Becoming Professor Moriarty's Probability

“Adler?”

As I gazed down at the page in my hand with a cold gaze, the princess held in my embrace, not being able to see the look in my eyes, began muttering in a trembling voice.

“… What are you saying now?”

“…..”

“M-My world? What in hell are you saying…”

As I stared coldly at her, I silently leaned in close to her ear and whispered in a low voice.

“… Go to sleep.”

“What… did you say? Oh…”

Staggering, her body soon relaxed and slumped down.

I wanted to keep her by my side to be prepared for any potential danger, but I had no choice but to converse with the main culprit without revealing my real identity.

If she were to eavesdrop on the following conversation, she would always be intimidated by whatever I say.

Then the few redeeming qualities of the sinister princess, like her tsundere nature, would disappear. But more than that, I wanted to be treated as Adler by the people of this world.

I didn’t want them to think of me as a god or their creator. That didn’t really suit me.

For a half-Asian, you’re quite gentlemanly to the ladies, aren’t you?

“… What?”

Anyway, I felt a bit hesitant to put the sleeping princess down on the floor writhing with innumerable tentacles, so I gently lifted her back into my arms and raised the paper again. The newly added content, however, seemed oddly ominous.

Well, the East is a more male-dominant society, isn't it?

“What is that again…”

After all, the East had very few outstanding women of the likes of Queen Arthur, Queen Alexandria the Great, or Empress Napoleon that the West has produced. It only makes sense that I think like that.

“…….”

Ah, an outlier would be Genghis Khan if I had to pick one. Of course, no one can be compared to the outstanding women of the West.

Something seemed off about the way the words were formulated on the paper. So, as I quietly observed with curiosity, the ensuing words made my head go for a spin on exasperation land.

What kind of character was behind the paper, spewing such overtly hateful remarks from the first encounter?

“… So, what’s your point in saying all this?”

My point? It's very simple.

Although I wasn’t sure about the reason, it was clear that the figure held a lot of hostility toward me. So, I asked the character with narrowed eyes; it didn’t take long before letters began scribbling up on the page.

Stop what you're doing right now and go far away. To your homeland in the East.

As expected, the content of the letter was threatening.

“Sorry, but that kind of talk only makes any intention of cooperating vanish from my heart.”

Of course, I had no intention of yielding to such threats now that I had come this far, so I scoffed and spoke.

Professor Moriarty, Charlotte Holmes, Gia Lestrade, as well as the three executives, and all the connections you have built up so far.

“……..”

Do you not care if you lose them all?

Upon seeing the message scribbled on the page, my eyes opened as wide as plates.

Did you think I didn't know? I can peek into anything that happens in this world.

Then, in a frenzy of excitement, the writing began to accelerate.

I know when and how you met the professor. And how you gathered the three executives, and how you expanded your power in London. I also know how you've been with those women...

However, the furiously scribbled letters suddenly stopped.

“”…….””

And then an awkward silence descended.

“… You mean, you sneakily watched what I did with the professor and Charlotte?”

I didn't spy, just happened to read a bit...

As I muttered softly amidst the silence, the message that was being scribbled, swiftly vanished before it could be completed.

… Anyway, you're a variable. A single annoying lizard is already enough to ruin the story I want, I don’t want more pests.

“Is the lizard… the professor?”

You should have died long ago. But you survived and continue to persistently disrupt my story.

Ignoring my words, the letters began to threaten me once more.

So I'll warn you one last time. If you try to interfere with my story even a little more...

“What story do you want to create?”

As I skimmed through the content with a chill in my eyes, I couldn’t help but feel the creepiness and gloom seeping through the paper, prompting me to ask the character in a low voice.

“If it somewhat aligns with my plans, maybe I could actually help you. So, how about we negotiate instead of being adversaries?”

As I said that, the mastermind’s words silently appeared hesitantly.

I want to turn this world into a horror story.

“….. What?”

A world covered in unknown terror, wouldn't that be terrifying yet really cool?

Upon reading that message, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Fine. The negotiation is off.”

Even though I tried to negotiate, it was futile. Being someone who loved mysteries the most in the world, I simply couldn’t bring myself to like horror.

Of course, there were instances where there was mystery in horror and it was a major element of the story.

However, in such cases, the thrill and the sense of horror usually diminished in turn.

