The instant the dismissal bell rang, the classroom exploded.
A dozen people surged toward Mary's seat at the same time.
"Miss Morstan!"
"What color were the phantom thief's eyes?"
"What did he smell like?"
"Did your heart race when he held you?"
Mary was pinned at her desk with barely enough space to stand.
Fourteen people.
Lucian counted silently from the back row.
Nine girls, five boys.
Two of them held notebooks—campus paper types. Another had a camera on his shoulder, probably hoping to snap "the lucky girl the phantom thief favored."
Mary kept a fragile, compliant smile. Her hands were folded neatly on the tabletop, shoulders subtly drawn inward—
A textbook defensive posture.
"Um… I was so scared, I really didn't see—"
"No way you saw nothing!" A red-haired girl shrilled, slapping a newspaper down on the desk. "The paper said he held you for three seconds! A full three seconds!"
"Yeah, yeah! Three seconds is plenty to see a face!"
"You must remember his cologne, right? Was it eau de cologne or—"
"Maybe he even kissed you!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Mary's smile froze—just for half a heartbeat.
Then, at that exact moment, a hand reached over her shoulder and gently placed a photograph on the desk.
"Miss Morstan. The photo you wanted."
Everyone turned.
Somehow, Lucian had already squeezed his way from the back row to Mary's side. He wore an innocently foolish grin—harmless to the point of irritation.
"Who are you?" the red-haired girl demanded.
"Nobody," Lucian admitted, without shame. "Just passing by."
He shifted, positioning himself between Mary and the crowd. The motion was so natural it looked like he didn't even realize he'd done it.
"Excuse us. Let Miss Morstan out—she has somewhere to be."
"Where?"
"The library. Returning a book."
"Returning what book?"
"Anatomy Fundamentals." Lucian lied casually. "Overdue by three weeks. If she doesn't return it now, there'll be a fine."
Mary rose smoothly, picking up the photograph.
A side profile under moonlight—golden hair like flowing light.
Taken last night, before the phantom thief even appeared.
In that moment, she'd been looking up toward the clocktower, her expression balanced somewhere between anticipation and boredom.
You could only capture that angle from the edge of the crowd.
So Lucian really had been there last night.
"Thank you, Senior." She slipped the photo into her pocket. "Let's go."
"Wait!" The red-haired girl reached out to block them. "We still haven't—"
"Haven't finished asking?" Lucian glanced back, tone mild. "Asking what, exactly? His eye color? Red—newspaper says so. Heart racing? I'd recommend asking the phantom thief himself. He might've been even more nervous."
The red-haired girl choked on her own words.
Lucian had already shifted aside, opening a narrow path, and lightly tapped Mary's elbow.
"Let's go, Miss Morstan."
The two of them threaded through the crowd toward the door.
Behind them came frustrated shouting, but no one followed.
After all, he was just a poor student delivering a photo. Not worth making a scene over.
…
Once they left the classroom, the corridor was much quieter.
Evening sunlight slanted through the windows, casting long strips of light across the floor.
"Senior," Mary said softly. "Why did you help me?"
"Reflex," Lucian replied.
"Not reflex." She stopped and turned to face him. "You pushed through at least six people from the back row to get to me. That's not reflex. That's deliberate."
Lucian blinked.
Then he smiled.
"So you caught me."
"So?" Mary prompted.
"So…" He thought for a moment. "Because your expression just now reminded me of something."
"Of what?"
"What it feels like to be surrounded."
His voice stayed flat, almost casual.
"Everyone throws questions at you, but nobody actually wants the answers. They just want to confirm what they already believe. They want to see the reaction they're hoping for on your face. If you say you're scared, they'll call you delicate. If you say you aren't, they'll say you're putting on a brave front. No matter what you say, you lose."
Mary studied him.
The sunlight laid a thin shadow across his face, blurring whatever was behind those cheap lenses.
"Have you experienced that, Senior?"
