A Butterfly Through the Mist - Side Story 5

Since the day Tilia had abruptly left the lecture hall after eavesdropping on his conversation, Ilex had cautiously observed her condition.

But despite his careful attention, there was no change in Tilia’s behavior. She ate as usual, went to the library, and took walks with Judy Wells just like always.

Then why did she act that way that day?

He pondered the question, but finding an answer wasn’t easy. After all, he was the official scumbag of Arkansis Royal Academy, barely able to exchange a word with her.

Yet even knowing his place, Ilex still found himself wondering why she had left like that. Occasionally, he would draw a little closer than usual to overhear Tilia’s conversations.

Whenever he was curious about her or had something he wanted to ask, just like he had always done.

It was after such persistent observation that he finally discovered the reason—on a spring day with final exams looming just around the corner.

The tips of the once-barren trees had begun to swell with green, and blossoms were popping out like surprise toys all around campus.

The now-gentler breeze lured excited students toward the sunlit lakeside, but Tilia and Judy steadfastly chose the walking path behind the Liberal Arts Building. Naturally, Ilex—always trailing after them—headed that way as well.

With the lakeside crowded with people, the path lined with drooping willows had grown deserted.

Wanting to stay unnoticed, Ilex walked a little apart from them. Fortunately, the quiet of the empty trail made it easy to overhear Tilia and Judy’s conversation.

“Ugh, I wish classical literary criticism didn’t exist. Seriously.”

Today’s topic was the upcoming final exam, now just two weeks away. Judy Wells sighed heavily as she muttered her complaint.

“I shouldn’t have dozed off during the intro lectures. I don’t understand a single thing about rhetoric right now—it’s driving me crazy.”

“Still, it’s graded on a curve, so it’ll be fine. Raus adjusts the scores pretty generously.”

Even with her friend’s mature and kind reassurance, Judy Wells didn’t stop grumbling.

“I’m just afraid I won’t even hold up against the average… Ugh, I wish I could borrow Ilex Davenport’s brain. He’s probably going to ace it again, right?”

Hearing his name pop up out of nowhere, Ilex—who had been watching the back of Tilia’s head as she walked—briefly hesitated, then sped up a little to close the distance.

“Well… probably. He did get the top score on the last quiz.”

“Is he actually good at rhetoric too? I bet he’s getting tutored or something.”

“Tutored?”

“Yeah, I heard retired professors have started tutoring Academy students for extra cash. Heard Cecilia Clayton’s getting lessons too.”

“……”

“Well, they say it’s pocket money, but I’m sure it costs about as much as Academy tuition.”

No, I’m not getting tutored. Ilex was dying to push Judy Wells aside and explain himself to Tilia.

I studied on my own. Tutoring? Never had it, never planned to. As Ilex screamed internally, Tilia spoke, as if ignoring him.

“I heard he’s going to graduate school too.”

“Who? Ilex Davenport?”

“Yeah. I overheard him talking after class before. Raus said he’d support him well if he joined the grad program.”

“Oh my, oh my. Maybe he’s aiming for a professor’s position.”

But the tutoring was just the beginning of the rumors. Now, Ilex was about to become the campus scumbag and an accidental grad student. His insides burned black with frustration.

He couldn’t even approach to explain. And though his heart was desperate, his body, equally tied to that urgency, began to move hastily—

Just then, as if sensing a presence, Tilia glanced back.

Tilia and Judy were on the flat path, while Ilex was walking the steeper trail up the slope. Naturally, she had to look up to see him. Standing there in a robe on a spring day, he drew a suspicious look.

Realizing—too late—that he had crossed the invisible line of appropriate distance, Ilex quickened his pace even more. Though his heart was racing in panic, his expression, as always, played the part with perfect calm.

“Why? Do you know him?”

As Tilia simply stared after him in silence, Judy Wells asked in puzzlement. From behind Ilex, now swiftly passing them by, came Tilia’s dubious voice.

“…No. I don’t know him.”

***

After nearly getting caught by approaching too close on the walking path, Ilex voluntarily suspended his surveillance for a few days.

Tilia was more perceptive than he had expected. If he kept following her around like usual just because he wanted to see her, the chances of getting completely exposed were high.

But despite deciding to restrain himself—at least until the final exams were over—he found himself quietly putting on his robe again before even a week had passed.

During exam periods, Tilia often studied late into the night at the central library. While the campus was regularly patrolled and far safer than most parts of the city, garbage still existed even in exemplary places.

Having learned that bizarre drugs were circulating among the wealthy and idle, Ilex couldn’t bear the thought of Tilia walking alone at night.

Especially knowing full well how many idiots out there treated Tilia Ambrose like some thorned flower they were just itching to pluck.

At least it was night. In the chill of early dawn, many wore outerwear, so wearing a robe didn’t draw as much attention.

Ilex waited near the library until he spotted the familiar dark hair, then quietly followed.

Does she really have to go that far? Even in the dark path leading back to the dorms, Tilia didn’t let go of her little notebook.

She’s going to trip at this rate…

Just as he thought that, Tilia, walking with her eyes on the notebook despite the poor visibility, eventually missed her footing.

The moment she stumbled as if she might fall, Ilex instinctively stepped forward and reached out his arm.

“…That was close.”

But Tilia didn’t fall into his outstretched arm. She had better reflexes than expected and quickly regained her balance.

Judging by the way she brushed herself off and walked normally, she hadn’t even twisted her ankle.

Only Ilex, awkwardly frozen in place behind her, felt embarrassed.

Suppressing a cough, Ilex hid both arms behind his back. Then he tried to restore the distance he had closed again out of instinct.

But the moment he stepped back, a thought brushed past his heart.

What if I just let myself get caught?

It was a spring night filled with the scent of flowers. From somewhere, the cries of nameless insects echoed faintly, and the breeze carrying just the right chill tickled his cheek.

In that breeze, Ilex finally realized why he always fixed his hair before putting on the robe.

I wanted to be caught. I wanted her to see me—so I could confess how I feel.

A hollow laugh escaped him. It was self-mockery. A desire to be exposed, to let his shameful feelings be seen—yet no courage to endure the contempt that might follow.

No courage to confess. No resolve to end the one-sided love.

Even as he berated himself, Ilex couldn’t move away from Tilia.

The ambiguous distance between them felt like a metaphor for his feelings. Neither close nor far.

Streetlights lit only intermittently cast long shadows behind Tilia. Ilex stepped on those shadows as he quietly followed her.

That precarious pursuit ended the moment Tilia suddenly came to a halt. Ilex froze, thinking he had finally been caught.

But once again, the moment to confess his long-held love never came. Tilia had simply stopped to look at a distant light.

What is she looking at? Ilex turned his head to follow her gaze.

She was looking at the research building. Lights were on everywhere, likely from graduate students toiling late into the night.

“Graduate school…”

Hearing Tilia’s murmur, Ilex turned his head again. A nearby streetlamp lit up her face. He could see her pale face more clearly than in broad daylight.

“Must be nice.”

Tilia spoke only that one line before turning and heading back toward the dorms.

But Ilex stood frozen, unable to move a single step, stuck in the expression she had worn and the single word of envy she had left behind—like it had been glued to his feet.