Tianjin people will never lose SAN

Chapter 625 The Debt Collectors Behind the Curtain
In the president's study at the University of Michigan, Elliott, dressed in a suit, paced back and forth.

It was late at night, but he wasn't sleepy at all. On the main table were the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed for him and an empty cup.

He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in almost a week. Insomnia was plaguing him and destroying his will. Elliott felt extremely weak, yet he still felt no sleepiness whatsoever.

The principal's study was extremely large and complex, with a separate toilet and a spacious reception room connected to the study and a storage room behind a hidden door.

The walls of the reception room are adorned with portraits of past principals and numerous group photos of distinguished alumni.

Tired, Elliott felt as if his feet were walking on cotton. He paced back and forth, not knowing where the journey was going or what his thoughts were aiming for.

When it comes to disappearances on campus, there's only a vague concept in my mind, a concept that looms large, blocking all sleepiness and sweet dreams from my soul.

Elliott tried to take an interest in the photos and portraits on the wall, running his fingers over one familiar or unfamiliar face after another.

Everyone was smiling at him, and for a moment, Elliott seemed to feel a strange connection with them.

You have nowhere to run.

"The person behind the curtain made a mark the moment you lifted it."

"Hypocritical gravedigger and desperate sailor, make your choice."

Elliott's teeth chattered. For a moment, he wanted to push open the door and leave the room, but whether it was a curse of fate or a near-mad self-suggestion, no matter how hard Elliott tried, he just couldn't leave the room.

Going outside will lead to death—no, death might be considered a relatively easy relief.

The principal had no doubt that an even uglier and crueler end awaited him outside the study.

"Bang, bang!"

The violent slapping sounds stimulated the principal's nerves; his body and heart pounded violently with each slap, and he knew he couldn't just sit and wait to die.

Fortunately, the bright lights gave him the courage to live alone in the night. The principal followed the sound into the study. The window behind the desk had been open at some point. The cold night wind blew the window and hit the wall. The pale blue curtains fluttered and swayed in front of the window with the airflow.

Elliott, feigning composure, walked to the window and closed it again. He was prepared not to scream no matter what appeared outside.

Fortunately, everything went smoothly. The moment the glass window was closed, the sounds of the wind, crows, and rustling leaves were instantly shut out.

Elliott picked up the empty glass on his desk to go to the living room to pour himself another glass of brandy, when he smelled a familiar and rich aroma.

The fragrance was faint yet elusive, like a dream, as if an iron hook had been firmly hooked into the principal's nostrils.

He had smelled this scent decades ago, and then it disappeared, but in recent months, Elliott had smelled this sweet and dangerous aroma again.

As if bewitched, the principal followed the scent straight ahead, only to be met with a wall. He seemed oblivious, his body passing right through the wall. Behind the wall, the scene before him was none other than the familiar reception room.

However, a shrew was lying on the floor of the reception room.

There was fresh soil that the shrew had turned over on the wooden floor around it. The principal's office was on the fourth floor of the University of Michigan. How could a shrew suddenly appear?

Elliott, however, was not surprised at all; he simply stared fearfully at the furry little animal on the floor.

"Oh, Elliott, you poor old man, you're at it again, lost in thought and unable to sleep. Do you feel utterly wronged, utterly desperate?"

The shrew's voice was slow and elegant. Elliott, clutching his empty cup, slumped weakly into a chair, while the shrew's speech seemed to have only just begun:
“You have all made mistakes. I’ve only come back to collect the debts you owe me.”

Especially you, Elliott, if you hadn't invited that jinx Irwin decades ago, the curtain would have been drawn long ago.

And now, look, look, the gods have been angered, and Colin Ruben paid the price years ago.

Don't think I don't know what tricks you've been up to behind my back. Investigation Department, those mysterious scholars at the University of Michigan, what are you waiting for?
Oh, Elliott, you've disappointed me so much. You were like this decades ago, when we were still close classmates.

You might stand at your desk with an ancient book in your arms, praising the insignificance of humankind and the vastness of the universe.

But when the curtain is truly drawn, you become weak and trembling like a country bumpkin who has never seen the world, wishing you could lock yourself in the barn.

Stop with those underhanded tactics. I'm warning you, everything you have now is something you owe me.

I will continue our unfinished work, finding truly idealistic and courageous students, and together we will unveil the world.

The shrew covered its eyes with its two small claws the whole time, and the strange fragrance seemed to be coming from it.

With the sound of the earth turning over, the shrew disappeared.

Elliott cautiously approached the floor where the shrew had appeared, only to find the ground completely undamaged, as if the shrew had never been there.

……

In a classroom at the University of Michigan, nearly a hundred chairs were all occupied.

This is the largest classroom at the University of Michigan, but it was packed with people. Students who couldn't get a seat had to stand in the back corner of the classroom, in the gaps between the desks and chairs, or even in the corridor, all just to listen to Professor Abel's history lecture.

The professor on the podium, though in his fifties, still stood tall and straight, wearing a khaki wool plaid suit. Time had added a few fine wrinkles to the corners of his eyes, but it only made him appear more dashing and composed, exuding a unique charm of erudition and authority.

"Oh, everyone, no offense intended, but I still have to say that your questions always make me doubt myself after class, wondering if my descriptions are not simple enough."

You may have heard from other professors that I was also a student at Miskatonic University.

But in my opinion, the dedication and wisdom of my former classmates in their search for the mysteries of the origin are qualities that you all lack.

Upon hearing Abel's words, all the University of Michigan students present stopped smiling and lowered their heads.

Professor Abel has this kind of temper, as everyone knows. His teachings are indeed captivating, but his sharp and sarcastic remarks are also well-known.

He seemed particularly strict with students of average talent, while showing great favor to those who could ask forward-thinking questions.

"Thank you for your help, thank you for your help, please lend me your help."

Just then, through the back door of the classroom, a tall student wearing a trench coat, carrying a croissant wrapped in oil paper, squeezed into the classroom with a strange accent.

(End of this chapter)