Episode 9 – Organization
A few days after I moved my lodgings to the dormitory of the Auguste Detective Academy.
“…This is driving me mad.”
After poring for a long time over the students’ files I’d obtained with Professor Moriarty’s help, I let out a quiet sigh and flopped face-down onto the bed.
‘Who on earth was that.’
The mysterious message that had surfaced on my hand a few days ago.
The sender was probably the fiancée Isaac Adler has in the original, or someone he was seeing with engagement in mind.
Because ever since I possessed this body, every woman’s contact had come by letter—except for this person, whose message came through the transmission magic engraved on Adler’s hand.
And the name Adler had saved for that transmission magic was, precisely, “Engagement.”
‘I have no idea.’
The problem is, I have no idea who she is.
In the original, Adler’s fiancée is the British lawyer “Godfrey Norton.”
Of course, in this world where everyone’s gender is swapped, she would be a woman.
But according to my investigation, no woman with the surname “Norton” who is a lawyer exists in London.
Just in case, I even dug through every female student at the academy majoring in law, but there was no such person.
As a last resort I’ve written letters to the house servants who are in hospital, but judging from how the butler who visited me recently looked blank, that seems a dead end.
‘The twenty-first is in a few days.’
Who in the world is the person who sent me that message—Isaac Adler’s only registered contact channel—telling me to meet on the evening of the twenty-first, at some place I don’t even know?
The Isaac Adler of the story I proofread was already dead by the time of the original’s viewpoint, so there wasn’t much information.
In other words, even with a possessor’s knowledge there isn’t the slightest lead—a truly vexing situation with no way forward.
‘Or perhaps it would be better not to meet at all.’
On second thought, it might actually be better not to keep in touch with a woman I can’t even identify.
It’s obvious that Adler, who’s little better than trash, was seducing her with insolent intent.
And if she gets entangled with me from here on, she’ll be in considerable danger.
“…Ugh.”
These burn marks, still throbbing like mad even now, are the proof.
The police are investigating the arson at my townhouse, but they’ve found no leads.
And if the police can’t find a lead, there’s only one answer.
An intentional terror attack using mana.
Considering there were no magicians among the servants, it must have been that someone from outside slipped into the house and prepared such a trap.
It seems there are people who hate Isaac Adler enough to want him dead—not only among the women of London but also among magicians.
Good thing I moved my lodgings here.
“Up we go.”
I gathered my tangled thoughts as I lay on the bed, then finally sighed and got up.
‘Handle what’s right in front of me first.’
If I keep stuffing my head with things that won’t be solved by thinking, I’ll get nowhere.
So I’ll do what I can do right now.
[Mr. Adler. Something urgent has come up.]
For example, meeting our Professor, who’s been sending messages to my hand ever since I registered her in the transmission magic.
[Come to my office.]
I can already see the long road of hardship ahead of me.
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“You’re here, Mr. Adler.”
When I arrived at Professor Moriarty’s office at a brisk pace, she sat ramrod straight in her chair and gave me a small wave.
“What’s the urgent matter, Professor?”
“In truth, there’s nothing urgent.”
When I asked, she let out a faint smile and said:
“I just wanted to see you.”
“Is that so. Then I’ll be off.”
“One of a graduate student’s main duties is entertaining a professor who might die of boredom at any moment, Mr. Adler.”
She snapped her fingers, and as before, the office door locked itself.
“I’ve been curious—are you a mana user too, Professor?”
“Well now, what do you think.”
The “mysterious mana” she is presumed to have used on the prince in the last incident; the “curse” said to be on her; and so on.
There was no end to what I wanted to ask about her.
“Let’s talk about that later. For now, shall we pick up where we left off last time?”
“What we were discussing last time?”
“The crime organization. The one that will swallow London in the future.”
Judging from her reaction, that will have to wait.
“I’ve been looking forward to us founding such a terrifying organization. But it’s been days with no significant progress.”
“You can’t build something like that overnight.”
“Hmm…”
At my words, she looked a touch disappointed and rummaged for the sugar packets by her desk.
“Detectives have it easy. Clients come knocking even if they sit still, and they can advertise legally.”
“………”
“Consulting on crime was certainly fun that time, but if the wait stretches out like this, it becomes a problem.”
Only now did I notice her slumped shoulders and lifeless eyes.
It looked like the withdrawal Holmes shows in the original when there aren’t enough cases.
“Isn’t there some way?”
In fact, what troubled her is precisely what I’ve been thinking about these last few days.
Thanks to the binomial theorem paper she published a few days ago, Professor Moriarty will soon be a global celebrity—but right now she’s just a first-year junior professor.
And I, her assistant, am a man famous in London in a bad way.
To put it bluntly, we lack name value.
