“…Be my guest.”

“All right.”

Jim shrugged and went to pick up the receiver.

There was a brief exchange before he said, “…Hmm.”

Cocking his head, Jim sat back in his chair. He looked intently at the four photos spread out on the desk.

“Norman, you say these monsters are human beings.”

“That’s right. And they’re cute girls to boot.”

“I see.”

Jim nodded and spoke seriously.

“The four of them seem to be out there trying to kill each other.”

Whirls of silver raced along the night’s empty streets.

The girl’s waist-length hair trailed behind her as she moved, each strand gleaming brilliantly under the faint streetlights, as did her distinctive dark-yellow eyes. Her outfit—something a boy might wear—left only her face exposed. Even her hands were wrapped in leather gloves, and in them she held something ill-suited to her slender frame—a sniper rifle as long as she was tall.

It was a weapon ideally used while lying down, but…

“Ugh, this is such a pain…!”

The girl’s beautiful features twisted in irritation as she pulled the trigger, still standing. What echoed wasn’t just the sound of the gunshot. It wasn’t a physical ripple through the air. It was a vibration transmitting to something else entirely.

In response…

“RAAAH!”

…something else crashed out of the darkness with a bestial roar.

Its form was invisible. However, a pair of red eyes stood out against the darkness of night.

“How inelegant, Miss Shizuku.”

“Elegance isn’t everything, you know!”

A newcomer drove a flying kick into the side of the red-eyed shadow, eliciting another roar. The shadow was blown back into the darkness before it could even reach the streetlight.

“Ha! That was a nice, satisfying kick, Eltiel!”

A different woman touched down with a hearty laugh.

She was a tanned beauty in men’s clothing, a single streak of her black hair dyed red, and a cigarette in her mouth. Her black jacket was slung over her shoulders, her arms free, and the right leg of her trousers was daringly cut off.

“No need to thank me, Shizuku!”

In lieu of a reply, the silver-haired girl—Shizuku—pulled the trigger.

The shot, fired at ultra-close range, struck the black-haired woman in the chest almost instantly.

“That gun really doesn’t suit you, you know. And it doesn’t work on me.”

The woman looked like she might burst out laughing and flicked aside the bullet that had been harmlessly lying on her ample bosom. Strangely, though the bullet was crushed, neither her skin nor clothes were damaged.

“Tsk!”

“Hey now, don’t be like that!”

The silver-haired girl jumped back, and the tanned woman chased after her. The distance between them—only a few steps—vanished in no time.

The woman raised her fist with a gleeful smile.

Thunk.

Then a completely new, satisfying sound rang out, followed by another voice.

“Allow me to return the favor, Miss Lonsday.”

“…!”

Lonsday swung a backhand blow behind her instinctively. A dull, cracking sound rang out—she had just hit something very hard with an incredible amount of force.

But there was nothing there, only the city’s low lights. Still, the woman had clearly hit something. Blood dripped across her skin, where even a bullet hadn’t been able to scratch.

Despite this, the woman smiled and called out to the girl who’d appeared with a light step.

“You’re late, Fairy.”

“The star always arrives last, Miss Jewel.”

Clareth—“Fairy”—was a flaxen-haired girl dressed in a uniform. Her heterochromatic eyes—the right pale blue-green and the left light pink—gleamed in the night.

After the silver-haired girl distanced herself from the tanned woman—Lonsday—who stayed frozen in place, she called out the new arrival’s name.

“…Miss Clareth.” She sounded reluctant and irritated, as if she didn’t want to say anything but couldn’t help herself.

“Hey there, Shizu. A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt.”

“…Why should I be grateful? If Miss Lonsday hadn’t counterattacked, you would’ve hit me, too.”

“Tee-hee. I wonder? What do you think, Eltiel?”

“…You always like to play with smoke and mirrors.”

Answering the girl with mismatched eyes was Eltiel, a tall woman emerging from a black mist. She was beautiful with waves of golden hair. What especially stood out about her was her physique—she was over two meters tall. She wore a patchwork trench coat from the neck down, from which her breasts bulged prominently.

“You’re a feast for the eyes, Eltiel.”

She was completely naked beneath the trench coat.

“Please leave me alone.”

The woman sighed, lowered her gaze, and sniffed slightly.

“Seems we’re all here.”

The silver-haired girl with the sniper rifle, Shizuku.

The golden-haired woman wearing nothing beneath her trench coat, Eltiel.

The black-haired, tanned-skinned woman, Lonsday.

The flaxen-haired girl holding a wand, Clareth.

Under the low light, the four girls squared off.

Clareth, also known as Fairy, was the first to speak. With a single rap of her emerald wand and a dazzling smile, she said, “Now then. We all have the same goal, so what do we do? Might as well ask, just to be safe—is there any chance we could call a truce and rescue Mr. Norman together?”

“…Absolutely not.”

“No, thank you.”

“That’s not even funny. Why don’t you just admit it? You want us to play supporting roles so you can be the heroine.”

“Sharp as ever.”

Clareth giggled and toyed with the handle of her wand as she looked them over.

“All four of us are here, so I’d personally like us to team up. It’s been what, a year and a half?”

“…You asking to team up is hilarious, Miss Clareth.”

“Something on your mind, Shizu?”

Shizuku flashed a strained smile right back at Clareth.

“Norman got caught up in this mess right after your turn. Look at how that turned out. You’re no Fairy.”

She stared hard at Clareth with her dark yellow eyes, mocking and challenging her at the same time.

“Don’t you mean, ‘Please let me join you because I failed to protect Norman’?”

“Ever the biting wit, Shizu.”

Shizuku gave a stilted, mask-like grin in response.

“I guess I could be to blame. I’ll grin and bear it. But you know, Shizu, shouldn’t you—of all people—have known Mr. Norman was in danger? After all, weren’t you always eavesdropping on him, even when it wasn’t your turn?” Clareth countered. “Besides, you sure are quick to criticize others.”

“Tsk.”

It was Shizuku’s turn to endure the scrutiny of those mismatched eyes. She scoffed at Clareth’s pointed accusation.

“Mistakes were made—No, that sounds like an excuse… But aren’t we all flawed? Isn’t that how we are? Right, Miss Detective? Widdle Hellhound?”

“Why are you calling me that?” Eltiel replied.

“’Cause you’re the cute type.”

“No, no. I’m definitely the cool, transcendent beauty type.”

Lonsday interrupted the conversation, cigarette between her fingers.

“They don’t seem to be getting along over there. What do you say, Eltiel, wanna form an alliance?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I mean, you are Norman’s dog, aren’t you?” Lonsday retorted.

Eltiel raised her eyebrows in response. In front of her, the beautiful woman stood, exhaling the smoke she’d just taken in. Lonsday continued.

“So I’ve been thinking, if you’re his dog, then couldn’t you be mine, too?”

“……You’re so vulgar.”

“Ha! You’re the one with no class, Hellhound.”

“And you’re just plain awful. Can’t you hold a conversation without stating your thoughts as fact? I can only imagine how hard it must be for Lord Norman to put up with you.”

“That’s my job. Besides, Norman enjoys it. He’s quite the masochist.”

“Excuse me? You’ve got it backward. He’s a sadist.”

“Tee-hee. I guess we all have differing views on that. Right, Shizu?”

“…Ridiculous. This isn’t the time for such conversation.”

The four of them sparred verbally while more unspoken hostility clashed beneath the surface—like carnivores sizing up their prey.

In the end, they were all saying the same thing.

Though their hearts were quite different, there was one thing they all seemed to have in common.

