Mary's voice was very soft, like a flower petal floating on the surface of water, without creating even the slightest ripple.
"No matter what the newspaper says, no matter how others look at you, you are still you."
"Whether it's Charlotte Holmes's assistant, Scotland Yard's outstanding helper, a friend of Buckingham Palace, or any other title."
"Even the so-called "necessary trouble" she had mentioned."
Mary paused, raised her face, and when her eyes met Russell's, the curve of her lips softened.
It was no longer that polite, perfect smile.
It was something more real, warmer—like the first snow melting away to reveal what lay beneath.
Even if all titles and statuses were set aside,
The girl leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them just a little.
"You are still you—Russell Watson."
My Moriarty.
The moment she finished speaking, the empty classroom suddenly fell into a profound silence.
It was not the silence of no one speaking, but an indescribable kind of stillness.
As if the space they occupied existed on a different level from the outside world.
The noise from outside the window seemed separated by an invisible layer of glass, drifting far away as though it came from another realm.
Russell looked at her. At those deep blue eyes right in front of him, filled with what seemed like stars.
Mary looked at him. Her eyes clearly reflected his image, as though he were the only person left in the world.
The afternoon sunlight slanted in through the window, casting a golden band of light across the table between them.
With the girl leaning forward slightly, the atmosphere between them changed dramatically.
A small gesture had broken through the walls of etiquette and appropriate distance.
He could smell the familiar faint white-tea fragrance mixed with the unique aura of a young girl drifting from her—like an invisible, untouchable hand gently, hesitantly brushing against his cheek.
He could even feel her breath.
Mary's breathing was so faint that even with his current hearing, he couldn't clearly make it out, nor could he hear her voice.
But if he observed carefully, he would feel the subtle breath brushing against the area near his jaw.
It felt like a feather softly touching his body.
Not heavy, but impossible to ignore.
The girl's lips parted slightly, as if she were thinking of something to say, yet at the same time it looked as though she were simply breathing in the air right beside her.
Russell's gaze fell on her ear. The tip of her ear was faintly tinged with pink.
It was very subtle, requiring careful observation to notice—as though it couldn't be hidden, yet she was desperately trying to conceal it.
He simply looked at her. At her figure illuminated by the sunlight, at her blue eyes reflecting his own face, at the faint pink hue at the tip of her ear.
His breathing was steady—at least, he was trying to keep it steady.
But what about his heartbeat?
He couldn't control that.
Suddenly, Mary's eyelashes trembled—very faintly, ever so slightly.
Yet this very action created a tiny ripple on the seemingly still surface of the lake.
The corners of her lips were slightly upturned, but the curve was so subtle it was almost unnoticeable.
However, at this distance, almost nothing escaped notice.
That small curve hid so much within it.
There was gentleness, expectation, and a kind of cautious joy.
And just a little—ever so little, perhaps even she herself hadn't noticed—a budding desire to get closer, and even closer still.
The girl did not advance any further.
She simply stopped there—at a place where they could still barely see each other's reflections in each other's eyes, where their breaths mingled. Yet they were still too far apart, as though held back by an invisible boundary line.
They both knew the line existed, each standing on one side of it.
The line was thin and blurry, as delicate as a scrap of paper about to tear in the wind, as hazy as distant mountains shrouded in morning mist.
If only someone would step forward even an inch.
No, an inch wasn't even necessary.
Half an inch—just half an inch would be enough.
If someone moved forward even 0.5 inches, that line would disappear.
The sunlight outside the window slowly shifted. The band of light rose from the table to their arms, shoulders, and finally their faces.
In each other's eyes, half of their faces were illuminated.
Half bathed in light, the other half hidden in shadow.
Light and shadow intertwined across their faces, drawing a clear boundary line—just like the invisible line now stretching between the two of them.
Russell looked at her. At those deep blue eyes right in front of him, like the Aegean Sea.
As usual, he wanted to say something, wanted to break the somewhat awkward silence with a joke.
But when he opened his mouth, he realized he couldn't say anything.
He watched as her gaze slowly left his eyes, fell, and stopped at his lips.
But she quickly raised her eyes again and met his gaze once more.
In that instant, Russell saw something flash in her eyes.
As though she had made a major decision with urgent resolve.
Mary leaned forward a little more.
The white-tea fragrance grew stronger. It was no longer a hand, but a net.
An invisible net completely enveloped him, trying to pull him under.
He felt as though he were drowning in a sea of white camellias.
How much time had actually passed?
One minute? Ten? Thirty?
He didn't know.
All he felt was that something was pounding at an incredible speed inside his chest—so fast it felt as though it might burst through his skin.
He was still trying to steady his breathing, but his fingers—
Russell's fingers were gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
He was restraining himself.
He was suppressing the urge to reach out.
He wanted to reach out and touch that face. To touch that soft silver hair… He wanted everything.
But he did nothing.
He simply looked at her.
Mary didn't move either.
She stopped there, even closer than before—almost close enough to touch.
Yet her breathing seemed slightly unsteady.
The feather that had been constantly brushing against his jaw was moving at a faster, more urgent pace than before.
But at the same time, she was also maintaining her self-control.
She simply looked at him.
She looked at him with a gaze that seemed to want to etch this moment into memory.
And then she smiled.
The smile was light and faint, yet it broke the stalemate.
However, there was no regret or disappointment in that smile—only gentle understanding.
She knew that he, just like her, was suppressing the urge to take a step forward.
They had both watched the line grow thinner and thinner, yet for the time being, they chose to stay where they were.
Not because they were afraid.
Rather, it was…
Why?
Even she couldn't explain the reason.
…
…
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