A Butterfly Through the Mist - Side Story 2

It wasn’t until around lunchtime the next day that Ilex finally snapped out of his gloom.

Having sworn in a bout of self-disgust never to follow Tilia around again, he saw the calendar reminding him that the end-of-term ceremony was near—and quietly rose from his seat. Then he smoothed down his hair, retrieved the robe he had tossed into a corner, and stepped outside.

‘Just until the end of this term… If I don’t see her over the break, I’ll naturally forget.’

So rationalized Ilex, as he carefully pulled his hood over his neatly styled hair and bolted out the door.

His destination was the walking path behind the Liberal Arts Building. The path wound around a low hill, splitting into two trails: one steeper, the other almost flat.

Deliberately choosing the steeper path less traveled, Ilex glanced back occasionally, waiting for Tilia.

She’s a bit late today. Just as he was kicking at some faded leaves with a bored expression—

“So, about that guy…”

A familiar voice reached him from afar.

Realizing instantly that it was Tilia’s close friend, Judy Wells, Ilex turned around. Then, feigning nonchalance like a casual passerby, he started strolling.

The lakeside was normally the academy’s most popular walking route. But now, thanks to the biting winter wind, even the less-frequented path by the Liberal Arts Building had a decent number of people.

Thanks to that, Ilex was able to blend in with the crowd. He slowed his pace intentionally, waiting for the girls to draw closer.

“Seriously? Professor Raus really did that?”

Today, luck seemed to be on his side. With more people out than usual, Ilex could get closer to Tilia. He perked up his ears beneath his robe.

“I’m telling you, it’s true!”

Judy Wells, clinging to Tilia, chirped on excitedly.

“Amy said she saw it herself. Charlotte Fowler coming out of Professor Raus’s office!”

How does that girl know so many rumors? Annoyed for no reason, Ilex shot a grumpy glare behind him.

Tilia Ambrose really needed to be more selective about her friends. Keeping someone who spread such gossip close—wasn’t that why she came to think decent men were trash?

As the memory of the day he overheard the rumors about himself and saw Tilia’s reaction returned, Ilex couldn’t help but reveal his discomfort.

“…That’s unexpected.”

Tilia murmured in a slightly lowered voice. What is? As if echoing Ilex’s unspoken question, Judy asked aloud.

“What? What’s unexpected?”

“Just… Raus. His lectures aren’t bad.”

“Really? I always found them hard…”

“He’s the best among the literature criticism professors. And he’s the most active in research too. He probably published the most papers in journals this year.”

“R-really? I had no idea.”

Judy Wells seemed utterly disinterested, but Ilex wasn’t. Or rather, he wasn’t interested in what journals Raus had published in—but he was very interested in the subtle emotions in Tilia’s tone.

“Well, intelligence and character are different matters.”

Tilia, returning to her usual cynical demeanor as if she’d never sounded wistful at all.

“…Still, even someone that smart turns out to be just like the rest. I thought he was a real genius after reading his latest paper. What a shame.”

Hearing those offhanded words, Ilex came to a sudden stop.

While he stood there hesitating, Judy Wells and Tilia, now chattering cheerfully about dessert shops as if the Raus talk had never happened, walked ahead without looking back.

But Ilex remained rooted in place, forgetting even the thought of following—simply staring at Tilia’s small back as she grew more distant.

***

That night, after his shower, Ilex flopped onto the bed without even thinking to dry his dripping hair.

He had even doused himself in cold water in hopes of washing away the thoughts that kept tangling up his mind—but it was all for nothing. Once a delusion coiled itself around his head, it refused to leave.

Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, Ilex once again heard Tilia’s voice from earlier that day ringing in his ears.

“…Still, even someone that smart turns out to be just like the rest. I thought he was a real genius after reading his latest paper. What a shame.”

The final words, what a shame, stretched and shrank repeatedly in his ears.

Why. Why is it a shame?

With a strangely glinting gaze fixed on the ceiling, Ilex muttered aloud.

Why is it a shame that the professor committed misconduct…

From within his damp skull, a line of reasoning began to form.

Tilia loves literature—especially the rhetoric of figures. Professor Anthony Raus is the only professor specializing in rhetoric at the Royal Academy. He teaches well but is surrounded by nasty rumors, and Tilia despises men with such reputations.

Yet when she heard that the rhetoric professor had committed misconduct, she said it was a shame.

Let’s retrace. Tilia hates scumbags. She loves rhetoric. When she learned that the professor she respected for his rhetoric was a scumbag, she said it was a shame.

Which means…

‘Even if someone’s trash, if they’re smart, she cuts them some slack?’

No, that conclusion is wrong. Because there’s a perfect counterexample: the perpetual top-ranking trash, Ilex Davenport.

‘Then maybe… you have to be good at rhetoric?’

Ilex recalled his grade report. His rhetoric scores were definitely lower than those of other subjects.

Was that why the rumors surrounding him never left even a trace of shame in Tilia’s mind?

Thinking that far, Ilex unintentionally let out a dry chuckle.

Rhetoric? Yeah right. He could swear with confidence: even if he were a once-in-a-century rhetorical genius, Tilia Ambrose would still hate him.

That wasn’t even the only flaw in his logic. There were holes in the reasoning that led to that conclusion.

Tilia had merely said it was unexpected. Not once had she tried to defend the professor’s behavior by pointing to his intellect, nor had she attempted to verify the truth of the rumors.

This was nothing more than his own delusion. Just another foolish fantasy played out in bed.

Rhetoric, yeah right.

Mocking his own thoughts, Ilex rolled over in bed.

***

But the next day, Ilex found himself standing in front of the literature section of the central library.

Ha…

Disgust with himself for coming here despite knowing how flawed his reasoning was only lasted a moment.

“I’m just browsing since I’m already here,” he muttered shamelessly, reaching for a familiar-looking book cover.

“…What is this?”

But unlike the boldness with which he’d grabbed the book, each turned page seemed to weigh down on his brow like physical pressure, deepening the crease between his eyebrows.

How the hell did Tilia Ambrose look at this with such sparkling eyes?

Only after checking again that it really was the book she’d been reading did Ilex rub his furrowed brow with a face full of dismay.

His hatred for rhetoric—and literature as a whole—was simple.

Professors claimed the freedom of interpretation was a unique charm of literature. But honestly? He didn’t think so. Maybe for scholars, but definitely not for students.

To get high marks at this academy, you had to memorize the interpretations and viewpoints of renowned scholars and reflect them exactly.

Even the so-called open-ended reflection essays worked the same way. If your interpretation didn’t align with the professor’s ideology, a grade deduction was inevitable.

He understood it. A poorly thought-out student interpretation, lacking deep analysis of author and text, would seem inadequate to a professor. Even he agreed that the multi-angled insights of a PhD beat the shallow observations of a mere bachelor.

The problem was the hypocrisy of pretending to allow diverse interpretations.

Maybe it was his upbringing, but Ilex had hated that kind of thing since childhood.

Pretending to be free. Acting like everything depended on your will. When in truth, everything—everything—was already predetermined.

Even while feeling a visceral disgust, Ilex read one chapter through, forcing his way from start to finish.

But the moment he realized he was just mechanically decoding letters…

What’s the point of this crap.

With a face full of disdain, Ilex shoved the book back onto the shelf.

Nothing would change from this. Even if he became the father of rhetoric itself, Tilia Ambrose’s contempt would never shift into favor.

Then why the hell am I putting myself through this?

Muttering cynically, the man turned his back and walked out of the library without a second thought.