who was resting with his eyes closed beside her.
She quickly looked away and turned her gaze to the poetry collection in her hands.
It was a poem by Tagore.
You dwell quietly in my heart like the full moon shining in the night sky.
The girl furrowed her brows at it and flipped the page as though trying to escape from something.
The greatest distance in the world is not the distance between life and death, but the distance between me standing in front of you and you not knowing that I love you.
"..."
….