Chapter 50 - Stalker vs. Stalker (5)

Contrary to what many people believed, Ivan was an eminently sensible man.

Just as it was common sense that an academy entrance ceremony would suffer a terrorist attack, this world was full of self-evident truths—and uncivilized, premodern citizens incapable of believing them.

But Ivan did not condemn them. He was, after all, a cultured modern man with an open mind.

Instead, he packed an axe and a pistol. In most cases, action did more to resolve a situation than persuasion.

This was how Ivan became embroiled in the Prizhenkaya bombings.

* * *

It began with him tailing Esidisi as usual.

As always, Ivan was following her. His stealth was flawless, the target would be safe, and there were no other threats anywhere nearby. It was another ordinary day.

'Hmm...'

She certainly ate cookies often. Ivan resolved to set aside some time to explain the problems generally caused by the fats, carbohydrates, and sugars in chocolate cookies.

Esidisi already had excessive fat in certain parts of her body. That would be no problem for a bard, but if she ever took up a weapon, it would put her at a considerable disadvantage.

He would prepare some dried carrot chips to replace her snacks. Nodding, Ivan followed her.

Some time later, he suddenly felt eyes on him and turned his head.

"What are you doing, mister?"

"Working."

Isabelle had appeared, glaring at him with a positively murderous look for some reason. Her gaze shifted slowly, and she frowned when she spotted Esidisi far ahead of him.

He could not understand it, but something seemed to have upset her. Still, there was no cause for concern.

Ivan ran an orphanage. That meant he was an expert at soothing children who were upset for no discernible reason. Besides, he had done nothing to offend Isabelle.

"Why are you watching Eshi?"

"... What?"

"Eshi. You're spying on her right now."

"You've misunderstood."

He had never spied on her. He was proudly carrying out his protection duties.

The only thing he had failed to anticipate was Isabelle appearing on the grounds when she should have been in class.

"What about class?"

"I saw you through the window, so... No, is my class really important right now?"

"...? Of course it is. Students mustn't skip class."

Had she been one of his orphans, he would have dragged her back into the classroom. Had Isabelle forgotten that her homeland paid her tuition in full?

Ivan clicked his tongue and said, "Unless you're on a full scholarship, you need to focus on your classes. Jansk University is an expensive school." "Well... Ugh...! That's true, but! Will you stop changing the subject?! I asked why you were spying on Eshi!"

"That's none of your concern."

"What...?!"

Isabelle looked deeply hurt. Incomprehensible. Why would it hurt her to be told to focus on her studies instead of worrying about his protection duties?

But Ivan was a kind man who knew how to comfort a student going through puberty (she wasn't).

What a young adolescent struggling with some mysterious problem needed most was time alone. (Naturally, this was wrong.)

As a considerate adult, Ivan decided not to nag her about returning to class. He nodded and stepped back.

"Wait, where are you going? Explain—at least explain before you leave! Make an excuse, even! Aaargh!!"

Leaving the panicking Isabelle behind, Ivan slipped away in an instant. She stared blankly after him, not even thinking to give chase, then let out a hollow laugh.

"Do I seriously need to tie him up somewhere? I think I'll have to tie him down and teach him how to talk to people..."

She had happened to see him outside the window during class and slipped out, only to find him trotting along behind Esidisi, scribbling something in a notebook.

Knowing him, she did think it must be some sort of work, but still.

Still...!

"I'm throwing myself at you, and you're following my friend around...?"

Isabelle chuckled, then rubbed her face several times.

Fine. Now she had a goal.

The "realm of superhumans"? Right. So she had to reach that realm just to cross blades with that lunatic?

She would reach it as quickly as possible, then do whatever it took to become strong enough to beat him.

Then she would catch him, disable him, and tie him up. Slowly. Patiently. She would teach him common sense, one lesson at a time.

Community service. Yes, she would approach it in the spirit of community service. Who else would take in that poor old man living alone (he wasn't), if not her?

* * *

Once again, Esidisi was wandering around, unable to find the ensemble room.

Orchestral ensemble, with its graded group performances, was the class she dreaded most. No one was willing to let her join their group.

And so she trudged along in misery.

"The ensemble room with a group one member short is Room 154."

"...?!"

Ivan suddenly appeared beside her and approached.

"Eek!?"

"Your class is [Ensemble Practice 1]. Aren't you getting dangerously close to the limit on absences?"

"H-how do you know...?"

"Now isn't the time to worry about that."

Ivan took a suspicious notebook from inside his coat and spoke quietly.

"Your midterm results: D in Ensemble Practice, C in Harmony, B+ in Sight-Singing and Ear Training, C in Chamber Music, D in String Ensemble, B+ in Counterpoint. Your theory grades were generally better than your practical ones. But a GPA in the mid-twos is a problem."