Never mind building an organization; even finding clients who want crime consulting is a distant prospect.
If that situation continues for weeks—no, even days—Moriarty’s interest in consulting on crime will wane.
Even now, she’s chewing sugar cubes with a gloomy face like Holmes without a case.
“There is a way.”
“…What was that?”
Fortunately, after wracking my brain for days, I’d come up with a fairly good idea.
“There’s a way to lay the foundation of an organization that will back us, and at the same time find our first client.”
“……….”
“And we can do it right now.”
At that, Professor Moriarty, who had been listlessly mouthing sugar, stopped and her eyes lit up.
“Adler, you always show me something new.”
“You flatter me.”
“So, what is this method?”
I took a sheet of paper from my breast and held it out.
“All you need to do is stamp this.”
“Oh? At last—you mean to make me your sex slave?”
“Please don’t sexually harass me.”
She took the paper from me with an excited face, then tilted her head in quiet puzzlement.
“This is the method?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Hmm…”
Her reaction was only natural.
“A Mock Crime Consulting Club. Faculty advisor: me. Club president: you. Interesting enough, but…”
The document I handed her was none other than a club-creation authorization form.
“How does this become ‘the method’?”
“Do you not see it?”
“To be frank—no.”
Gazing down at the permit, she drummed her fingers on the desk, then began:
“Since we lack name value for now, you mean to use this as a way to scout the talent we need for the organization?”
“More or less.”
“But even so, posting such a notice in an academy full of detectives seems a very poor move.”
She had a point, of course.
If you open a “Mock Crime Club” at the finest detective academy in Europe, what you’ll attract are curious or idle detectives, naturally.
“Even if, by some chance, a student genuinely interested in crime comes, it will be impossible to tell them apart. Taking on clients would be harder still.”
“………”
“And in the first place, a student with such intent wouldn’t be in a detective academy, if they had any common sense.”
I looked at Professor Moriarty as she refuted my proposal with unimpeachable logic—
“…Heh.”
—and I couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.
“What is it, Mr. Adler?”
Because that common-sense logic doesn’t apply at this academy.
“It’s nothing, Professor.”
Auguste Detective Academy.
This place, the main stage of the game where the protagonist, Holmes, will enroll a year from now, is also where the culprits of the string of incidents that will unfold about a year later are lurking.
And I’m certain.
I may not be able to catch all of their eyes, but I can certainly make at least one student take an interest in this club.
She is the true culprit of the original “Red-Headed League.”
The fourth-smartest woman in London.
Even if she isn’t at the level of the original Moriarty’s elusive right hand, Colonel Moran, she’ll be more than enough as a member of the organization we’ll build.
“Go on and stamp it.”
“Even after I’ve said all that?”
“If you’re dissatisfied with the result, you can kill me, Professor.”
I looked straight at her as I said it, and Moriarty, with a faint smile, began to sway her head side to side.
A habit she often shows when something intrigues her or when she’s thinking deeply.
What does she think of me now, staring straight into my eyes without hiding that habit?
“So be at ease.”
A slight chill ran down my spine, but I kept my composure.
Because the incident I’m about to bring forward will, for Professor Moriarty, be a deeply satisfying one—without question.
“I’m going to turn London into a wonderland just for you, Professor.”
I said it—but only half of it was true.
Because the genius girl at 212B Baker Street will also be given a ticket to that wonderland.
“Will this do for the ticket, Mr. Adler?”
Naturally, the first to enter was Professor Moriarty, who lifted the corners of her mouth and stamped her seal on the authorization.
“Thank you, Professor.”
It was time to recruit subordinates to join the high-wire act between two geniuses.
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That evening, in the lobby of the Auguste Detective Academy.
“What’s this? Why are there so many people over there?”
“Is the new transfer they said was coming already here?”
“No, if that were it, they wouldn’t all be crowding along the wall.”
Students coming out after class began murmuring as they saw the crowd by the bulletin board.
“…Forget it. Probably just more detective hopefuls with nothing better to do, getting fixated on something.”
“Still, seeing that many people makes me curious.”
“Then go have a look.”
And behind those people—
“……….”
A girl was glaring at the board with an icy expression.
[Mock Crime Consulting Club]
[The purpose of our Mock Crime Consulting Club is to take the role of the culprit ourselves and construct crimes. Interview location: Professor Moriarty’s office on the 3rd floor…]
More precisely, she was staring at the line written in big red letters at the very bottom of the board.
[※ Any student capable of wielding red-colored mana passes the interview automatically. All activity fees waived.]
“…Is it a coincidence?”
Murmuring in a low voice, the girl brushed the mole on her forehead and started toward the interview room on the third floor.
“There are people who think the same way I do.”