"To adapt to the environment, it can change its color at any time.
"One second it wants to hide in the bushes, and the next it can nonchalantly lie on the most conspicuous tree trunk, even sticking its tongue out at you."
Mary spoke airily, slowly revealing Russell's true nature.
"Miss Morstan's metaphor... is really... vivid."
Russell gave a dry laugh, deciding to continue playing dumb.
"You flatter me."
Mary finally scooped up a small piece of Tiramisu with her silver spoon and placed it in her mouth. The smooth cream and slightly bitter cocoa powder melted on the tip of her tongue.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, seeming to enjoy it very much.
A moment later, she put down the spoon, elegantly wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and then looked at Russell again.
"Speaking of which, Mr. Watson."
"Hmm?"
"Did I tell you yesterday in the auditorium that Moriarty stole my brooch the night before?" Mary suddenly asked.
Hearing this, Russell's movements paused slightly, then he nodded.
"You did mention it. Why?"
"He returned the brooch," Mary said softly.
"He came personally and returned what he had originally stolen."
"...."
The air fell into a brief silence.
Russell looked up at Mary, trying to read something in those azure eyes.
But he couldn't see through them.
That pair of eyes was like a bottomless sea; even light could not reach its deepest depths.
"Isn't this situation... quite common?" Russell asked after a long while.
"Didn't that thief do the same before? Stealing things from others and then returning them."
"Is that so... but I always feel he is provoking me," Mary said faintly.
"You said that yesterday too," Russell said without changing his expression.
"No, that's different."
Mary shook her head and corrected him: "Yesterday was just a guess, but today it is a certainty."
"Why?"
"When he came to steal the day before yesterday, he didn't say anything superfluous, nor did he do anything superfluous.
After being caught by me, he used some method I couldn't understand to escape and stole my brooch in passing.
Up to that point, I could tentatively understand these actions as a thief not wanting to leave empty-handed.
But last night was different."
Mary's fingertips unconsciously slid across the cold wall of her glass, leaving a faint trail of water.
Her gaze seemed to pierce through Russell, looking toward a replay of last night that only she could see.
"Last night, not only did he return, but..." She paused, seeming to weigh her words. "He became... bolder."
Russell picked up his spoon and methodically scooped a spoonful of Tiramisu into his mouth, using the sweet taste to mask his heart, which had almost stopped beating.
"Bold in what way?" He pretended to be an interested gossip bystander.
"He didn't go to the collection room, but went straight to my bedroom," Mary said softly, as if stating a matter unrelated to herself.
"He climbed in through the window and even wanted to take my lipstick.
After I caught him, not only did he not return the lipstick to me, but he also said some very... offensive things."
"Like?" Russell raised an eyebrow.
"Like," Mary mimicked Russell's tone from last night, her voice lowered, carrying a trace of frivolous playfulness.
"A slick social butterfly."
"Hiss—"
Russell sucked in a cold breath, his eyes widening, looking filled with indignation.
"He has such a foul mouth!"
"More than that," Mary said, feigning grievance. "He said many excessive things and even used my lipstick to write on paper."
"This Moriarty is so bad," Russell said resentfully.
"People like that should be dragged out and drowned in the River Thames."
"Yes," Mary nodded slightly, seeming very receptive to Russell's performance of righteous indignation.
"He also said that ladies are always magnanimous, trying to use such words to make me let him go."
"Scum!" Russell slapped the table, the movement not large, but the attitude distinct.
"I hate this kind of degenerate who takes advantage of women's kindness the most in my life!"
Pausing, he seemed to realize he had overacted slightly, so he immediately reined in his expression, switching to one of deep sympathy for the victim.
"Then... Miss Morstan, you weren't hurt, right?" he asked cautiously.
"No, that can be considered a stroke of luck amidst misfortune," Mary shook her head.
"He seemed to come specifically to offend me last night, but he wouldn't go so far as to attack me.
If he really wanted to make a move... I wouldn't know what to do."
Yeah, right, you keep going, sweetheart.
Speaking as if that Peerless Duelist last night wasn't you.
Russell listened without batting an eye, even cooperating fully by putting on an expression of relief.
Mary looked at him, and an imperceptible light flashed in her azure eyes.
Interesting.
When she recounted her encounter from last night, the emotional reaction of the man before her—from shock to anger, then to sympathy and relief.
Every step landed perfectly on the nodes that a kind and upright ordinary young man should have.
Impeccable.
Although even Mary couldn't say clearly why she suspected Phantom Thief Moriarty was Russell.
Perhaps it was out of intuition, or perhaps it was for some other reason.
In any case, testing him wouldn't cost her anything.
She recalled every detail of the battle last night.
That guy's every dodge was precise, as if he had predicted it in advance, but his counterattacks, his footwork, and his sense of balance were all filled with an untrained rawness.
These two qualities were contradictorily concentrated in one person.
She looked at Russell before her again.
The loose school uniform couldn't hide that slightly thin frame; his sitting posture was lazy, his way of eating lacked any aristocratic demeanor, and his eyes were clear with a trace of perfectly timed stupidity...
No matter which angle she looked from, she couldn't connect him with that guy who danced on the blade's edge and dared to speak insolently.
Temperament, skill, conversation... they were completely two different people.
Was she overthinking it?
Or was his acting skills so superb that they had reached this level?
With this ability, instead of making a name for himself at the Royal Grand Theatre, he's hiding in Baker Street as a petty thief?
Mary spoke no more; she picked up her spoon and quietly tasted her portion of Tiramisu.
Smooth, slightly bitter, with a sweet aftertaste.
She suddenly felt that the man before her was also like a piece of Tiramisu.
Looking simple and harmless, but when you try to dig deeper, you will always be choked by that layer of elusive cocoa powder.
The tastes of sweet and bitter interweave, making you unable to stop, yet you can never see through his layers.
"What's wrong?" Russell noticed her silence and spoke cautiously.
"Is the dessert not to your liking?"
"No," Mary shook her head, lifting her eyes to smile faintly at him. That smile no longer held any probing intent but had returned to the polite detachment from when they first met.
"It's very delicious. Thank you for the treat, Mr. Watson."
She regained control of the conversation's rhythm and quietly tucked that dangerous conjecture back into the bottom of her heart.
Forcing a connection would only lead her into a paranoid misunderstanding.
Since logic could not equate the two, she would temporarily treat him as... an interesting soul.
At least this way, Mary Morstan's university life wouldn't be too boring.
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