Three days after Craig's death.
Lucian took a huge bite of buttered bread and almost teared up from happiness.
"Henry… are you sure you don't need me to cover the rent anymore?"
"Of course not!" Jekyll waved a letter in the air. "The Academy reopened the investigation about the measuring cylinder! They reimbursed every penny they docked from my stipend—and even paid compensation!"
Lucian looked at the fried eggs and bacon on the table, his feelings a tangled knot.
He'd planned to teach Craig a lesson as Moriarty—only for Pratt to do it for him.
The method was harsher than he'd intended, but the outcome wasn't bad.
At least Jekyll's life had improved, and Lucian benefited by association.
Never let your own people suffer losses—that rule had been fulfilled in a different way.
"Oh, right." Jekyll lowered his voice. "Someone from the editorial office came by yesterday. They said the new submission you sent got a great response—asked if you could turn it into a serialized series."
Lucian's chewing paused for half a second.
The manuscript was already out there. It would be printed soon.
But Charlotte still didn't know.
…Whatever. She'd said she didn't care.
By the time she noticed, it would be too late to undo anything. At worst, she'd just call him a goldfish a few more times.
…
That afternoon, Charlotte's temporary office.
"Miss Holmes!"
The silver-haired girl was buried in a mountain of exam papers without lifting her head.
"This week's quota is used up. Come back next week."
"What quota?"
"The quota for talking to goldfish. Three sentences a week. That was the third."
"But I haven't even said the important part!"
"That's your problem, not mine."
Lucian placed a neatly copied duplicate at the corner of her desk.
"This is the first draft of The Adventures of Holmes. Please take a look."
Charlotte's gaze drifted to the window.
"Do you know why I'm doing these papers?"
"Credits?" Lucian guessed.
"Three months' worth." Her tone was flat. "I plan to clear them in one month. Then I'm leaving this goldfish pond."
Lucian put on an appropriately disappointed expression.
"So soon… that's a pity."
Inside, he exhaled in relief.
London's sharpest mind wouldn't be watching this place for much longer.
For a transmigrator who needed to slip out regularly to perform as a phantom thief and farm points, that was unequivocally good news.
He still remembered how close he'd come to dying the last time she'd commanded the cordon.
"Then my manuscript—"
"Leave it there. I won't read it."
"Why?"
Charlotte lowered her head again and continued answering questions without responding.
Lucian waited thirty seconds. The stack of pages lay on her desk like a forgotten rag.
Fine.
The real "first draft" had already been sent to The Strand anyway.
"Don't let anyone see that," Charlotte added, still writing. "Especially publishers. It's humiliating."
"Understood, Miss Holmes."
Lucian's voice was obedient and mild. He didn't mention that the manuscript was already sitting on an editor's desk.
…
The medical faculty corridor.
"Senior Grey?"
Mary was carrying a stack of books. Lucian took them from her, and the two walked side by side.
"You don't seem in a very good mood, Senior."
"I gave Miss Holmes a manuscript," Lucian sighed. "She didn't even look at it. She also put me on a dialogue quota—three sentences a week."
Mary covered her mouth and giggled.
"Miss Holmes is certainly… distinctive. If she dislikes it so much, why do you insist on writing?"
Because it's the best camouflage.
Because it makes money—and because it boosts future Watson-card synchronization.
But of course he couldn't say that.
"Because she deserves to be recorded," Lucian said solemnly. "The smartest person in all of London—yet everyone only sees her coldness and sharp tongue. I want more people to see that behind the cruelty, there's a soul obsessed with truth to the point of madness."
Mary looked thoughtful.
"So you believe she's simply… bad at expressing herself?"
"Maybe." Lucian smiled faintly. "Either way, I want to write a story that helps more people understand her."
It was half true, half false.
True: Charlotte really was worth recording—and she could make him money.
False: the biggest motive for writing her "biography" was to prepare for impersonating Watson later.
Mary was silent for a moment, then asked suddenly:
"Then how do you plan to write this story?"
"Beginning with Miss Holmes," Lucian said without hesitation, "filled with Miss Holmes, and ending with Miss Holmes."
Mary's steps slowed a fraction.
"All Miss Holmes?"
"Yes. It's her biography, after all."
"All her?" Mary's voice carried a trace of grievance. "But that night… there were clearly three people present…"
Lucian froze.
Right. Mary hadn't just been present—she'd helped him hide the black nightwear.
And in the draft he'd already submitted, her part really was only half a page.
"You're right," Lucian said quickly. "That draft didn't give you enough space…"
"That draft?" Mary's tone sharpened. "So there's more than one version?"
"The first one was rushed," Lucian said. "I'll refine it later."
"Where is the current version now?"
"In… in the middle of整理."
Strictly speaking, it wasn't a lie. It was being "整理" on an editor's desk.
"In the next version, I'll definitely add more of you," Lucian promised, scrambling. "You'll be the kindest character in the story."
Mary lifted her head. Something flickered in those emerald eyes.
"By the way, Senior…" she lowered her voice. "That work outfit from that day—how did you handle it afterward?"
Lucian's heart skipped a beat, but his face only showed embarrassment.
"I burned it. It was too old."
"Burned…" Mary smiled softly. "That makes sense. It was black, after all. I recently heard the phantom thief Moriarty wears a white tailcoat—black and white, symmetrical. I just… couldn't help thinking of it. But you obviously have nothing to do with him."
Was that a probe—or idle chat?
Her tone didn't change at all.
"Of course I have nothing to do with him." Lucian forced a wry smile. "Someone like me who has to count pennies for three meals a day—how could I be a phantom thief?"
"I know." Mary's smile was gentle. "You're so kind, Senior. How could you do bad things?"
They reached the library.
"Remember to write me in," Mary said as she took the books back. "And—don't write about me helping you hide things. That's your private matter. I saw nothing, right?"
"…Right. Only we know."
"Friends keeping a few secrets together is normal, isn't it?"
She waved and disappeared into the library shadows.
Lucian watched that golden back and felt inexplicably heavy.
It felt like the debt he owed Mary had grown again.
…
Deep in the library.
Mary slipped between shelves, the fragile softness already gone from her face.
"Black nightwear… not a white tailcoat…"
Kind. Simple. With boundaries.
Give him a little trust, and he'll immediately treat you as someone who needs protecting.
This type was the easiest to control.
"And that manuscript…"
Mary stared out at the dull gray sky beyond the window.
"He said it was 'being整理,' but his eyes drifted up-left for 0.3 seconds."
Micro-expressions didn't lie.
Would a poor student who stayed up for a few pennies finish a manuscript and keep it by his side to "revise"?
No.
He'd submit it immediately—turn words into money while the ink was still warm.
"So that manuscript was probably already sent."
A meaningful curve formed at Mary's lips.
"Nervous and obedient in front of Holmes, then he turns around and submits it anyway… This Lucian is bolder than he looks."
She pulled a copy of The London Publishing Directory from the shelf and flipped to the entry for The Strand.
"Spiders don't like appearing in stories…"
"But a few pages now and then won't hurt."
In her emerald eyes, a hidden vortex of delighted madness slowly began to turn.
"Keep watching."