Russell's hand paused on the door.
Mary stood in the doorway, arms full of books—either fresh from the library or intending to consult them mid-lecture.
Sunlight poured in behind her, outlining her figure and making those blue eyes look almost absurdly clear.
"Mr. Watson," she said softly, "class is about to start."
When Russell didn't respond, she spoke again—still gentle.
"Sorry. I thought everyone was already here."
Russell opened the door fully to let her in, then closed it again.
Mary smiled faintly and stepped inside.
As she had yesterday, she took the seat beside him, set the stack of books on the desk, and only then turned to look at him.
"Since I wasn't here yet… why did you think everyone had arrived?"
"I thought you'd be sitting in the front," Russell said.
"But I sat here yesterday too, didn't I?" Mary's tone remained pleasantly mild.
"This room doesn't assign fixed seats," Russell replied flatly, attempting a defense.
"Habits are difficult to change," Mary said, smiling.
Russell didn't answer.
Which meant—this round went to Mary.
Their exchange, naturally, drew attention from the rest of the lecture hall. Mary didn't seem to care.
Russell cared even less.
In the span of a few minutes, he'd already picked up forty malice points for free.
If he weren't trying to maintain a shred of dignity, he'd have stood up and shouted: Everyone look at me.
Up front, as the senior professor stepped onto the platform and began his lecture, the room's low noise faded into silence.
Russell leaned against the wall, resting his chin in one hand. His gaze pointed toward the professor—but his focus was nowhere near the podium.
He was looking at his panel.
[Name: Russell Watson]
[Reputation: Somewhat Notorious (Malice gain +10%)]
[Occupation: Gentleman Thief]
[Skills: Stealth (C++), Climbing (C), Sleight of Hand (C+), Investigation (C+), Listening (C), Combat (C)]
[Notice: Upgradable attributes available]
[Malice Balance: 650 (+270)]
[Recent gains: Your interactions with Mary Morstan have made you the target of countless jealous stares—Malice +270]
Six hundred and fifty.
The purse that had been drained by upgrades was slowly swelling again.
System… we're rich again.
And when you're rich, you spend.
Russell willed the panel to shift. The interface blurred, becoming a blank drafting sheet.
[Map Customization — Select your target]
Hmm…
Timmy Roy.
Russell answered internally.
He'd been wondering who to pick next, and this fool had practically volunteered to be hated.
So why hesitate?
If I don't go steal something from your house, aren't you hating me for nothing?
[Map Customization — Roy Residence]
[High-value objects detected: expensive jewelry, bribery records, scandal photographs]
[Map created. Cost: 100 Malice]
[Current Malice Balance: 550]
Russell watched the hundred points vanish and felt a brief stab of pain—quickly drowned out by anticipation.
Bribery records and scandal photos too?
Delightful.
Once I have those in hand, let's see if your father keeps his Cabinet post.
Jewelry?
Dogs can have it.
If he truly needed money, he could have cleaned out the Morstan safes down to the last trinket.
But taking cash was vulgar.
Besides—this wasn't about cash.
As the map "printed" itself into his mind, the Roy residence assembled in three dimensions, rooms and corridors snapping into place. The system even marked the "high-value" locations.
Looks like the next few days will be busy.
He wasn't planning to act tonight.
He'd do it on the night of the icebreaker party.
If he moved fast, he might even make it back before the party ended—just in time to see Timmy Roy's face.
Tonight would be for scouting. Learn the routes. Confirm entry and exit. Reduce risk.
Now… once I get the material, how do I extract the most malice?
Walk up holding the Times and politely "share the news"?
Or greet him like nothing happened and watch him squirm?
Offending people really was a craft.
"Mr. Watson," Mary's voice drifted in beside him, "that smile of yours looks rather… ill-intentioned."
Russell snapped back to reality, coughing twice to cover the whiplash.
"Does it?" He touched his face, making his expression as innocently blank as possible.
"I was just thinking about what to eat tonight."
Mary sighed.
"At least pick a different excuse."
"No, no—this time I truly was thinking about dinner," Russell insisted with exaggerated seriousness.
"Mm-hm." Mary nodded in the way people nod at liars they've decided not to argue with.
"Then. About Saturday evening—will you attend the party?"
"Uh…"
Not this again.
Russell frowned.
"That depends on whether I'm free. If I can't make time, there's nothing I can do, right?"
"So," Mary's tone cooled—suddenly distant, polite in a way that made the air feel thinner, "you don't want to go."
"…"
"When you encounter a difficult question and go silent," she said calmly, "that isn't good behavior, Mr. Watson."
"Sorry."
"I'd rather have an answer than an apology."
Russell hesitated, then finally spoke:
"Those parties end up involving dancing, don't they? I can't dance. I'd rather not embarrass myself. Besides, I doubt anyone would want to be my partner."
"Whether you can dance has nothing to do with whether you attend," Mary said evenly. "And if you don't ask, how can you know no one would?"
Russell seized the opening.
"Then would you, Miss Morstan?"
Mary blinked—caught, just for an instant—then recovered immediately.
"Is that a question," she asked, "or an invitation?"
"It's… probably a question?"
"In that case," Mary said, smiling faintly, "I refuse to answer."
Russell fell silent again.
The afternoon lecture drifted toward its end under the professor's soft, drowsy cadence.
Students stood and filed out.
Mary packed her books as well and prepared to leave.
"Then," she said lightly, "see you tomorrow, Mr. Watson."
"W-wait—Miss Morstan."
Russell hurriedly stopped her, looking as though he'd finally gathered his courage.
Mary paused and turned back. Expectation sparked in her eyes.
"Yes?" Her smile widened. She even fully faced him. "Is there something you want to say?"
"I…" Russell opened his mouth, hesitated, and swallowed.
"Mm?" Mary's expression became openly expectant.
Under that gaze, Russell took a breath and finally spoke the words he'd been "holding back" all along:
"—Can I borrow your notes to copy?"
-------
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