"This should be the place."
After confirming the room number one last time, Ilya raised his hand and knocked on the office door.
It opened only a few moments later, revealing a middle-aged man standing on the other side with several books tucked under one arm. Judging from his attire alone, there was little doubt that he was Professor Nordberg.
"Yes?"
"Excuse me," Ilya said politely. "Is this Professor Nordberg’s office?"
"Yes, it is..."
The professor’s eyes lingered on Ilya for another moment before his expression noticeably changed. His brows furrowed, and the courteous tone he had greeted him with disappeared instantly.
"...Huh. I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong department, Belozersky."
"...."
Ilya kept his expression perfectly composed despite the unexpected greeting. His surname certainly held enough weight and prestige that some professors would recognize it immediately, but the academy was far too large for every instructor or every student to know him by face alone.
Besides, he had even cut his hair recently, making the immediate recognition all the more surprising.
"I’m looking for Assistant Professor Adelheid," Ilya replied. "Is she here?"
"Hm."
Before he could say another word, a familiar voice resounded from somewhere deeper inside the office.
——Who is it?
"The Belozersky kid," Professor Nordberg answered without taking his eyes off Ilya. "Apparently, he’s looking for you. Should I kick him out?"
——No. Let him in.
Professor Nordberg frowned.
"Let him in?" He turned toward the adjoining room in disbelief. "Why is he looking for you in the first place? What the hell have you been up to this time, Vera?"
——I said let him in.
The office fell silent for a moment before Professor Nordberg finally clicked his tongue in annoyance. Though he clearly wanted to argue further, he ultimately stepped aside and gestured toward the room reluctantly.
"...Come in."
"Thank you."
As Ilya stepped inside, he immediately found Vera lounging comfortably on the office sofa with a cigarette between her fingers, looking less like an assistant professor reporting to her superior and more like the owner of the room herself.
Without even sparing Ilya more than a brief glance, she casually pointed toward the office door.
"You."
Professor Nordberg looked at her as she continued.
"Get out."
"Huh?"
"I said get out."
"...."
A vein twitched on the professor’s forehead.
Despite the expression on his face that suggested he had countless objections, he nevertheless turned around and walked out of his own office without another word, closing the door behind him.
Left alone with Vera, Ilya could only blink his eyes, finding it strangely difficult to tell which of the two was actually the senior professor and which one was merely the assistant.
"First time you actively sought me out at the academy."
Vera leaned back comfortably against the sofa. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she exhaled a stream of smoke.
"What is it? Surprised to find out I actually do work here?"
"...Is that really alright? He’s your senior professor, and judging by the way he looked at me, he already doesn’t seem to like me very much."
Vera gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
"It doesn’t matter. He’s my uncle."
"...."
"So, what do you need?"
Ilya took the seat across from her. The office was cluttered with stacks of books, research papers, and documents, yet the table between them was occupied almost entirely by cigarette packs, several of which bore foreign labels that even Ilya had never seen before.
"You can take one," Vera said, nudging the packs toward him with a finger. "They’re all my uncle’s."
Ilya’s gaze shifted from the expensive cigarette packs to the closed office door before returning to Vera again.
After a moment of consideration, he reached forward and opened one of the packs as though it belonged to him in the first place. The timing was perfect, considering he had yet to smoke his daily cigarette, and he saw little reason to refuse an offer that cost him nothing.
Lighting it, he took a slow drag before finally turning his attention back to Vera.
"Senior," he began, exhaling a thin stream of smoke, "have you heard the news?"
"You’ll have to be more specific. Half the academy has gone mad over rumors these past few days. Which one are you talking about?"
"Sir Fritz. Did you know about him?"
After all, Vera herself had been the one who killed him. Given everything that had happened on Mount Serebryany, Ilya had expected her to dismiss the subject.
However, contrary to his expectations, the corners of her lips slowly curled upward.
"I expected something like this would come out eventually," Vera said with a smirk. "Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect it to be quite this bad."
She let out a laugh before taking another drag from her cigarette.