So the rest of you better not get in my way.

They made their intent known in every way—attitude, gestures, presence—everything but words.

“I like conversation, too, but not when it’s with you guys. Chatting with Fairy is one thing, but the two of you?”

“Please don’t presume to speak about others, Miss Lonsday.”

“…It pains me to agree with Miss Eltiel, but she’s right. It’s none of your concern. All I need is Norman,” said Shizuku.

“Tee-hee. I knew it. This conversation’s going nowhere, huh?”

They all looked at one another like they were sworn enemies. But while their attitudes differed, they were the same deep down.

Shizuku took the tip of her leather glove in her mouth, pulled it off with her teeth, and raised her finger high.

Eltiel bent forward and crouched low, baring a snarl.

Lonsday flashed a chilling smile while she cracked her knuckles.

Clareth kept up her radiant smile as she tapped the cobblestones with her wand.

The four girls, each of them Unlaw, would now unleash their true nature—something that defied the very laws of the world.

“What do you think of that?”

“Hmm… Hmm.”

Norman tried to move his arms but, remembering he was bound, simply sighed and grinned broadly.

“I’m touched all four of them would come to my rescue.”

Jim’s golden eyes narrowed.

“…This may sound a little hypocritical, but your smile is ridiculously fake.”

To say that after hearing they were trying to kill each other? If those were his true feelings, then Norman was more inhuman than he thought, and if he was bluffing, he was being far too obvious.

He had no idea what Norman was thinking at this point. He never did.

“…Ahem. It’s my job to gather the details of the last month.”

“I already submitted a report to my sister—you should’ve read it. In fact, we chatted about it in your lab during downtime, didn’t we? Why go to the trouble of doing it all over again?”

“This isn’t my primary business with you, Norman. But it’s important we get it out of the way first. Think of this as a verification process. Due diligence, if you will.”

“…And what happens if I ignore you?”

Jim beamed and slowly traced his right hand across his neck in a cutting motion.

“…I see,” Norman added.

“Well, I could try and save your life. But then you’d belong to me! Wait a second, that would actually be pretty great… Oh man, what should I make you do?!”

“Fine, I’ll tell you what you want to know. In exchange, there’s something I want to know.”

“Oh. Well, that works! In that case…”

Jim opened the binder in his hand and stopped at a certain page.

“Let’s start here. Over the past month, you and your Unlaw have caused quite the commotion in the city, haven’t you? Four incidents, four monsters. First up, a bizarre death at a certain mansion. But since an Unlaw is involved, it’s not just any murder case—especially if Tear Blossom was the one solving it! Tricks are meaningless against that thing! How did you feel, bringing that with you?”

“Let’s see… If I had to say…I guess it felt like I had someone special with me.”

“Not a bad start!” Jim shouted with childlike exuberance.

Despite the fact he had kidnapped Norman and was questioning him, Jim showed no sign of hostility. He remained as cheerful as someone chatting with a friend, which made his comportment all the more unsettling.

“Now, let’s hear it. A tale involving an Unlaw is never a mystery. Will it be action, suspense, horror? Monster panic?”

“…Beats me. Sorry to disappoint, but probably none of those.”

I don’t even know what it would be, though. If it could be sorted into a neat genre like that, things would be much easier, Norman thought.

“I want to correct you on one thing, Jim Adamworth.”

“Let’s hear it, Norman Hamish.”

Norman spoke words he’d said just minutes ago. He would repeat them as many times as he needed to.

“This isn’t a tale about monsters. It’s a tale about humans.”

Shizuku Teardrop.

She always wore a hood, and her outfits never showed any skin. Stockings or tights were a must, whether she was wearing boys’ trousers or a skirt, and her hands were never not in gloves. A violin case was slung over her shoulder, and neutral, silver hair spilled from her hood, catching the eye. Her dark yellow eyes were constantly half-closed, but that somehow only enhanced her charm.

She was short for a sixteen-year-old girl and unfortunately underdeveloped, but that too was part of her unique charm.

Norman was meeting her at the fountain square in the heart of the Bardium residential district.

The weather was nice, but since it was a weekday, only a few families with children and couples were out enjoying themselves. Coaches and the automobiles favored lately by the wealthy filled the roads, the latter belching out black exhaust that lingered in the air.

From the shadow of a passing carriage, Shizuku appeared. She crossed the road and walked toward Norman in front of the fountain.

It suddenly struck him there was something wrong with seeing Shizuku in the peaceful park.

“She looks good in the sunny weather, though.”

“Is that a jab at my hood?”

From her small, slightly hunched frame to her head-to-toe coverage, she walked like someone outside of time and space, without a place to belong. Like a flower refusing to blossom, staying a bud in the darkness and rejecting the light.

She looked like she might wilt and disappear if left alone.

“You’re late, Shizuku. Don’t worry, though, I just got here myself.”

“Huh?”

Her voice was clear, but it carried a listless tone laced with faint irritation.

Norman tilted his head at the unexpected reaction, his ponytail shifting with the slight movement.

“Hm, that’s weird. I thought you said that no matter how long you’ve been waiting, you’re supposed to say, ‘I just got here’?”

“That’s for when you’re early. If you say that when the person you’re meeting is also late, it makes you look late, Norman.”

“Oh, you’re right.”

“Geez…”

Shizuku sighed from beneath her hood—it was a blend of exasperation, wry amusement, and a hint of joy.

“Well, whatever. Sorry for being late. But why pick here to meet?” Shizuku asked.

“I don’t think it’s a bad spot. Seems like a classic meeting place.”

“‘Seems like’? Have you actually met someone here before?”

“Nope. I rarely have business out here.”

“Right. I don’t either, which is why I got lost.”

“I still knew this was a popular meeting spot.”

“Of course you know things I don’t, Norman.”

“…I guess.”

Shizuku Teardrop. It was probably no surprise that she was a recluse. By sixteen, most young ladies of the merchant or noble class would be finishing school, while the poor ones would already be working or married. But she wasn’t a student, she wasn’t married, and she didn’t work, instead spending most of her time holed up in her lodgings, playing her violin for fun—a girl who was more pitiful than eccentric. But no one would ever guess that by looking at her.

Norman shrugged and said, “Let’s get going.”

He started walking. Shizuku gave no reply but fell into step next to him, keeping a fist’s width between them.

“So?”

Her cold glance pierced him. Norman didn’t answer, instead pulling out a file from inside his coat and handing it to her. Shizuku took it without a word. Inside were a number of documents and photos—the first thing she saw was a photo of what seemed to be a smiling noblewoman.

“Who’s this?”

“Mary Wallwood. Shipping company CEO. A shrewd businesswoman who took over her husband’s company when he died five years ago and turned it into a success.”

“How old?”

“She’s thirty-five.”

“You mean she was thirty-five.”

She flipped through the photos with uncaring, bored movements. One showed Mary Wallwood’s corpse—a shocking sight for most—but Shizuku’s expression didn’t change a bit as she closed the file.

“To run a successful shipping company at that age, she must’ve been a skilled businesswoman.”

“You’d have to be, surrounded by a ridiculously high wall like that.”

Norman looked up toward the sky, and Shizuku did the same. Ahead of them stood a giant wall.

True to its name, Bardium Walled City was surrounded by an enormous wall on all sides. Even at a brisk pace, it took a full day to walk from one end to the other. There was a conspicuously tall tower in the city center, but even that was dwarfed by the wall.

Norman couldn’t fathom the amount of time and effort that had gone into constructing such an enormous barrier. He’d arrived in the city a year and a half ago, but since he wasn’t interested in its history, he’d never bothered checking.

