The Window Was So Small, After All

Could a relatively free teaching environment make children better with their hands...

This was a little too effective.

It felt like hiding in your dorm room in high school, playing on your phone, then hearing the door open and realizing your roommate—the one who'd skipped class—was the one coming in.

The biggest problem was explaining to your roommate where the phone came from...

Hope silently sat back down on the bed and pulled the sheet back over, hiding what was underneath. "I can't find my pen, so I was looking under the bed."

"Want me to help?"

"No, I might've dropped it on the way yesterday. Why are you here... uh, like this?"

Paul didn't answer. Following his gaze, Hope saw he was looking at the Iron Chain locking Hope in place.

"They... really keep you chained up like this?" Paul asked.

It was more like they were treating him as a criminal than a patient... Hope still remembered what Wilbur had said yesterday:

"If the residents of Dunwich start running away, we'll have no choice but to fight to the death."

Hope couldn't tell what he meant by that... kill him... sacrifice the remaining residents... or both...

Hope didn't want to see any of those things happen.

"Sometimes... I'm not quite right in the head," Hope said, choosing his words carefully. "I might... do some strange things... They're doing this for my own good..."

"Really?"

"Of course... It's a necessary precaution. I have no reason to lie."

"Then what happened to the wounds on your body?"

Wounds?

Hope looked himself over.

Sitting on the bed, Paul probably couldn't see what was wrong with his legs... and the wounds on his palms from climbing the ladder were out of sight too... That left his arms, which had a few rose-thorn scratches that hadn't healed yet.

"You know Old Williams has a rose garden, right?" Hope said honestly. "Wilbur and I got into a fight. Don't worry, he's no better off than I am."

"Why did you fight?" Paul asked with a frown.

"Little Brick. I don't know his name yet, but he's Brick... the youngest son of the siblings." Hope slightly altered the facts. "He followed us, and Wilbur wanted to teach him a lesson. I disagreed."

Paul seemed a little suspicious. He blinked, fell silent for two seconds, then jumped down from the roof, bending his knees slightly to absorb the impact and landing perfectly.

The sound of his landing made Hope worry that he'd wake the person under the bed. That would be awkward.

"I've always known Wilbur was no good. He's the devil's son... Sorry, I didn't mean you."

"It's fine. But you still haven't said why you came."

Paul held out his hand. A scrap of newspaper lay in his palm. "I came to bring you this."

Was it the piece that had fallen yesterday? He'd actually figured out it was mine... Well, my hesitation had been obvious. Good thing Wilbur had been focused on the scrap of paper.

Hope froze for a moment, then smiled. "Thanks."

Paul smiled too, but it didn't last. Hope soon frowned. "It's too dangerous for you to do this..."

"You have to trust my athletic ability. It's something even North Oak University values."

"What if they catch you?"

"Who, Wilbur and Lavinia? I tried to visit them directly, and they wouldn't let me in. Don't worry, neither of them is here. I saw them both leave."

"But Old Whateley..."

Paul didn't seem to notice Hope's disrespect toward his grandfather. "Even if he finds out, what can he do? Dad said Old Whateley could barely stand the last time he saw him."

But he might be an Evil God priest. He could've taught Wilbur that spell...

Still, he probably couldn't see things from afar or use some kind of occult pinhole camera or "Observation Haki."

Otherwise, he would've caught me yesterday. There'd have been no need to lock me up so tightly.

Hope deliberately put on a stern expression. "But he might tell Wilbur, who could call the police. The officers might be able to track you down from little details you wouldn't even notice."

"It's not that serious..."

"Don't take chances."

"Fine." Paul sighed. "You're right. I'll be more careful next time."

Not "I won't do it again," but "I'll be more careful next time"...

Hope knew there wasn't much point in saying more. He nodded. "Either way, thanks."

Paul smiled, as if he'd come just to hear that "thanks."

"I didn't look at what was inside. Whether you wrote a love letter or cut out pictures of pretty women from the newspaper, I don't know a thing."

A love letter, or...

Hope chuckled. For a moment, it felt like old times, trading jokes and teasing each other with a friend.

He played along and made something up. "Actually, before I lost my memory, I wrote down one of your little secrets."

Paul's smile vanished. He stared at Hope in astonishment. "Really?"

So he did have a little secret?

"Just kidding. I don't know what's inside either."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Then that means it could be true, right?"

Huh?

Paul suddenly reached for the scrap of paper in Hope's hand. Hope pulled his hand behind his back and easily dodged him.

He was moving slowly, maybe giving me time to react...

Realizing Paul was joking, Hope laughed. "If you try that again, I'll throw it outside. It's windy out there—I can hear it. Let's see whether you find it first or the wind blows it into the hands of someone who was meant to find it."

"Don't!" Paul blurted out.

He regretted it and clapped a hand over his mouth. He'd forgotten to keep his voice down. Old Whateley might have heard him.

"Is Old Whateley's room nearby?" Paul whispered.

"I don't know... I forgot." Hope shook his head.

Paul's expression changed when unhidden footsteps sounded outside.

"Thump, thump, thump."

They came closer. Whoever it was seemed to be climbing the stairs.

"You're sure Wilbur already left?"

"Sure. He couldn't have come back this fast." Paul stared at the door. "Old Whateley can still move?"

"I thought he was about to die," Hope said. "Don't just stand there. Go."

Paul reached for the boards in the ceiling, intending to pull himself up. But although he'd been able to jump down from there, he couldn't reach the ceiling from below.

He stood on Hope's bed, but it was still some distance from the opening.

"Do you have anything I can stand on?" Paul scanned the room.

The room was small, and everything in it was easy to see: a bed that doubled as a wardrobe, a wooden chair with half its backrest broken off, a bedside table, a damn flush toilet in the bedroom, and a small wooden bucket.

The bucket was too small.

Paul grabbed the bedside table and tried to move it under the hole.

His face reddened. He let go and panted, then whispered, "Damn it, this thing's nailed down! Is there anything else?"

Paul looked at the flush toilet.

Hope shook his head. He didn't know the room any better than Paul did. "Don't even think about that. And there's no time."

He pointed toward the door.

The footsteps had stopped. Next came the sound of someone fiddling with the lock.

Paul... He glanced beneath the bed.