I’m Not Doing This With A Friend Chapter 134

 

“…Professor George?”

 

It took me a moment to rub my eyes to make sure I wasn’t looking at the wrong person.

 

He was wearing a large, ankle-length robe with a hood, which made me nervous.

 

His uncharacteristically uncomfortable expression and one-eyed glasses confirmed my suspicions.

 

“This is the middle of the semester, why is a professor who should be at the Arena Academy being here?”

 

Carson replied in a pointed tone to my muttering. He didn’t seem to like the interruption to our date.

 

“Maybe he’s here to buy herbs.”

 

However, Professor George was the only professor in the herbology department for the entire senior year.

 

There were a few other assistant professors, but none of them specialized in herbalism.

 

Why come all the way here instead of living around the academy?

 

I decided to put my thoughts aside and greet him. Even though this was the Lysianthus estate, famous for its herbs, it was hard to run into someone you knew in the vast empire.

 

So it would be a pleasure.

 

Besides, Professor George was my favorite of the professors.

 

Even though he tried to lead me down a dark path by asking me to join him after I graduated, Professor George usually brought back fond memories.

 

“Professor George!”

 

At my call, Professor George’s eyes darted around and then locked on me.

 

His eyes widened, whether it was because of Carson holding my hand so affectionately, or because he hadn’t expected to see me here.

 

“Leen…?”

 

I let go of Carson’s hand and walked over to him with a shuffling step, smiling weakly.

 

“How have you been? I didn’t expect to find you here, Professor.”

 

The professor stepped back slightly, hastily adjusting his robes.

 

Was he surprised to see Dobby?

 

Hmm. For now, Carson has asked him not to bark outside… no, he’s threatened him, so he’s quiet.

 

“It’s been a while, Leen.”

 

“By it’s been a while, I mean it’s only been a few months since we graduated.”

 

His expression sank at my words, and he murmured softly.

 

“Alas, it was. Yes, indeed, it was….”

 

His eyes were cloudy, as if his mind was elsewhere.

 

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you. Until next time… well, nothing, I’ve got work to do, so I’ll be off.”

 

“What?”

 

Professor turned away quickly.

 

He hadn’t shown any sign of urgency until I spoke to him.

“Wait!”

In a panic, I reached out and grabbed his wrist, which caused him to groan as if I’d grabbed a sore spot.

 

“Ouch!”

 

I immediately pulled my hand away in surprise. But only for a moment, because I didn’t want him to run away, I grabbed the hem of his robe and asked.

 

“Professor, are you hurt?”

 

“Let go of me.”

 

“Or are you having trouble with your joints?”

 

“Let go!”

 

Professor George jerked my hand away from his grip on his robe.

 

“Leen!”

 

Luckily, Carson had cast a protective spell at that moment, so I wasn’t hurt.

 

But the others were not so lucky.

 

Carson pushed me aside and glared at the professor with a vicious glint in his eye. I don’t think he did it on purpose, either.

 

His eyes fluttered in panic.

 

“…I’m sorry.”

 

“You do realize that something is amiss today, don’t you?”

 

“I won’t deny it. But don’t get involved anymore. It has nothing to do with you.”

 

I stared at the professor. Maybe it was his diminutive stature, but he looked gaunt today.

 

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Professor.”

 

Because, I smirked and walked over to him and, without hesitation, pulled the sleeve of his robe over his hand.

 

Because I was about to do something even more apologetic.

 

“You little brat…!”

 

Professor George quickly lowered his robe, but for a brief moment, I saw it.

 

His hands were turning black and rotting. I was vaguely aware that he was trying to hide his pain.

 

But I was not expecting this at all.

 

My face slowly lost its expression. In fact, I don’t know what I looked like.

 

“…Professor.”

 

Professor George replied with a dejected look and voice.

 

“…Yes.”

 

“Do you have what I think you have?”

 

In truth, I already knew the answer.

 

If he had caught the plague, Monstera, he wouldn’t have dared to come out like this.

 

He would have stayed in his room, alone, dying a slow, lonely death. He shook his head slowly.

 

“I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I don’t have the plague, just something that looks like it, or a variant.”

 

It’s a Monstera-like illness or a variant… Professor George seemed to be thinking along similar lines to mine…

 

“How far along is the disease?”

 

It doesn’t look like it’s progressed much, given that he could still move.

 

“Where you saw and touched is where the most severe inflammation is. The other hand is still intact.”

 

Not having much progression was a blessing in disguise.

 

“When did you first realize you had the disease?”

 

“About a week after you graduated, when the symptoms started to appear.”

 

If it happened after graduation, it was about three months ago.

 

I’ve heard that Monstera could be fatal in three months. Professor George’s progression has been very slow, with only one wrist affected so far.