However…

“There’s no wind in this city.”

Wind seemed like something that could blow anywhere. There was a bit of a breeze, but hardly anything that could truly be called wind. It felt like the city had been cut off from the rest of the world.

Shizuku shrugged. “That’s normal for those of us who were born here.”

“The city’s in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like we can just leave. There’s no need to anyway. We have everything here.”

“Still, there are things you can’t get here. You have to rely on imports for those, which is why shipping companies are so crucial.”

“Well, I’m a shut-in, so I don’t really care either way.”

“In a way, being a shut-in means you’re especially blessed by those companies…”

“Anyway!”

She shoved the file back at him with a thwap.

“We finally see each other again, and we just talk business?”

“Well, that’s my job.”

“An illegal one.”

“Oh please…”

Just then, a gentleman passed by. He was a young man wearing an expensive-looking tailcoat and silk hat, probably a noble or the like. He paused mid-stride after unexpectedly hearing the petite girl say illegal. Norman smiled and quickly smoothed things over.

“Oh, we’re talking about a mystery novel.”

“Ah…I see. That would make the young lady your assistant, then.”

With an elegant smile, the gentleman gave a slight bow and walked away.

“…Assistant?” Shizuku asked, closing the distance again—he hadn’t even noticed she’d taken a step back.

“Not familiar with it? It’s a mystery novel that was all the rage some years ago. The royal capital went crazy for it, and even in Bardium last year, everyone was reading it.”

“Who’s ‘everyone’?”

“…I guess everyone besides you and me.”

“I wouldn’t know. Reading a bunch of words gives me a headache.”

That was one of the last things Norman had expected to hear from a cool, downcast beauty like her.

“And?”

“It’s a story about an ace detective who solves cases and his assistant who gets swept up in the chaos.”

“Hee-hee-hee…pfft.”

Shizuku stared at the ground with a slight grin. It was a little strange seeing a young girl chuckle to herself like that.

“If that’s the case, wouldn’t you be the assistant, Norman?”

“…I guess.”

“Pfft. Hee-hee.”

Apparently, she found the idea hilarious, because her whole body was shaking from all the giggling.

“…What I found most memorable about the book was how the assistant, despite constantly complaining, stuck with the eccentric detective through thick and thin.”

“Hee-hee-hee…pfft… You really are the assistant, Norman!”

She was laughing even harder now. Norman didn’t know why, but he wasn’t very happy about it.

“Phew. Sorry, that was rude of me. After all, you never complain, Norman.”

“I don’t…? I guess not…”

“No. Even if you did, I wouldn’t care.”

“Why, you…”

“Hee-hee-hee!”

Her still-shaking body brushed slightly against Norman as she smiled.

“Shall we go, my assistant? There’s nothing fun about murder cases, you know.”

“An ace detective wouldn’t say that.”

Probably.

After a thirty-minute walk, they found themselves at the Wallwood estate, a luxurious two-story mansion.

The scene of the murder was the owner Mary’s room, and it was similarly grand. In the center, there was a work desk with neatly packed bookshelves and file organizers lining the wall. If anything, there were more files and binders than there were books. Two windows, both big enough for a person to fit through, let natural light flood in. Near the ceiling, there was a single, small air vent. They sank into the plush carpet with every step.

Norman thought it was a nice room.

That was, except for the fact the work desk had been split clean in half and covered in blood splatters.

Norman took out the file and compared it to the crime scene photo of Mrs. Mary Wallwood in her nightgown.

In the photo, Mary’s body—her chest, to be precise—was crushed between the two halves of the desk. Bone had pierced flesh, and her internal organs were undoubtedly ruptured. Even if someone had sat her down at the work desk and brought down a massive hammer of steel or something similar, that still wouldn’t explain how this had happened.

The sturdy desk had been completely destroyed.

“I see.”

“Well, Hamish?”

It wasn’t Shizuku who spoke. It was a tall, thin man wearing a moss-green coat and a black suit, both quite worn. His hair was cut short, but it seemed more for convenience than appearance’s sake. He wasn’t bad-looking, but his tired expression and the bags under his eyes probably didn’t endear him with many women.

His name was Harrison Leonard.

He was an investigator with the Bardium police and an old acquaintance of Norman. In fact, Harrison’s haggard look made Norman secretly worried about him every time they met.

“Well?”

Norman shrugged.

“I got nothing.”

“I wasn’t exactly waiting on your deductions.” The man’s words exuded dismissal and irritation. “I’m asking if you understand the situation.”

“Oh yeah, more or less. You’ve got a corpse, a broken desk, and…”

Shizuku stood sullenly and quietly in the corner. Just beyond her was the one entrance to the room. There must have been a door there, but in its sorry state, it was just an entryway.

“A broken door. What about the windows?”

“It was confirmed the door was locked at the time of the incident.”

“I see. All that’s left is an air vent, maybe big enough for a mouse to squeeze through.”

“Meaning…”

“We have a locked-room mystery on our hands, with an obviously unnatural corpse. Naturally, the culprit and method are unknown.”

“That’s why I called you here.”

“I thought as much.”

Harrison nodded with a grim expression. He didn’t want to rely on them, but he had no choice. This wasn’t due to incompetence on his part, nor was he ignoring police protocol or the law by handing over a murder case to civilians for independent investigation. This was Norman and Shizuku’s job: to solve cases that defied ordinary logic. Crimes committed in ways that were seemingly impossible. Injuries and corpses that boggled the mind. Phenomena possible only through magic or miracles. Crimes no human should have been capable of yet happened anyway.

“These sorts of cases fall under your jurisdiction, don’t they, Detective?” Harrison said.

“I know that’s what you call Cartesius investigators, but that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Yeah, well, your organization isn’t exactly public knowledge. To any cop who isn’t a go-between like me, you lot are just some punks who waltz into crime scenes and do whatever they please. It’s simpler to just call you Detective.”

“Hmm, I won’t deny that.”

“Get to work. I’ll speak to the estate staff. They’re suspicious of you two.”

“Tell them a legendary detective is on the case.”

“Not funny.”

Harrison shrugged and left the room. The officer seemed accustomed to his antics.

“…I thought that one was pretty good.”

“Face it, Norman. Your jokes aren’t funny.” Shizuku finally spoke, taking a jab at him.

She stared at the exit Harrison had left through and muttered, “He’s as lazy as ever. Not as bad as you, though.”

“He’s not lazy. The man just knows his role. Calling us over means he’ll handle explaining things to the police and everyone else who’s involved while establishing clear jurisdictions to give us room to work.”

“Whatever.”

Shizuku clearly didn’t care. At her core, she had little interest in the world.

“Should we get started?”

“Let’s.”

Shizuku grabbed one of the fingertips of her right glove with her mouth and pulled out her hand. Glove still in her mouth, she also removed the left and offered her hand to Norman, who took it gently. Shizuku’s hand was so thin, soft, and small, he feared it might break if he squeezed too hard. They went up to the bisected desk and felt its underside with their free hands.

Shizuku took a deep breath and murmured softly, “Echo Howling: Vision.”

In that moment, Norman and Shizuku’s reality shifted.

Norman and Shizuku heard echoes bouncing, and an image began to take shape:

The study. The door and windows, locked shut. The desk untouched. Dressed in her nightgown, Mary Wallwood was slumped against it, petrified. Her body trembled, and her expression was rigid. In her eyes, fear, doubt, amazement, and denial. Mary screamed and was crushed the next instant.