"Still... serves that bastard right, doesn’t it?"
"Senior... Why did you kill him?"
"So you’ve finally become curious enough to ask."
She smiled.
"Why would I need a reason? A vile bastard like him didn’t deserve the luxury of one."
She flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette into the tray before meeting Ilya’s eyes once again.
"Besides..." Vera said, her smile fading. "If I told you I had a reason, would it change anything?"
"...."
Ilya held her gaze without answering, realizing he had already asked more than he should have.
There was something in Vera’s eyes that made it clear the conversation had reached a line she had no intention of letting anyone cross, as if saying, ’Don’t pry into my business, and I won’t pry into yours.’
For someone like Vera, that was already more honesty than most people would ever receive.
Ilya took another slow drag from his cigarette before letting the matter rest, deciding there were simply some questions that were better left unanswered.
If Vera wanted him to know, she would tell him herself, and if she did not, then forcing the issue would accomplish nothing.
"Is that all you came here for?" Vera asked, watching him through the veil of cigarette smoke between them. "I’d be disappointed if you interrupted my peaceful afternoon over something so trivial."
"No," Ilya answered, shaking his head. "Actually... I came here because I wanted your advice."
"My advice?"
A hint of genuine curiosity finally appeared on Vera’s face.
Taking another breath to organize his thoughts, Ilya explained everything surrounding Helene as objectively as he could.
Naturally, he omitted the one detail that mattered most, that he suspected she might one day distort, just as the Beckjord girl had. It was not because he distrusted Vera, but because there was simply no reasonable way to explain how he had reached such a conclusion.
Vera listened without interrupting, smoking quietly until he had finished speaking. Once he was done, she rested her cheek against one hand before letting out an amused chuckle.
"From what I know," Vera began, "Viscount Neidhardt isn’t dealing with any serious financial problems. That family’s managed to stay afloat for years through its extensive interests in the city’s pleasure houses."
"...What?"
Ilya frowned, unable to hide his surprise. The novel had only ever hinted that House Neidhardt was entangled in something unsavory, leaving the details frustratingly vague, but he had never imagined it was connected to something like that.
It certainly explained how a viscount’s household had managed to survive for so long despite its lack of influence.
Vera glanced at his expression before chuckling to herself.
"Oh... would you look at that? You’re worrying about someone else despite being in the middle of your own mess."
She looked at him teasingly.
"This is honestly a little painful. I thought I was the only woman in your life, Ilya."
"...Senior."
His utterly exhausted response only earned another laugh from Vera, who seemed thoroughly entertained. The smile on her lips gradually faded as she tapped the filter of her cigarette against the ashtray, considering his question.
"My advice? Don’t get involved any more than you already have."
"...."
"You’re in no position to save anyone right now," she said. "You keep acting like your own well-being is the least important thing in the room, as if throwing yourself into someone else’s problems somehow makes you admirable."
She leaned back against the sofa and let out a slow stream of smoke.
"You think you’re some kind of martyr?" Vera continued. "Someone whose own life doesn’t matter as long as everyone else gets to keep theirs?"
A faint smile returned to her lips.
"That’s far more selfish than you think."
Vera stubbed out her cigarette before rising from the sofa and making her way over to him.
Standing close enough for him to catch her scent wafting from her clothes, she hooked a finger underneath his chin and gently tilted his head upward until their eyes met.
"You don’t have the power to change anything," Vera said. "So ignore it. Ignore everything, ignore everyone, and focus on yourself. Train, become stronger, and survive first. Once you have the power to actually change something, then you can decide what kind of person you want to be."
She never broke eye contact as her hand slowly left his chin and came to rest over the lower half of his face, her palm lightly covering his lips and nose. Ilya closed his eyes, breathing in the lingering scent of tobacco from her hand.
"I thought you’d gotten better over the past month," she continued. "But now... you’re starting to look exactly like you did the first time we met."
Ilya opened his eyes, meeting her gaze once more without pulling away from her touch.
"...And what does that look like?"
"Like you’re back in hell."