'Is this the extent of their abilities?'
August Detective Academy. London's largest institution for cultivating detectives, established to combat bizarre incidents occurring across the world.
'And I thought this place would be different.'
Professor Jane, a newly appointed instructor conducting a class for freshmen who had just enrolled, couldn't hold back a scoff as she watched the incident unfolding before her.
"The method must be poisoning."
"That's right. He looked unwell earlier, so it was probably a slow-acting poison."
It was right when a male student had risen from his seat to answer the professor's question that he suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed.
A tragedy had occurred at August Academy, the so-called sacred ground of detectives—a 'murder.'
Given the magnitude of the incident, it was only natural that every aspiring detective in the classroom sprang into action.
"The motive... a crime of passion, after all?"
"Well, he's London's worst scoundrel and trash. There must be no shortage of people who want him dead."
The male student lay collapsed, his vital signs gone. The expressions of the aspiring detectives gathered around him, earnestly deducing, grew increasingly serious.
But the professor watched them expressionlessly, quietly withdrawing her gaze and murmuring inwardly.
'To think they can't even find the culprit right in front of them.'
Yes. The culprit of this incident was none other than the professor herself.
'With so many detectives here, why doesn't anyone notice?'
London, where this academy stood. Even looking across Europe as a whole, there was nowhere else that teemed with so many detectives.
That was why she had firmly believed that here, of all places, someone would appear who could notice and expose her crime.
Even if not, she had thought she would meet a detective who at least showed the potential to do so.
At least one person.
But as she approached her first year since being appointed to the academy full of expectations, she abandoned the last hope she had been holding onto.
Hoping that at least one person would suspect her, she murdered a freshman using an uncharacteristically bold and crude method right in the heart of where detectives resided.
Yet the self-proclaimed aspiring detectives, even forgetting that she was the last person to have contacted the victim, merely displayed substandard deductions.
To her, who had already been thoroughly disappointed with detectives for a year, that sight was the final blow.
'I'll submit my resignation today.'
Realizing that these substandard students were the detectives who would shoulder the future, she had no further business here.
Quietly withdrawing her gaze from her own crime scene, the professor began packing her documents and organized her thoughts.
It seemed there was no one here who could quench her thirst.
Perhaps there was no such person anywhere in the world.
.
.
.
.
.
"Nngh..."
"Wh-what?"
"Y-you startled me!"
It was at that very moment that an anomaly occurred before the professor, who was about to leave.
"...My head hurts."
For some reason, the male student she had targeted rose unharmed, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.
"........?"
Then, amid the startled students, the male student began to look at the professor with a hazy expression.
The professor's composure, which had remained calm until then, slowly began to waver.
The blond-haired male student had definitely died before her very eyes. She had checked it herself, so there was no mistake.
But for some reason, he had risen as if waking from sleep shortly after, alive and breathing perfectly fine before her.
She couldn't predict at all when he had noticed the danger, or what trick he had used to survive.
This was the first time such a thing had happened to the professor.
From childhood until now, not a single crime she had committed—be it petty or felonious—had ever failed.
No one had escaped her clutches, and no one had ever uncovered her crimes.
That was the inescapable curse upon her.
But that curse, which she had believed could never be broken, was shattered for the first time today, right here.
By the blond-haired male student before her eyes—the first person in her life who was completely unpredictable, who had perfectly evaded her crime through some unknown method.
"If your body was unwell, shouldn't you have said something?"
Feeling her heart begin to thump quietly, the professor posed the question in a flat voice.
"Perhaps you should visit the infirmary."
Her expression was as unreadable as always, but her eyes, which had always been devoid of life, were now as sharp as a serpent locking onto its prey.
"............"
However, for some reason, the male student's condition was odd.
His eyes were unfocused, and he simply stared blankly ahead.
'...Did something happen to his head?'
The professor frowned slightly, falling into thought.
She wanted to speak more with the first person to ever escape her grasp. Thus, if he had suffered brain damage as an aftereffect, that would be quite problematic.
"Student, who is the person written here?"
Therefore, to check his condition, the professor tapped her name—written on the blackboard for her self-introduction—and asked.
"Uh, um... You mean Moriarty?"
At that, irritation suddenly flashed in the male student's eyes, which had remained hazy as he failed to come to his senses.
"What are you going to do if you don't even know that?"
And after a moment, in a voice that was still hazy yet somehow tinged with irritation, he began to explain.
"...James Moriarty is the most famous nemesis of the great detective Sherlock Holmes, essentially his archenemy."
As his voice echoed through the classroom.
"A genius who published a paper on the binomial theorem at the age of twenty-one, shocking all of Europe. But also someone who became London's most dangerous figure thanks to the criminal blood running through his veins."
The chaotic atmosphere of the classroom froze over.
"His nickname is the Napoleon of the criminal underworld, and he is behind half the crimes in London and most of the attempted incidents."
Despite this, the male student continued to explain stubbornly with an annoyed expression.
"But even someone that perfect eventually meets his end at Reichenbach Falls... *Sigh*, just forget all of it."
Then he cut off abruptly, let out a deep sigh, and began to raise his voice.
"I told you repeatedly to do your own research. Do you think game development is a joke? How can you keep asking only me without even doing basic character research..."
Then, as if he had suddenly come to his senses, he stopped talking and slowly began to look around.
"...Huh?"
While he let out a blank sound at finding every gaze in the room concentrated on him, the corners of the professor's lips slowly rose.
"What is this place?"
It seemed she could delay submitting her resignation a little.
"It seems you're under some kind of misunderstanding, student."
Because the existence she had searched for so desperately—the one who could quench her thirst—had appeared before her like fate.
.
.
.
.
.
As my hazy mind cleared, the appearance of the person who had questioned me began to come into sharp focus.
A tall stature, a slender build, neatly groomed grayish hair, and an impeccable, neat outfit.
She looked quite young at first glance, yet she exuded an air befitting a professor.
Perhaps due to being immersed in research, dark circles sat heavily on her pale face, but even so, her beautiful appearance could not be hidden.
"I don't know every detective, but at the very least, there is no detective in this London by the name of 'Sherlock' Holmes."
Staring blankly at that awkward yet familiar sight, half in disbelief, I watched as she slowly opened her mouth.
"And my name is not 'James' Moriarty, but 'Jane' Moriarty. I am a 'she,' not a 'he.'"
Having said that, she gently tapped her name written on the blackboard and fixed her gaze on me.
"The paper on the binomial theorem you mentioned hasn't even been published yet. Actually, it was scheduled for tomorrow. Naturally, that is a fact no one but me knows."
Unable to even think of avoiding that gaze, I faced it, and cold sweat began to trickle down.
"I shall overlook the ridiculous nickname of the Napoleon of Crime and all other malicious slander."
She, who had been looking at me with eyes full of curiosity, tilted her head from side to side like a young lizard and posed a question.
"But what is this story about Reichenbach Falls?"
To an outsider, her appearance might have seemed almost cute. But at that exact moment, I couldn't help but realize.
"What is supposed to happen to me there?"
Exactly as described as Professor Moriarty's habit in the original work, the person before me tilted her head and looked at me.
"Uh, well..."
The implausible final boss of our company's game that I had been harshly criticizing in the meeting room just moments ago—there was no doubt it was Jane Moriarty.
"Come to my office after class, student."
My first meeting with her took place in the worst possible manner.