Her chest caved in, and the well-built desk was split in two.

It was an absurd spectacle.

No human could be responsible. This must have been the work of a monster.

“Gh—!”

Shizuku gasped as though she was having a seizure, and reality shifted again.

“Haaah…haaah…”

Norman waited while she cradled her head and calmed down. He held her by the shoulders to steady her.

Magic and miracles didn’t exist in this world. What did exist was reality, logic, ordinary humans, and something called “Unlaw.”

They were things that lurked, transformed, deviated, and distorted. They were monsters that resembled humans and were capable of so much more.

Shizuku was one of those individuals, and her ability was known as Echo Howling.

She could harness that ability to use Vision, which granted her the power to “read” and “see” the thoughts of whatever she touched. Norman had initially assumed she was sensing psychic imprints, but from what she’d told him, that wasn’t accurate. Very rarely, Vision activated on its own, allowing her to see glimpses of the future. This ruled out a need for lingering memories of past events.

Visions could happen deliberately or through accidental contact. This made Shizuku incredibly careful with what she touched. Gloves, especially, were a necessity to avoid inadvertently seeing visions. For her own sanity, she kept her distance from others and generally avoided conversations.

With a single touch, she could see echoes of the past or future. It was an ability that defied the laws of nature. That was precisely why people like her were called Unlaw.

Shizuku Teardrop, wielder of Tear Blossom, Reverb.

Incidentally, her visions could be shared with others via touch. Norman’s job was to work with Unlaw like her to investigate supernatural incidents, though he’d never seen her share a vision with anyone else.

“Are you all right, Shizuku?”

“Yes, more or less. That said…”

She sighed and shook her head to clear it.

Thanks to her ability, she was often dragged out to the crime scenes of baffling murders since her visions would instantly identify the culprit. Cases that seemed impossible at a glance often turned out to be the result of extraordinary efforts taken by the culprits.

However, in this case…

“I couldn’t see the suspect.”

“Thought as much.”

…her vision hadn’t revealed the criminal.

More to the point, Vision couldn’t detect Unlaw.

“So the question is, what sort of Unlaw are we facing?”

Instead of replying, Shizuku put her gloves back on and fished out a piece of candy. She was clearly more interested in carefully unwrapping her chocolate than she was in solving this case.

“Figuring that out is your job.”

“…I was kind of hoping you’d show us what an ace detective really looked like,” Norman said.

What was he supposed to do with a completely apathetic detective (who could solve this case with ease if she put her mind to it)?

Setting aside the question of whether Shizuku Teardrop was the detective or the assistant, information gathering fell under Norman’s purview.

The one lead they had was that the culprit was an Unlaw. Norman was in charge of dealing with any cases involving him, which meant locating the culprit was his responsibility.

“There were five suspects…or rather, five individuals present in the mansion at the estimated time of death.”

They’d moved from the scene of the crime to a drawing room inside the mansion. The room was similar in size to the office earlier, with two facing sofas and a low table between them. Norman and Harrison were seated across from each other. Shizuku sat next to Norman, hugging her knees and keeping her usual distance—close but distinctly apart.

“Five people.”

“Yes, four servants and a guest who happened to be staying the night.”

“Is five a lot or a little for a mansion this large? Are there any suspects who weren’t present?”

“Yes, and they’re currently under investigation. That said, the security at the estate was quite good. The gate and all else were locked by sunset most of the time.”

“Wow. So she was very safety-conscious.”

“Mrs. Wallwood took those measures after her late husband was killed by a robber, which is how she inherited the mansion. She also reportedly dismissed any servants she didn’t trust.”

“I see.”

“…”

Norman sensed Shizuku smirking beneath her hood, likely thinking something like, Look at all the good that security did her. Norman had the same thought, but he knew Harrison would get angry if he voiced it.

“There were five individuals in the mansion when the incident occurred,” the tired officer repeated. “The five were the butler, the butler’s apprentice, the valet, the maid, and the doctor. None had an alibi for the time of death, which was around eleven PM.”

“…They didn’t?”

“The maid and doctor were either asleep or preparing to retire to their respective rooms; the butler was preparing for the next day in his room; the butler’s apprentice was cleaning the boiler room in the basement; and the valet was arranging books in the library. However, apparently, the rooms were far enough apart they couldn’t see each other.”

“Right. How did they discover her murder, then?”

“Sound.”

“Huh…? Oh, hmm. I guess that makes sense.”

“The butler was first on the scene, followed by the valet. The rest arrived afterward.”

“They got to the room, found the door locked, and when they called out and received no response, they forced it open and discovered Mrs. Wallwood dead, right?”

“Correct.”

“That’s surprising.”

“…”

Then he heard someone whisper, “Think more carefully.” He glanced over at Shizuku, and she turned her face away in a huff.

“…Huh? Why were you looking at me?” Norman asked.

If the overworked officer had done the same thing, it probably would have just come off as repulsive. He was a good guy, though.

“Um, okay then, officer. Can we speak to those suspects…er—I guess, potential suspects?”

“Yeah, I’ve briefed them.”

“Thanks for all your help.”

“Just doing my job,” he muttered with an unhappy sigh and left the drawing room.

Norman appreciated that about Harrison. It would be much more worrisome if he was a little too eager about this line of work.

“Ugh, finally.” Shizuku piped up the moment Harrison was gone. “Norman.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry. I want some shawarma from Downey Street.”

“We can go after we question the suspects.”

Shizuku gave a bored shrug.

“Is questioning really so important?”

“Of course. It’s crucial.”

Mostly because it was his job. Personally, he couldn’t have cared less.

“I don’t like work, but I’ll admit it’s nice being able to just walk into a restaurant,” Shizuku murmured happily as she used chopsticks to grip a roll of shawarma. “Cartesius gives me a livelihood, sure, but the restrictions on going out are a real bummer.”

“…Restricted doesn’t mean forbidden, you know.”

“What are you trying to get me to say, Norman?”

“You want me to spell it out for you clearly.”

Norman shrugged and took a bite of his shawarma, which was a little different from the one Shizuku had. His meat and vegetables were packed in a half-moon shaped bread—perfect for eating with your hands. The mouthwatering spicy sauce was Norman’s favorite.

The shawarma restaurant on Downey Street was about an hour’s walk from the Wallwood estate. Neither of them was the type to lose their appetite after seeing a crime scene so they were taking a late lunch.

“Oh? Spell what out, exactly?” Shizuku teased as she took a dainty bite with her chopsticks, though shawarma was usually rolled up and wrapped in paper and eaten by hand.

“You don’t go out unless it’s with me,” Norman said.

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Rude.”

“It is what it is.” She laughed softly.

The restaurant had a number of counter seats and four tables, but Norman and Shizuku were sitting in the very back in a somewhat secluded spot, out of view from the outside and the counter. Away from the eyes of others, Shizuku’s demeanor changed considerably.

“The only things I really go out for are food and other necessities, so it’s not a problem.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Yep. I don’t desire anything more than that,” she said calmly, keeping on her leather gloves as she ate.

Shizuku was about the only weirdo he’d seen using foreign utensils in the city, but she needed them. She couldn’t remove her gloves, but eating with them on would be unhygienic, so she used chopsticks. Of course, depending on the dish, she’d also pick up a knife, fork, or spoon.

Even for the side of fries, she refused to use her hands.

“…Want some?” Norman offered.

“Oh? Hee-hee, are you trying to butter me up?”

Norman held up a fry between his fingers, and Shizuku happily grabbed it with her mouth. He watched her as she nibbled on the fry bit by bit.