Just like how the fear experienced at the beginning of a movie, when a masked and unidentified murderer jumps at the protagonist differs from the fear when it is revealed in the climax of the film that the murderer was actually the frail old man living next door.

Horror stories emphasize the fear of the unknown in all of its stories.

Hidden in darkness, the unknown is a concept completely at odds with mystery, which seeks to clarify and extract the truth.

Yet, the mastermind is planning on turning this precious world of mine into a horror story?

“I wouldn’t be caught dead watching that happen.”

I thought you would say that.

As I muttered in anger, the message written by the instigator began to slowly fill half the page.

Having observed you all this time, I did think that we’re opposites.

“Really?”

Yes, frankly, it's quite displeasing. So...

Just as I thought that the instigator would not be able to converse when the page was completely filled,

Die.

“…….!”

Along with the ominous letters appearing on the page, abruptly, a tentacle writhing in front of him flew straight towards his head.

“… Shit.”

Clicking my tongue, I prepared my magic, wondering if I had to fight after all when,

- Zzz…!

“Miss System?”

Suddenly, a system window unfolded like a shield in front of me, blocking the tentacles rushing here which left me stunned.

Again... another failure...

“…….”

Why can’t I kill you...?

At that moment, the instigator’s handwriting began to swirl beneath the large letters.

After all these years of effort to find a way to eliminate the professor...

At that moment, I began to realise,

Why do you suddenly appear and ruin my story...!

The instigator’s claim to be able to observe everything in this world was a lie.

At a minimum, they did not know about his true identity. Nor could it see the system blocking those disgusting tentacles trying to harm me.

“Hey.”

On the contrary, I had also realised the identity of that person.

To be honest, it was something anyone could have figured out with even a slight bit of prior knowledge.

“You think you’re safe beyond that paper…”

Then, there was nothing to hesitate about anymore.

“Do you really think so?”

Though far inferior to Holmes or the professor, it was time for him to theatrically flaunt his narrow and meagre knowledge of characters.

.

.

.

.

.

Do you really think I wouldn't know who you are?

“Ha, I wondered what you were talking about.”

Even as the golden letters of Isaac Adler’s words were being written in her notebook, Lovecraft’s expression remained relaxed.

You're American, aren't you?

“…..?”

Not only do you use a different grammar than British English, but I can even detect a subtle Southern American accent in that brief conversation.

However, her face began to contort gradually with each letter that appeared before her.

And you're introverted, like to hole up in your room, right? You want to make friends but don't have the courage to go outside, so you just send letters everywhere.

“… I, I have lots of friends. Pen pals, but still.”

And if a story in a magazine even slightly displeases you, you write slanderous letters to the publishers as a part-time hobby.

“That’s because those bastards write utter crap…”

Plus, you have a tendency towards racial discrimination... That's really the worst.

“… No but, what the fuck do you even know about me to spout all this!?”

Eventually, Lovecraft couldn’t help but snap and shout.

What do I know about you?

“How dare… How dare you think you know anything about m…!”

Hey, you're young, aren't you?

“….. Ha?”

And you've had a tough family life growing up. You've attempted self-harm or suicide a few times, haven't you?

Her expression then turned to slight confusion.

You should be a teenager by now at least. It's truly sad that such a young soul like you had to face such hardships...

“You, what are you…?”

And then, with a baffled expression, she lifted her pen to the paper.

“How do you know tha…”

But as she was about to ask that question, the sight of Adler’s words already written on the paper froze her completely.

Isn't that right, Miss Lovecraft?

“…….!!!!!!”

An unknown amount of time passed as she looked at the paper frozen with fear and shock.

How long do you think it would take me to find someone with the unique surname of Lovecraft in America?

“Hee, heeeeeeek…!”

As soon as Adler’s words filled the last part of the page packed with dialogue, Lovecraft hurriedly slammed her notebook shut, her face turning pale as she stood up.

“What is this, what the hell…….!”

Then, she darted to the bed and, with a terrified expression, covered herself with the blanket, trembling as she looked at the now-shut notebook.

“H-How….”

- Brrrr…

“Does that half-Asian bastard know my name…?”

Thus, she faced the horror of the unknown she so loved head-on, spending the whole day holed up under the blanket, skipping school without anyone even noticing her absence.