The next day.
Russell was in the kitchen making breakfast, the same as always.
He had gone to bed late the night before, but his body clock was trained well enough by now that he still woke and shut the alarm off a step ahead of it.
As for the sleep he'd missed — he could always make it up in the lecture hall.
It was about time the professors at Imperial College learned that he was a good boy who never forgot his roots.
Charlotte didn't get up on time today. Probably because she'd stayed up too late.
Russell waited a while, and when there was still no sign of her stirring, he found a lid to cover the breakfast so it wouldn't go cold too soon, then set off from 221B Baker Street.
Imperial College felt a little different today.
For Russell, at least.
From the moment he stepped through the gates, he had the sense of being watched, and the murmuring never quite stopped.
Russell let out a sigh.
Yesterday's edition of The Times had done its work.
With [Listening] and [Investigation] running, he could pick out every whisper around him clearly, along with all the looks landing on him — curious, appraising, and in more than a few cases, envious.
"That's him, isn't it? Charlotte Holmes's assistant?"
"He looks… pretty ordinary, honestly."
"The article said he got into Imperial College after only three months of studying. Is that even true?"
"Who knows. Could be bragging. It's not like anyone can go and check."
"I heard he's even been inside Buckingham Palace. No idea if that's real either."
Most of the talk was simple curiosity, but a few voices carried a sharper edge, faintly sour around the rim.
Russell listened without any expression at all, sweeping up the scattered Malice Points as they came, and kept walking toward the lecture hall.
When he came in through the back door, the noisy room fell silent in an instant.
Every head turned at once, every gaze fixed on him, as though a spotlight had locked onto the lead actor on stage.
Russell's step faltered for a beat. Then he closed the door as if nothing had happened and, under dozens of watching eyes, took his seat at an unhurried pace.
Mary sat in her usual place, chin propped on one hand, amusement dancing in those deep blue eyes as she watched him with open interest.
She still wore the white cashmere scarf, and her loose silver hair caught the morning light in a way that was almost too bright to look at.
"Good morning, celebrity."
Her voice reached him the moment he sat down, soft and threaded with teasing.
Russell set his bag aside and sighed. "Morning."
"Looks like what a certain someone said back then really did come true."
Mary laughed under her breath.
"All of London is going to have to look at you differently now."
As she spoke, her eyes drifted over the classmates still sneaking glances in their direction, and the curve of her mouth deepened.
"So? How is it?" she asked, leaning a little closer. "How does it feel, having all those eyes on you?"
"Not great." Russell slumped forward onto the desk and buried his face in the crook of his arm. "I feel like a monkey in a zoo enclosure."
"It's not that bad," Mary laughed. "You're properly famous now. Just look at their faces — they're eaten alive with envy and regret."
"I preferred it when nobody noticed me," Russell said, his voice muffled against his sleeve.
"Bit late to say that." Mary poked his arm lightly with a fingertip.
"From the second you agreed to the interview, you should have seen this coming. This is a story you started yourself."
The bell rang at exactly that moment, and Professor Fields climbed onto the platform with his lecture notes under his arm.
Out of habit his gaze swept toward the back row, and when he saw that familiar figure already face-down on the desk, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Never mind. Let him be.
At least today's class would finish on schedule.
The morning's lectures ended in a strange, humming atmosphere.
At noon, the familiar empty classroom.
Free of those uncomfortable stares, Russell looked considerably more at ease.
He leaned back in his chair with a sandwich in hand, then remembered something and asked, "By the way — how did your father react after he read the paper?"
The smile on Mary's face paused for half a second.
She blinked, then grinned with a sly slant. "Guess."
She hadn't answered him, only tossed the question back, her tone playful and probing.
Russell looked at her and said nothing.
Mary didn't look away either. She met his eyes, chin still propped on her hand, and let him look.
Sunlight slanted in through the window and settled along the side of her face, gilding those doll-fine features with a thin wash of gold.
"My guess," Russell said after a moment's thought, "is that I've already gotten what I wanted?"
Mary raised an eyebrow. She neither denied it nor confirmed it — only the laughter in her eyes grew a shade richer.
"More or less," she said, dropping her voice, the intimacy of someone sharing a secret in it.
"After he finished that article, his opinion of you changed quite a bit. He used to think you were a stumbling block. Now he thinks you're a very capable young man with a promising future."
"Really?"
"Mm-hm." She nodded, giving nothing away.
"He said you'll go far. He praised you for standing at the side of the Holmes family so young, for earning the recognition of the Holmes family, the recognition of Scotland Yard — even the recognition of Buckingham Palace."
There was something subtle in the way she said it, something hard to name.
Not mockery. Not teasing.
Just a kind of distance, the flatness of someone relaying another person's words.
As if in saying them she were simply completing a task called [Relay].
What she herself thought of those words, she didn't care to mention.
Russell watched her and said nothing. Mary took the hint and closed her mouth, meeting his gaze with a warm smile.
For some reason, Russell kept feeling that something was missing from that smile.
Like a thin pane of glass in between — visible, but out of reach.
There was laughter in her eyes, and yet it never sank down into them. It stayed on the surface.
As if the smile she wore while saying all that came from courtesy rather than from anything real.
Not one word that man had said did she want to pass along.
[A newly discovered founder's share with enormous potential.]
[Whoever buys in before everyone else catches on will reap returns many times over, someday down the line.]
[You can go on as before — be his friend, talk with him, even invite him over to the house.]
[Think of it as… cultivating a capable subordinate for your own future, in advance.]
None of that did she say.
She only smiled — the most proper, most flawless smile — and told Russell, "Anyway, he sees you in a whole new light now."
Russell nodded and was quiet for two seconds.
"And you?" he asked suddenly.
Mary blinked. "Me?"
"Mm." Russell nodded, his eyes on her face. "What do you think?"
Mary didn't answer right away.
She just looked at him, at that calm expression, as though he'd asked it in passing.
"Me, hmm…"
She let out a small laugh. It was light and soft, like a wind chime stirring in a faint breeze.
"I think none of what's written in the papers matters at all."
Russell raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't matter?"
"Mm." Mary nodded and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, revealing half of a small, pale earlobe.
"Scotland Yard, Buckingham Palace, all of that is so far away. To me—"
She paused, her gaze settling on his face.
"You're just you."
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