“…About the case. From what I’ve heard, all five suspects had a decent, if not good, relationship with Mrs. Wallwood. Ordinarily, they would have had no reason to kill her.”

“What do you mean by ‘ordinarily’?”

“Who knows?”

One thing was clear—the culprit wasn’t ordinary. They were something that surpassed common sense. Hence, an Unlaw.

Shizuku stuck out her tongue and licked.

“That’s my finger you’re licking. Is that tasty, too?”

“Isn’t there a theory that the salt on fries tastes better than the fries themselves?” Shizuku posited.

“I guess I could buy that.”

“That’s pretty lackluster.”

“No, they’re not, they’re a dazzling golden-yellow,” Norman joked.

“Not your best work.”

“Tough crowd.”

“Neither of us can afford to slack off on this case, Norman.”

“Well, sure. I may not particularly care about the case, but a job’s a job. What do you think, Ms. Ace Detective?”

“Let’s see…”

Shizuku popped some of the shawarma roll into her mouth and paused to think. She swallowed, then said the first thing that came to mind.

“The nightgown she had on when she died was super sexy.”

“That’s noteworthy?”

“Yes. Does that sort of thing appeal to you?”

Norman took a moment to seriously consider the question.

“…I don’t hate it, but I’m not sure it’s your style.”

“If you’re being purposefully vague to avoid talking about my bust size, consider me offended.”

“I’m happy when you wear clothes that feel right for you.”

“Heh. Good, then.”

“Ready to get to work?”

“Hmm, I think I want a little more.”

She raised her gloved index finger and shrugged.

“What stood out to me was she was intimate enough with the culprit to meet them in a nightgown like that.”

“Oh, I see where you’re coming from now…”

Norman tilted his head and recalled the standing of the five suspects.

“With four of the five being servants, it wouldn’t be strange for them to see their mistress in her nightwear. The fifth is a doctor, so that wouldn’t be too strange, either.”

“Try looking at it from a woman’s point of view.”

Shizuku finished the rest of the fries with a wry smile and continued. “It’s important. You would only wear that for someone special.”

“Really?”

“Yes. At least, that’s what I think.”

Norman found that incredibly interesting, but he wasn’t sure what exactly she meant. Was that her line of reasoning for the case, or would Shizuku also only wear something like that for someone special? For a girl who always wore her hood, kept her gloves on even during meals, and never showed any skin, it was an especially intriguing idea.

“As for the locked room… Well, that doesn’t really matter.”

“The issue of the locked room isn’t anything we have to worry about.”

If it was anyone’s job, it was Officer Harrison’s. Whenever an Unlaw case caused a stir, it was his job to sweep things under the rug. He might have been a far more fitting protagonist for a detective novel.

“Our job is to deal with the culprit.”

“You’re so serious.”

Norman wished she’d take things a bit more seriously, too.

“That reminds me… Your piece must be close to done by now, huh?”

Shizuku froze for a moment, chopsticks poised to grab the fries.

“…How unusual for you to bring that up, Norman.”

“You’ve been learning how to compose for a while now. I’ve been watching from the sidelines because it’s not my area of expertise, but I don’t know… Lately, it feels like you’re almost ready to put on the finishing touches.”

Norman knew what it meant to her.

“When you do complete it, I’d like to be the first one to hear it.”

“I suppose that could be arranged.”

Shizuku looked straight at Norman with those yellow eyes of hers. A new light was present in her eyes, a dark shade of yellow.

“Let’s hurry and finish so we can have some alone time.”

The words seemed heavy, but their moods were as light as a single fry.

The culprit had stayed in the mansion that night because the police had told them to. Four out of the five witnesses lived there to begin with, and the lone outsider could hardly refuse a police order. In the few days since Mary Wallwood’s murder, none of the five had been able to leave the mansion. A mansion that was now the scene of a murder—it was just unthinkable.

In a way, they had been mourning. All five had adored Mary Wallwood.

At midnight, the culprit set foot into the foyer—but no one had told them to.

There was an unpleasant feeling deep in their ears, a crawling, scratching sensation. An anxiety and discomfort that couldn’t be put into words. It felt as if someone was calling their name. It felt like the voice of the woman they killed was calling out to them. Before they knew it, they couldn’t sit still, and the voice had drawn them to Mary’s room.

“…Ah, there you are.”

In the center of the room stood a girl wearing a hood.

She was fully covered, even her hands were wrapped in leather gloves, and there was a violin case slung over her shoulder. Her monochrome, silver hair spilled from her hood, drawing one’s attention to it. Her half-lidded dark yellow eyes were uncaring, as though she’d given up on the world around her.

She stood there like a flower in the dark room, lit only by moonlight streaming through the window. Like a bud quietly still in the depths of a dark cave, she stood in the center of the bisected desk. She was one half of the mysterious pair who had appeared that afternoon and questioned the culprit and the other four.

The questioning itself had been strange. Any routine interview would involve asking about their whereabouts at the time of the crime and their relationship with the victim. But they—the boy, to be precise—asked only about the culprit’s relationship with Mary and what kind of life they’d led beforehand. His indifference toward alibis was striking—perhaps even irresponsible.

The girl had remained silent by his side then.

“…”

It’s her.

The unpleasant sound echoed deep in the culprit’s ears. Instinct, or perhaps intuition, told them that girl was the one who had called them here.

She cast a bored look their way.

“Eeep!”

Her glance alone struck fear into their heart. They didn’t know why. She looked like an ordinary girl the first time they saw her. This time, though, was different. The girl emitted an air that stirred something within them. Their throat tightened, their body trembled, and they took a step backward without thinking.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.”

“…!”

The boy now blocked the exit. His gray hair was in a ponytail at the back of his neck, and he wore a thick coat and a black felt hat that oddly suited him. His face was well-proportioned, but his droopy eyes and dopey expression kept him from being handsome. He resembled a small animal with no claws or fangs, and he seemed like someone who would be a hit with older women as opposed to girls his own age.

He appeared without a sound and passed by them with light steps to stand by the girl.

Holding his hat down with one hand, the boy pointed his index finger at the culprit.

“It was you.”

Alfred Curtis, the butler’s apprentice, jolted. His face contorted. His eyes widened, his light blond hair bristled, and his face turned pale.

“H-how…?!” He wheezed.

“…”

Norman looked at him, puzzled.

Shizuku shrugged and sighed.

“Hit the nail on the head first try, Norman.”

She had remained silent during the questioning, just standing next to Norman. Her voice was clear but listless and uninterested.

“Yep. I’m glad we saved some time. Honestly, the way things were looking, I don’t know what we would have done if it turned out the culprit wasn’t one of these five.”

“It all worked out in the end. What was his name again?”

“Alfred Curtis.”

“Right, right.”

“Wha…? What are you two even saying?!” Alfred screamed out.

Norman and Shizuku lacked any sense of tension, almost as if…

“Y-you tricked me?! You didn’t even know if I’m the culprit!”

“Who cares who the culprit is, Alfred?” Norman said flatly.

“Wh-what the hell are you saying? You’re detectives, aren’t you?!”

“We’re not detectives. People call us that sometimes, though. Maybe ‘who cares’ was a little much, but the culprit’s identity isn’t our priority here.”

“Then what—?”

“The priority is figuring out what sort of monster you are.”

“…”

Alfred’s expression cracked. It was nothing like his overreaction when he was accused of being the culprit—this time he went from pale to completely white. Up until that point, he’d only had frustration and doubt, but now there was open fear.

