Chapter 66 Misfortune
"Private property... do you really think so?"
In the theology professor's office, the Savior gazed out the window at the sky. The warm, moist summer rain in White Tower Town was rising with the heat and crows, forming a massive cumulonimbus cloud that pressed down on the top of the white bell tower, which stretched toward the sky like a thought.
Actually, he wanted to talk about more than just some intimate banter...it's better to say that he just chose a lighter topic first.
"Pretty much," the man replied coldly and briefly, his back to him, as he sat at his desk. But Azuka knew his mind was a precise, efficient, and cold machine, devoid of any ambiguous thoughts. It was probably just a series of person-to-person relationships like "you're my partner, I'm your employer."
—Although that statement, which fully demonstrated his possessiveness and ownership, had successfully caused everyone present, except for one person, to remain strangely silent for a long time. Dean Rabelais's eyes were extremely complicated, and Azuka even suspected that the reason Mr. Owl was so anxious to kick them out was so that he could laugh alone while slamming his head on the table.
For unknown reasons, the other party acquiesced to the young man of unknown identity, uncertain intentions, and ominous strength to stay in their territory.
"Have you often encountered this kind of thing before?" The professor was writing something on the paper with a pen. After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked.
Perhaps feeling his meaning was unclear, he added: "Inexplicable, illogical targeting and malice - 'Countless disasters and coincidences will naturally befall me and those around me.'"
Judging from Bill Fam's behavior, he is not a devout believer, nor is he someone with a strong desire to increase his strength or expand his family. How could a guy with only alcohol on his mind really happen to bump into the precarious balance beam between the society and the Holy See?
"Countless." The male protagonist of the comic answered calmly.
"I've met many strange people." He recounted them slowly and casually. "Some tried to kill me because I obtained a magic tool they wanted. Some tried to destroy my face and essence because the girl they secretly loved expressed her affection for me. There were also those who, unable to reciprocate their love, turned to hatred, filled with jealousy and resentment, murdering, torturing, and imprisoning... A group of people whose lives, to me, were so perfect, easily lost their rationality. Love and malice were equally cheap, and their hatred was overflowing and absurdly poured out on me, even affecting everyone I cared about."
And all of this ended with the appearance of his nemesis - at that time, almost all of his attention was spent on how to escape the trap set by the other party, but looking back now, there were indeed fewer messy psychos during that period.
...Wait, the male protagonist of the comic thought with some amusement, so his nemesis is, in a certain sense, his savior?
"...the god of love."
"Hmm?" The other person was a little distracted.
"It's very much like the work of the God of Love and the Visitor of Paradise," the professor tapped his finger on the table, signaling the other person to return to his senses. "Toying with the human heart, amplifying desires, and stirring up the deepest longings and malice within."
"I thought so too, but I didn't find any strong evidence in my previous life."
The protagonist is definitely not stupid. The deliberate targeting of one or two people could be explained as their nature, or simply a conflict of temperament, or personal grudges... but so much unreasonable malice and hatred is like a mark of bad luck on him, making it hard not to suspect that someone is behind this.
But he was still weak at that time, and he was exhausted just by escaping and strengthening himself from all kinds of targeting and revenge; when he became stronger, those people were either killed by him without leaving any trace, or they regained their sanity and looked flattering, humble, and flexible, with no sign of anything unusual.
The male protagonist decided to seek help from his brain plug-in.
"Professor, do you have any thoughts on this?"
“…I can’t get any more information for now.”
The man looked unusually irritable, leaning heavily on his chair, both legs raised. "At least I can't see anything wrong with Bill Fam's appearance—he's an alcoholic, irritable, prone to violence, and has little interest in school. Perhaps he only attended this public class to appease his father, who was furious about the trouble he caused two weeks ago. Perhaps this matter needs to be investigated further."
The professor's speech quickened. "The students who attended the open class didn't like him. They weren't his followers or friends, so they wouldn't have much interaction with him. Why did he suddenly decide to skip class and drink? Why, after getting drunk, did he attack ordinary faculty members at White Tower University in the name of the Inquisition?"
Wine stains on his cuffs, his collar that had been pulled open by itself, sticky hair ends, mud on the edges of his shoes, and Bidens pilosa on his back... He lay in the flower bed, drunk, then suddenly stood up and decided to cause trouble for a theology professor.
What's wrong? What's wrong? Alcohol? Hypnosis? Magic? A more distant event? The seemingly unintentional guidance of others?
