"Hey, hasn't Professor Moriarty been acting rather odd as of late?" a young man whispered quietly to his presumed companion as the two made their way down the bricked, architecturally profound, and somewhat niche halls of Tingen University.
"Well, now that you mention it," the other youth replied as they approached a sharp right turn, "he has been gentler in his explanations. Usually, he'd maintain such impossibly high standards that most could hardly keep up with his lectures."
"Quite an awfully lot of gossip here, isn't there? Haha. Good afternoon, Mr. Smith—and Mr. Scotch. The two of you shouldn't speak so crudely. It's not very gentlemanly."
The voice came from around the bend. As the two students turned, they found themselves face to face with none other than the man who had been the subject of their hushed conversation.
Professor William James Moriarty stood there, not with disapproval, but with a faintly amused smile tugging at his lips. He gave each of them a light pat on the shoulder, then deftly adjusted one of their collars as though such small gestures of refinement came naturally to him. His aura was unmistakable: aristocratic, refined, and sensible all at once.
"Oh—our apologies, Professor," the two stammered awkwardly.
"No, no, it's quite all right. Mere chatter between close associates," Moriarty said warmly. "In fact, I should be the one at fault. Nothing drearier or more miserable than a lecturer eavesdropping on his pupils. Still, as your guide in these professional years of your lives, I must suggest you keep such chatter on the hush. After all, success comes not only from intellect, but also from appearing as gentlemanly as possible. Now then, farewell for the afternoon."
He left them with a soft nod, his words delivered with a polite cadence that held just enough authority to silence them without reprimand.
As he walked away, his smile faded into something far more complicated. "William James Moriarty," he muttered under his breath, "that's how he should act, after all. But acclimating to this new life is proving more difficult than expected…" A quiet sigh escaped him.
"It has only been a day, yet already the hassle of being someone else is unbearable. Really, William James Moriarty? Be a bit more original. At least make this easier for me. Since this clearly isn't some transmigration into a detective novel, what a dreadful nuisance…"
He let out a dry laugh as he continued down the corridor. It has now been a day since I awoke violently within this body—this Professor William James Moriarty. I was, until then, quite the ordinary man. Tired perhaps, but ordinary. And yet… this cannot possibly be just my imagination. No, there is no way.
These thoughts accompanied him as he finally reached his office. The room was adorned with tall shelves of books and papers stacked in neat yet precarious order atop a large wooden desk. In the center sat a respectable arrangement of sofas and a low table, no doubt intended for waiting visitors.
He slipped off his blazer and hung it carefully on the coat rack by the door before preparing a small cup of tea. Running a hand through his golden blond hair to brush it out of his face, he sat in quiet reflection, the weight of the day settling in.
His mind drifted back, inevitably, to the night before.