“You must have some idea, right? Monsters like you are called Unlaw,” Norman continued. “Bardium is home to loads of them. Investigating Unlaw isn’t quite our jobs… And it’s not like I’m an Unlaw myself.”

“We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I.” Shizuku Teardrop laughed.

She was a flower that refused to blossom, a bud in the darkness shying away from the light—and now she was smiling at a man who had crawled out of the same dark pit.

“…You too?”

For a moment, Alfred’s expression turned strange. He was still shaken, face pale with surprise, but there was also a hint of joy. They were comrades. The same kind of monster.

“Tell me why you killed Mrs. Wallwood, Alfred.”

“I…I…”

The joy faded, and his face twisted as the memory of what Mary Wallwood said to him came flooding back.

“She…she said it herself!” Alfred screamed. “Lady Mary said it herself! She knew I was hiding something, but she said she’d accept me anyway! So I…I—!”

“So you showed her your ability.”

“Exactly! Then… And then…!”

“She rejected you, and you killed her.”

“Urrrgh…!”

Alfred groaned, clutching his head with both hands. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“And? What exactly is that ability?” Norman asked.

“…Huh?”

“You have an ability, don’t you? Well, what is it?”

“…”

“Tell me, Alfred. I’m not like Mary. I’m familiar with Unlaw. Some are even my friends. Shizuku here is one. I won’t reject you for being different.”

“…”

Alfred seemed like he could start laughing or crying at any moment—like someone hanging off the edge of a cliff, thinking it was the end, when a hand suddenly reached out to save them.

“…Haaah.”

Shizuku sighed next to Norman, but Alfred was in no state of mind to notice.

“I…I can change the size of my body.”

“Wow.” Norman nodded. “By how…much exactly?”

“I can shrink myself to the size of a mouse…or make my arms about three times bigger.”

“Oh, I see. Hence, the locked room. You shrank down and fled through the vent. And your giant arm was responsible for killing Mrs. Wallwood.”

“That’s right.”

“Hmm. Wouldn’t your clothes rip if you grew that much?”

“…I-I’d taken off my jacket. I thought that when we were done talking, we were going to…you know…”

“Oh, so you were having an important chat before the deed. Pretty bold for a room with no bed.”

It was all so simple. The doors and windows were locked. If you could shrink your body, a vent could serve as an entrance and an exit. A vent that was ordinarily much too small for a human.

Ordinarily, yes. But Alfred Curtis was anything but ordinary. He was a monster.

A locked room for a normal person was anything but for a monster. Knowing the secret of his power removed the mystery—there was nothing to deduce.

It wouldn’t even pass as a mystery novel.

“So you can grow and shrink?”

“Yes…that’s right! I’m not some pint-sized brat from the slums anymore. I studied and worked hard. I got bigger! Lady Mary should have understood that, but she…rejected me—”

“That’s enough, Norman. Good grief,” Shizuku interrupted, looking like she might crack up.

She laughed at her fellow monster.

“You don’t need to bother questioning a Category One Shapeshifter.”

“Hmm, I’d like to question him some more. I do have to write a report later.”

“Basically, you grew up in the slums, and the memory of being exploited became a deep-rooted insecurity. You worked hard to educate yourself, but that childhood insecurity turned into trauma. Deep down, you still saw yourself as that same little slum kid and manifested the power to shrink. Then you wanted to seem bigger, but you could only change your arms—something like that?”

“…”

“Now, there’s a shock. Since when were you able to understand people’s feelings?”

“I don’t understand people’s feelings,” the girl—the monster in the form of a girl—said. “But I understand the feelings of monsters. Category Ones are easy to crack.”

“…Category…One…?”

“Category One. That’s what we call newly awakened Unlaw like you. Your abilities are undeveloped, and you’re mentally unstable. That makes you prone to causing incidents like this. You lose the ability to make rational decisions. As for your ability… Well, that’s enough for now.”

Speaking of rational decisions, Alfred clearly wasn’t making any. Several days had passed since the incident, and he could have escaped. With his ability to change his size, evading the police would have been a simple matter. There would have been nothing Norman and Shizuku could have done if he’d fled and gone into hiding.

Or, since he could do things that were impossible for most, he could have frustrated the investigation by contaminating the crime scene or made things even more confusing by committing a similar crime outside the estate.

When he thought about it, there was a plethora of options he could have picked from.

For example, if he truly regretted it, he could have turned himself in. Whether he would have been treated fairly was another question, but it was an option.

Instead, Alfred was paralyzed. He’d stopped thinking. He was terrified at the guilt he felt and petrified by the possibility his identity might be exposed.

Even now, he was only thinking one thing.

“H-help me!”

“Huh?”

“Please help me! Wh-what should I do?! I killed Lady Mary! I can’t stay here! Y-you said you accept Unlaw, right? There must be something I can do, like her over there—”

“No way in hell.”

“…Huh?”

Norman’s gaze was cold. He no longer appeared like an innocent, small animal. His gaze, instead, was distant, like he was looking from this world into the next.

“Wh-why not?! You said you accept Unlaw—”

“There’s no way I’d accept someone who kills people for rejecting them. If I accepted you, then what? Who wants to be killed over some petty disagreement. Even supposing I did take you in, you could just as easily kill someone else for the same reason down the line. You brought this on yourself.”

“Wh-what…? Why are you suddenly talking like a normal—?”

“Even if you changed alongside the others…”

Norman glanced at Shizuku, who stood beside him. They were separated by the distance of a fist; the slightest movement would bring them closer together.

Shizuku shifted over.

“Hmph.”

She leaned on him. To be close to him. To support him. To rely on him.

He couldn’t fathom the meaning of her smile.

“Even if you changed alongside the others, we live in a society. There’s no city just for Unlaw. The city walls surround more than just them.”

Bardium Walled City hid many monsters, and though Unlaw were different from the rest, they still lived with everyone else—lurking, transforming, deviating, and distorting. Even if they broke the rules of nature, they still had to abide by the laws and ethics of humanity. That much was obvious.

“Not understanding something so obvious makes you nothing more than a monster.”

Norman might have seemed like he was forcing his logic onto Alfred, but his tone wasn’t sanctimonious—it felt less like he was stating how things were and more like he was convincing himself how they ought to be.

“I’m not going to help a monster. You killed Mrs. Wallwood for selfish reasons. Being an Unlaw isn’t a crime, but murder is. Didn’t you ever learn that?”

“He probably killed the person who taught him to know better,” Shizuku chimed in.

“I can’t… I can’t… It’s too—!”

It was too late now. Alfred Curtis had killed Mary Wallwood because she didn’t accept him and because things didn’t go as he had expected.

“Urgh… Ungh…!” He grasped at his head, trembling and groaning.

But Norman and Shizuku heard a different sound from him.

Creak, creak.

The sound of a thread about to snap.

“Shizuku.”

“Right.”

She smiled when he called her name.

Alfred’s contorted face appeared in agony, and in contrast, Shizuku’s smile was radiant. Norman took her hand, and she stepped forward with a light step. She glanced at the violin case on her shoulder for a moment but looked quickly away. Her hood slipped off due to the motion, letting her silver hair to spill free, fine and soft, glimmering under the moonlight. Her hair had always been concealed by her hood, but now it spilled down to her waist.

Just then…

“Wraaagh!”

…the thread snapped.

The thread of reason. The thread of instinct. The thread of patience. Perhaps they all snapped at once.

Alfred Curtis’s right arm grew massive. His fist alone could crush someone’s chest with ease. Now three times its original size, his enlarged limb tore his clothes.

“Ha-ha!”