"Ah, aah..."

"Why did you apply to the College of Music?"

Ivan regarded Esidisi with deep-set eyes.

She had never imagined hearing such a question from the man she had dismissed as nothing but a stalker. She swallowed and lowered her head.

Why? Well, because... because she wanted to. Because she wanted to hold an instrument, not a weapon.

Esidisi fidgeted with her fingertips, choosing her words.

"Instruments, instruments are... instruments are a bridge that connects p-people..."

"Admirable."

Ivan smiled gently. Esidisi's eyes widened at the unexpected smile.

She stared blankly at his face, then started and faltered.

That low, husky voice. Those neatly shaped eyes, curving softly with his smile.

Familiar.

Without realizing it, she raised her hand. Slowly, with her palm spread wide.

She held it up to hide that bushy, distracting beard, leaving only the bridge of his nose and his eyes peeking over it.

Over her hand, her trembling gaze met his deep eyes.

"Could it be...? No, but... Uncle died—"

"Look after your health."

Ivan was an efficient man. He wasted no time indulging Esidisi's nonsense.

Whatever was going through this child's head was a secondary concern. There were more important matters at hand.

He had to prevent any further absences if she was to salvage those abysmal grades.

He led her to an ensemble room in the Orchestral Music Department's main building and handed her a lunchbox while she was still muttering dazedly to herself.

It was a snack box containing dried carrot chips.

"Look after your health. Einar will care more about that than your studies. But that doesn't mean a student can neglect her classes. You're late. Go in."

Ivan ushered the stammering Esidisi into the string ensemble room and checked his watch.

By the time her ensemble class ended, Morde's lecture would be over too, and he would no longer need to guard her.

Things would get busy.

Ivan gave a small chuckle and walked off. Now he could guard Isabelle through the night, then head home.

It was another ordinary day.

On the third of those ordinary days, his idyllic life as a bodyguard—protecting Esidisi by day and patrolling around Isabelle's home by night—came to an end when massive explosions simultaneously struck Prizhenkaya Central Bank, Satera Amphitheater, St. Jansk University, St. Chereta Cathedral, and North Prachenko Central Police Headquarters.

That night, Prizhenkaya burned white.

* * *

Ivan walked slowly, conscious of the pistol inside his coat. It was the third night, and he was patrolling outside Isabelle's house.

"Hmm."

On his third circuit of her house, he realized he had encountered the same passerby three times—at different points, each roughly the same distance from the house.

'His weight favors his right side. Right-handed. Armed with a pistol at his left hip. Judging by the bulge at his chest, he's wearing a ballistic plate.'

Ivan brushed past the pedestrian without any outward reaction and looked away.

'A ballistic plate means he lacks Line of Fire Detection. This one's a foot soldier.'

The suspicious man scanned his surroundings, then disappeared into the darkened street again.

Ivan counted slowly to ten and quietly closed his eyes.

Only an amateur followed directly behind a wary target. A trained agent never tailed anyone that way.

Mana circulated through his body. Slowly, with the sensation of chains wrapping around bundles of nerves and drawing them taut.

When he opened his eyes again, he had stepped into a perception of time in which falling leaves drifted slowly in the air.

HSSS...

He drew a slow, deep breath. His heightened senses began separating the body odors in the air.

A rat was said to be able to detect every beast on a mountain through the winds sweeping its slopes. Animals' sense of smell generally worked like this—a sensory capacity far beyond what the density of human olfactory epithelial cells could provide.

But a superhuman could come infinitely close. By forcibly activating the sensory organs themselves, they could break down and interpret the input from each awakened neural system in fractions of a second.

Not every superhuman could make use of such senses. This was a matter of training, not talent. Most who awakened superhuman senses devoted all their training to combat performance.

But not Ivan. He specialized in this sort of work more than in combat.

No, to be precise, he had honed his abilities in this field beyond those of any other superhuman.

Tracking and assassinating targets, small-scale engagements, seizing strategic positions, and disrupting enemy searches.

Even among the elite handpicked for the force known as the finest scouts in the United Kingdoms, he had prided himself on standing head and shoulders above the rest.

HOO...

Ivan slowly released the breath he had drawn and began walking.

Countless body odors drifted on the urban winds slipping between the buildings.

Senses developed to such an extreme induced synesthesia. Ivan walked, watching a "thread of scent" glow vividly in the dark.

Slowly, without haste. Straight toward his prey.

Within Prizhenkaya, no one he had encountered even once could ever escape his senses.

Ivan walked steadily on, as unhurried as a snake lurking in the dark, waiting for his target to crawl back into the heart of its own operation.