 

It was the same with my parents’ disease.

 

Could it be the same disease as Monstera?

 

As I was thinking about this, Professor George spoke up with a bitter voice.

 

“At first I thought it was Monstera, so I quit my teaching job and came down here to my hometown. If I die, I want to die alone.”

 

“Professor…”

 

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t want to just stand by and let it happen, so I tried all sorts of herbal concoctions to keep me alive. Then I found something that worked.”

 

He found something that worked?

 

Already? So soon? So easily?

 

“It’s, it’s… what is it?”

 

“Ground cherries.”

 

I exclaimed in horror as soon as I heard the name.

 

“You should never take that!”

 

It seems to make you feel better temporarily, and then the side effects hit.

 

And all at once. When I was younger, I made my remedies from sour and ground cherries and gave them to my parents.

 

And the results were terrible. My parents’ condition deteriorated rapidly and uncontrollably, and eventually they died.

 

I immediately forbade Professor George from taking it. I’m so glad it wasn’t too late, and that I didn’t make the same mistake again.

 

Suddenly, I remembered what Arcandus had told me all those years ago.

 

‘Stay away from Professor Walter. Stay as far away as possible. From now until you graduate. No, not after graduation, because you won’t see him.’

 

Immediately, goosebumps broke out all over my body.

 

If I had to choose a person to be closest to Walter, it would be Professor George.

 

Was there a reason why Arcandus was so insistent that I stay away from Walter after graduation?

 

What does he know?

 

Dozens of hypotheses raced through my head at once.

 

No, he doesn’t. No. It couldn’t be. Nothing was certain yet.

 

An innocent man couldn’t be framed because of something Arcandus had said.

 

Besides, Professor Walter’s connection to the plague, he studied swordsmanship, which has nothing to do with the plague.

 

He had no interest in anything, and was more of a narcissist than anyone else.

 

Furthermore, Professor George’s illness wasn’t contagious.

 

“…Does Professor Walter know about this?”

 

Professor George and Professor Walter were so close that they hung out together outside of class.

 

If Walter really was involved, there was no reason for him to put George through this.

 

“I don’t know. Telling Walter would only make him worry more. It’s better to keep him in the dark.”

 

It was tearful disciple love.

 

…That’s why you couldn’t even bring yourself to say yes to another meeting in the future.

But I couldn’t leave Professor George’s illness alone.

 

I was determined never again to let an illness like this take someone so dear from me.

 

“Professor. Why don’t you and I work together on a cure?”

 

“…With you?”

 

“Yes, I’ve been working on a cure even if I wasn’t.”

 

“The disease I have may not be Monstera.”

 

“That’s okay, because the cure I was trying to create wasn’t meant for Monstera.”

 

“…What does that mean?”

 

I smiled sheepishly and said, “Because my parents died of a disease very similar to Monstera, but not contagious.”

 

🍃

 

Professor George started coming to my lab in the Duchy of Lysianthus the next day.

 

I even gave him a room in the ducal castle, so he could practically live there instead of going home.

 

Once he joined the research for the cure, things started to unravel.

 

The knowledge of herbs was one thing, but now that there was a patient to test in clinical trials, there was more to try.

 

But with good news comes bad news.

 

When we stopped taking the berries, Professor George’s progression of the disease began to accelerate to the point where we could see the difference in his condition from day to day.

 

But if he had continued to take them, his condition would have been worse.

 

“Shall we take a break?”

 

My eyes hurt, so I put down the herbs I was mixing and looked at Professor George.

 

“Sure.”

 

Staring at his decaying arm, I forced myself to look away.

 

“Uh, Professor. What’s that swollen mark on your leg?”

 

“Just a mosquito bite. It’s been a while, but it’s lasting.”

 

Hearing that it was a mosquito bite, I was somewhat relieved. I was worried that there were other complications.

 

But when I looked closer, I realized that the mosquito had left a crisscross mark where it had bitten, clearly made by a fingernail.

 

I burst out laughing.

 

“Poohaha, a cross on a mosquito bite, so that’s the kind of folk remedy Professor George uses.”

 

Professor George blushed a little and covered the crosses, excusing himself.

 

“I didn’t mean to use folk remedies, just out of habit….”

 

“Well, it’s a national law to make crosses with your fingernails on mosquito bites.”

 

Shrugging my shoulders, I added, trying to tease Professor George.

 

“Mosquitoes, it’s not even summer yet, where the hell did they get blood sacrifices from?”

 

As it turns out, the first time my late parents fell ill was during the height of mosquito season.

 

They both laughed as I made crisscrosses with my fingernails over their swollen mosquito bites.

 

…Huh?

 

I stared at Professor George’s swollen leg, my eyes widening as realization hit me like a thunderbolt.

 

A mosquito bite?