Shizuku laughed again at the sight. She’d been laughing the whole time. Alfred couldn’t understand why.

Shizuku raised her right hand and gestured at the monster with the giant arm.

“…Guh!”

Alfred instinctively covered his ears with both hands. Oddly clever was the way his right ear was covered only by a giant finger pad. Based on the way he had been summoned to the room, he concluded that Shizuku’s ability was related to sound.

“Hmph!”

But Shizuku didn’t care. Her left hand still holding Norman’s, she snapped her fingers elegantly, as if plucking a violin string.

Snap.

“Echo Howling.”

A vision played before Alfred Curtis’s eyes.

Dressed in her nightgown, Mary Wallwood was slumped against the front of her desk. She was terrified of him. She trembled, her expression rigid. There was fear in her eyes. Doubt, amazement, rejection—all those feelings were directed at him.

“Monster!” Mary screamed.

You’re different.

Then he crushed her. Her chest caved in as the sturdy desk gave way. Even in death, her expression remained frozen in terror and despair. It was a quick and trite death, the type he’d seen many times in the slums. And despite his struggle to escape them his whole life, he was now the cause of one of those deaths.

His world spun and turned upside down.

“Monster!” she screamed.

Rejection. Conflict. We can’t be together because you’re different.

“Monster!” she screamed.

Don’t come near me. Stay away from me. Leave me alone.

This was the woman he had held above all else, and now echoes of her were howling at him nonstop. The moment she rejected him and he killed her was replaying over and over again.

“Ah! Aaah! Aaaaah!”

Something within Albert Curtis cracked—his heart. Every time he was forced to revisit that moment, his heart creaked and groaned as the fissures in it grew and grew.

Echo Howling—an ability that manipulated the mind.

Visions of the past or future of whatever Shizuku had touched. Though she had some control over the visions, unintentional glimpses still occurred, forcing her to limit contact as much as possible. The current iteration was the best she could manage after fine-tuning and moderating it with Norman’s help.

The pasts people didn’t want to remember. The futures they didn’t want to imagine. Her ability touched those raw spots deep within the minds of others and amplified painful memories many times over. If it activated without contact, the ability slipped from her control and would continue to howl indefinitely. Her target would be forced to relive their trauma, triggering panic attacks that left them hyperventilating or even cause them to go into cardiac arrest from the shock.

Her parents had nearly died because of it—her neighbors, too. Even people in her neighborhood, whom she barely knew, had their emotional scars reopened.

She was still the same Shizuku, even as an Unlaw, and her mere presence was enough to others.

“Ah… Haaah… Lady…Mary…”

“Well well…you’re more stubborn than I thought. Or perhaps I should say shameless.”

Echo Howling: Vision was an ability that gave visions of the past or future of whatever Shizuku touched. Though she had some control over the visions, unintentional glimpses still occurred, forcing her to cover herself up to avoid touching things as much as possible. With Norman’s help, she had finally reached a point where she could exercise a modicum of control over the ability.

Echo Howling was infinitely worse. It was simply the reliving of trauma. The howling repeated practically infinite times when triggered without touch—though now she could at least choose who it would affect. Of course, practically infinite was a far cry from truly infinite. All memories eventually faded. These echoes, too, eventually came to an end.

Alfred was now a hollow shell of himself, just barely standing on his own two feet.

“I guess there’s that slum-kid toughness. What do we do? One more push, and he’s done for.”

“I can see that.”

Shizuku faintly raised her eyebrows at the sight of Alfred standing there like a zombie.

After a moment’s consideration…

“Norman?”

“Yeah? Wha—?”

…she yanked him by the hand and pressed her lips to his.

“Mmph…?! Hey—”

“Lick.”

When she didn’t hesitate to slip her tongue into his mouth, Norman was surprised but let her do as she wished.

“Huh?”

Alfred was already on the verge of total collapse and seeing them kiss only confused him.

He simply didn’t understand what was going on. But two things surprised him.

The first was Norman letting the kiss happen—though it seemed more out of resignation than enjoyment. Like an adult indulging a child’s whims with a weary smile, he accepted Shizuku’s eccentricities without complaint. He even had the composure to adjust his slipping hat and gently hold her by the waist.

The other surprise was…

As they kissed, Shizuku cast a sidelong glance at Alfred and smiled.

Her dark yellow eyes pierced Alfred, her cheeks flushed and curled up in a sneer.

Yet another fissure opened in him with a crack.

Shizuku noticed, her smile growing even wider.

“…”

She was rubbing it in his face.

You and I are the same kind of monster, but no one accepted you.

You were rejected.

But I have someone who accepts me. Someone who won’t reject me.

You and I, we’re not the same. We’re similar but different.

You’re unloved. I’m not.

She was flaunting it, and nothing more. That was why she had been smiling all along. She had something he didn’t, and that gave her a sense of superiority.

Of course, there was also a part of her that simply wanted to kiss Norman.

“…”

It echoed throughout Alfred’s mind.

A single teardrop fell. The fissure in his heart opened wider and wider until he couldn’t bear it any longer.

“…How?”

As his heart crumbled to pieces, he posed a question—Shizuku and Alfred were different, but why?

“Ha-ha.”

Breaking the kiss, Shizuku kept her forehead pressed to Norman’s. A slender, transparent bridge of saliva still connected her and Norman’s lips. Slightly out of breath, she answered Alfred.

“Elementary, my dear freak.”

Shizuku Teardrop, wielder of Echo Howling, cast him a dismissive sidelong glance, like he was an afterthought—and at the same time, chose to make it a dramatic pronouncement.

“I haven’t the faintest clue.”

“…”

With that, Alfred Curtis’s mind shattered, and he lost consciousness. All that remained was a cold, bleak void.

“‘Elementary, my dear…’? Hey, you have read that novel. I don’t think that last part is in the line, though,” Norman said.

“I’m a woman of mystery.”

Norman sighed while Shizuku grinned and shrugged.

“What a disappointment.”

He wasn’t actually disappointed, though.

“I hear Mrs. Wallwood was pregnant.”

The day after they solved the murder at the Wallwood estate, Norman was at Shizuku’s home, a cramped studio apartment. She had one room that served as her bedroom, living room, and basic kitchen, plus a combination toilet and shower. The kitchen didn’t look like it saw much use. In the bedroom, there was a dresser, a closet, a bed, a desk, and a sofa that was a little big for Shizuku.

It was the perfect size for Norman, though.

He was seated with Shizuku perched on his lap. She was dressed differently than usual—a sleeveless blouse and shorts, no gloves either, and her long, beautiful silver hair was loose. Seated on his lap, she was writing notes on a sheet of music. Relaxed, she leaned against him, tilting her chin back to glance at his face.

“Pregnant?”

“Yes. Remember the doctor at the mansion? That’s apparently why he was there.”

“Huh. So the father was—”

“Alfred, of course.”

“Well, well. Seems a little hackneyed, huh?” Shizuku teased. She grinned. “I guess that’s how life is sometimes.”

The truth behind the locked room incident had been simple, and so was everything leading up to it. Mary Wallwood was pregnant. Given their intimate relationship, she likely told Alfred something along the lines of, We’re getting married, so no more secrets. It was impossible to know whether she had noticed Alfred’s odd behavior of late, but if they were that close, she might have sensed something.

After revealing his true identity, she rejected him, and he killed her.

“That about sums up the Wallwood scandal.”

“Think I could make some extra money by leaking it to the papers?” Shizuku asked.

“No way. Plus, my sister’s probably got it all under control by now.”

“Too bad.”