"This doesn't conform to normal human logic," the black-haired young man subconsciously put his finger to his lips and emphasized coldly, "Unless Bill Fam is an incompletely evolved monkey, and everything he did was just his bestial instincts, and we just happened to run into him—no, there must be something we missed, and someone must have inspired him."
Azuka held onto the back of the man's chair to prevent him from losing his balance and falling.
"He has not been subjected to any spells, and his soul is intact. There is no trace of the God of Love, only the breath of the God of Light."
So much so that, under the resonance of similar ideas, the owl vaguely perceives those artificial and unnatural gaps.
"Thank you. The first piece of information is useful, and the second is obvious," the professor replied impatiently. "The God of Eros wouldn't waste his soul on minions just to find fault with us."
Someone placed a finger on the back of his neck, the coolness of the fingertips interrupting his rapid thought process. Nova then realized that the light salty taste of a thin velvet deerskin glove was already in his mouth. He frowned uncomfortably and said, "Let go."
"Maybe we should just ask Bill Farm himself." The guy pretended not to hear, his hands motionless, and suggested calmly: "It will be a bit troublesome, but it's not impossible."
The professor glanced at him and asked, "Using those wonderful 'tricks' of yours?"
"Well, those...wonderful and useful 'tricks' of mine." The other party smiled lightly, without being able to tell whether he was happy or angry, but only emphasized the word "useful".
"...Okay, this is the only way for now." The black-haired young man reluctantly clicked his tongue, looking very dissatisfied with himself.
"My condolences." He suddenly said quickly.
The one favored by God was stunned for a moment, unable to keep up with the other party's rapidly working brain circuit.
"For your previously inexplicably ruined life." The guy raised his head, stared at him expressionlessly, and emphasized: "My condolences."
Azuka: “…”
The crows flapped their wings and flew away. He smelled the warm and damp rain, the scent of piles of old papers that were probably as old as the world itself, and the deep bitterness of the ever-flowing ink, coffee, time, and thought. At this moment, those smells constituted the person before him, a vast, gentle, and cold soul... Perhaps one day, under the evaporation of human body temperature, the other person would completely transform into a rising mist, shrouding the end of his life, under the laws of time, amid the dumb cries of birds.
"My wording is wrong?" Nova frowned when he got no response.
The locals in the other world often express their condolences to the bereaved families by saying "May the so-and-so god watch over the souls of the deceased and protect the remaining lives", but this statement now seems mostly ironic, so he chose the idioms of his hometown and reorganized them in the language of the other world, hoping that the other party would stay away from sadness and get out of the haze of misfortune as soon as possible.
He had heard this word many times, whether it was a perfunctory courtesy or a real comfort, and now he simply used it - for a soul toyed with and tortured by fate.
"……No."
The man seemed to be sighing softly, and the fingers that were originally pressed against the back of his neck tightened for a moment, but soon loosened and covered his eyes instead.
In the darkness, a cool, clean breath like the wind approached him. The other person then grabbed him from behind, fingers on his neck, forcing his head back, feeling the slight discomfort of his Adam's apple being pressed against his fingers.
Nova subconsciously reached for the table to avoid falling off the chair whose balance was already precarious due to the sudden fall.
But he didn't find his footing again, and his struggling hand was grasped by someone - now his entire weight depended on the support of the person behind him. If the other person took a step back, he would immediately fall down in a mess, hitting the ground with the back of his head and seeing stars.
"...Why do you have to hold me in such a twisted way?"
The professor opened his eyes and stared at the guy's chin with some impatience.
The Savior's fingers climbed upwards, gently rubbing the warm and delicate human skin wrapped around the sharp mandible.
His old enemy was infuriated by his strange habit. He stared at him sinisterly for a while, then suddenly pulled out his hand and quickly grabbed the dazzling golden hair that was scattered on the other's ear, which was as dazzling as golden threads.
"Let go." He repeated expressionlessly, increasing the strength of his hands, and then looked with satisfaction as the other person frowned slightly in pain.
As a result, the guy simply buried his face in his neck, breathing softly and tremblingly, like a dark and expanding cloud.
"My sir, you should be more considerate of your personal property," the other man muttered vaguely, returning his chair to its original place.
"...Am I not indulgent enough for you?" The professor, finally landing on his feet, scolded him coldly: "Let go. Today's psychiatric treatment ends here. Your doctor is off duty. Don't make me say it again, or I will find a way to communicate that you can understand."
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