"Sometimes." He shrugged. "People insult my writing a lot. At first I tried to explain. Then I realized explanations don't matter—they don't want explanations. They just want to attack someone."
"So you stopped explaining?"
"Yeah." Lucian smiled. "No explaining. No arguing. No debating. They can rant; I'll keep writing. Besides, once they're done, they forget."
Mary went quiet for a second.
"That's avoidance."
"Maybe." Lucian didn't deny it. "I call it conserving energy. Trying to reason with someone unreasonable is the worst business deal in the world." He added, as if an afterthought, "And I'm not as good-looking as you. When I get surrounded, nobody steps in to rescue me."
That made Mary pause.
Then she let out a small laugh.
"Was that a roundabout compliment?"
"Not roundabout. Direct." Lucian said solemnly. "Miss Morstan is the most beautiful person I've ever seen."
"Oh?" Her brow lifted.
"Of course, only within this school." He quickly added a boundary. "If we broaden the sample size, I can't guarantee anything. Miss Holmes is pretty, too."
Mary arched a brow higher.
"So between me and Miss Holmes—who's prettier?"
"I refuse to answer that."
"Why?"
"Because Miss Holmes can deduce where someone's been from the mud on their shoe soles." Lucian replied with a straight face. "If she ever gets bored and decides to deduce—from the creases in my shirt and the ink stains—that I spoke ill of her, she'll burn all my manuscripts, then brew me a cup of tea with the ashes."
Mary laughed again.
"So what you mean is I'm prettier than her?"
"What I mean is I'd like to stay alive long enough to finish the biography."
Mary's shoulders shook with amusement.
"Senior's survival instinct is strong."
"I'm basically living under Miss Holmes's thumb right now, in theory." Lucian sighed. "She's given me hope of earning better稿费—better pay."
"So every sentence you speak has an escape route prepared?"
"Obviously." He nodded righteously. "Did you notice? Just now when I said you were the most beautiful person in the school, I deliberately added 'only within this school' to limit the scope."
"I noticed." Mary's smile was half-playful. "Very rigorous."
"I'm a writer. I value precise wording."
They met each other's eyes—then both looked away.
The corridor fell quiet again, the distant noise of the campus only faintly reaching them.
"The photo," Mary said suddenly.
"Hm?"
"It's good."
"Thanks." Lucian blinked. "My camera's old, but sometimes it still produces something decent. Mostly the model is just very pretty."
"Another compliment."
"A fact."
Mary didn't respond.
She lowered her lashes, fingers rubbing the edge of the photo inside her pocket.
A side profile under moonlight.
A posture of looking up.
That moment—caught by him—like a butterfly pinned into a frame.
"Senior." She lifted her head. Something slow and dark moved behind her emerald eyes. "Do you know what that photograph captured?"
"Your profile?"
"Not only that."
Mary took one step closer.
Half a meter vanished.
A faint iris scent drifted between them.
"In that photo, I'm waiting for someone."
"Who?"
"I don't know." She tilted her head slightly, the smile at her lips thin and ambiguous. "Maybe the phantom thief. Maybe someone else. But you captured that moment—so you owe me an answer."
"What answer?"
"Why were you there, at that time, from that angle, to take that photo?"
Lucian knew the correct answer perfectly.
Because he was taking "evidence" for himself—and Mary just happened to fall into the frame.
But that answer couldn't be spoken.
So he offered another.
"Because it looked good."
"Just that?"
"Just that." He spread his hands, wearing a guileless expression. "I'm a shallow person. When I see something beautiful, I want to photograph it. No complicated reason."
Mary's gaze became a needle, trying to pierce the harmless mask on his face.
In the end, she looked away and gave a soft little laugh.
"When you lie, Senior—your left eye blinks a little faster than your right."
And at that delicate moment, crisp footsteps sounded at the far end of the corridor—
Accompanied by the sharp click of a lollipop tapping teeth.
"Goldfish."
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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