Not seeming particularly disappointed, Shizuku dropped her gaze to the sheet music. Cases involving Unlaw were kept secret from the public. There were more than a few Unlaw hiding within Bardium’s walls, but only a handful knew they existed since the truth—that monsters lived among them—wouldn’t be particularly convenient.

Inconvenient for whom? Norman wasn’t sure—Cartesius perhaps. Maybe the city’s most powerful and influential. Or even the country itself. Since the organization couldn’t exist publicly, Norman was officially unemployed. In his role as an agent, he was officially referred to by police as a detective, but he wasn’t actually one. He was provided enough money to live comfortably, but it was awkward not to have a concretely defined role in society.

“There are two silver linings to this case.”

“Oh? What might those be?”

“For one, we were only up against Category One, so I didn’t have to waste any bullets,” Shizuku said.

Norman followed her gaze as Shizuku looked at the top of her dresser from his embrace. The open violin case on top of it held a disassembled sniper rifle. It was a weapon specially made by Cartesius for use against Unlaw. It wasn’t just a weapon; it could channel abilities through its loud gunshots.

It hadn’t been necessary today.

“Well, good. We adjusted its recoil, but it still has a toll on your body.”

“And we have to report the number of rounds fired and the reason for firing them every time.”

“I’m always the one writing the report. What’s the other silver lining?”

“I’ve learned more about your lingerie preferences, Norman.”

“…”

“…All right. It’s complete.”

With a soft thud, Shizuku rose. She picked up the violin that lay on the bed.

“Now then, Norman…will you listen to me play?”

“Of course. What’s the title of the piece?”

“Let’s see…” She pondered for a moment. “How about ‘Special’?”

She smiled. It wasn’t her usual grin but a soft, girlish smile.

Even if she was a flower that only grew in the dark, she was still a flower.

A selfish flower that blossomed only for those who wished to see it.

Shizuku began to play.

Anyone who knew the usual Shizuku would be surprised that a girl who looked at the world with such apathetic eyes, who smiled with cynical quietness, could produce such a sound. Just listening to it soothed the soul and calmed the heart. The melody made Norman feel like he was basking in warm sunlight in a meadow beneath a blue sky—a melody that embraced all equally. A warmth that shined into the darkness where no light should reach.

It was the melody Shizuku Teardrop heard within the heart of Norman Hamish.

Norman accepted the monster she was, but Shizuku, too, wanted to remain in his heart—since he was able to stand beside her, undaunted and unbroken by her ability. From the very first time they met, he’d smiled and reached out his hand to her, unafraid of Echo Howling.

That became her salvation.

Of course, it bothered Shizuku that he wasn’t only hers, but it was pointless to say so.

Still playing the violin, she lowered her eyes slightly and scanned the room. Her small room. Shizuku’s own small world, with its windows shut tight in rejection of the outside world. All over that world, there were hundreds of music sheets spread out. They were all pieces she’d taught herself to write, and playing them for Norman was her life’s work.

Until now, the individual pieces had stood alone, but “Special” tied them all together.

Norman probably didn’t know that the melody she played now and the sheets of music scattered around the room were all words spoken by him she had turned into music. It wasn’t that she had perfect pitch or could transform language directly into notes—she simply poured out her trembling heart into the scores. Norman had no way of knowing that.

The reason they were scattered all over the room was simple, too. If Echo Howling were accidentally activated, she would only have visions of Norman since they were all memories with him. And she could never tire of those. On days when she didn’t work with Norman, she holed up inside her room, either watching visions of him or composing music based on those visions.

She never saw the need to formally study music, though her titles were a bit rudimentary, so she considered brushing up on that, at least. Academic knowledge was the product of others’ efforts, something Shizuku didn’t want to be influenced by. She only cared about the feelings Norman stirred in her.

Her ability made casual outings impossible. Without Norman accompanying her on Cartesius work, she couldn’t even venture outside, and it had taken her quite some time to be able to shop for daily necessities and food by herself. Before, she was trapped in this dark hole because she had no other choice.

Her bud stayed closed because there was only one person she wanted to see it.

In her room, wrapped in his heart, she played the song he had given her.

Shizuku Teardrop was a monster, but Norman Hamish treated her like a person. That was why she liked him. Why she loved him.

“Whew. That’s all. What do you think?”

“That was lovely. Just listening to it made my heart tremble.”

She smiled and cuddled up to him. The fluttering ends of her hair gleamed blue, a sign of her excitement. She brought her lips to Norman’s. The girl who rejected the rest of the world and only smiled cynically now poured all her feelings into a smile—like a flower blooming in the sun.

“Yes, this music warms my heart.”

The moment their lips met, Shizuku saw a vision.

The distant lights of the city spread out under the night sky. It wasn’t a clear image, with distortions running through it here and there.

She knew right away—it was a vision of the future. Future visions always came unexpectedly, and the quality was generally poor. They were nothing but a nuisance for Shizuku since she had no idea when they would occur or to whose future she was seeing.

But she saw it regardless: the figure of Norman Hamish falling into impenetrable darkness, like he had plunged into the basin of a waterfall.

And she saw one more thing: at the bottom of that all-consuming darkness stood Shizuku Teardrop, staring up at him alone, unable to do anything.

Interval One

“I don’t know how to say this, but with that one—Teardrop—something’s always bothered me about her.”

Jim placed his hand on his chin and cocked his head as the conversation reached a pause.

“She’s so introverted, yet oddly aggressive. You don’t normally kiss to lord it over someone.”

“Exciting, right? Made my heart pound.”

“You’re so… Anyway, I didn’t ask to hear about your pillow talk at the end there.”

“The song was really good. It convinced me that feelings of the heart aren’t just a cliché.”

Norman nodded and shot Jim an unsettling grin, making him recoil slightly.

“Good grief… I’m saddened by Mary’s death, too. She had great taste in clothes.”

“…You knew each other?”

“She was famous in high society. We used to talk fashion.”

Jim shook his head as he looked over the documents in front of him, speaking with disgust. “The culprit—her young lover—was sooo sloppy. Killing his mistress and staying in the mansion without trying to run or hide? He could have done a better job of it.”

“It was that he couldn’t do a better job, I think.”

“True. As far as Unlaw go, he was a small fry—just Category One,” Jim said.

“I don’t really need an explanation.”

“But you’ve put me in the mood to explain.”

It was Norman’s turn to direct a flat stare at Jim. Relishing that stare, Jim went on.

“Unlaw have disparities in strength. After awakening as an Unlaw, their Category is assigned depending on that strength.”

Jim raised his index finger.

“Do you remember my specialty, Norman?”

“What was it again, Types of Unlaw?”

“Categories! I’d like you to remember that,” Jim grumbled but quickly recovered his good humor. “I have no interest in Category Ones. They’re not even full monsters yet. Onto the next one.”

He flipped to the next file. There were photos of Eltiel, a city alleyway and one more thing:

Corpses.

Five murder victims scattered on the roadside.

“Category Two is a bit more interesting.”

“We’ll have to disagree there.”

“I rarely agree with you on anything.”

Jim smiled wryly.

“At Category Two, their abilities stabilize to a degree. The difference from Category One is they give their ability a name, explaining what kind of being they are and what their ability can do.”

For example, in Shizuku Teardrop’s case…

Type of being: A flower that sheds tears and creates ripples in others’ minds.

Ability: Resonate with people’s hearts and cause countless echoes.

Hence, Tear Blossom, Echo Howling.

“They’re close to the superpowers or magic everyone imagines. I digress, but the names of their abilities, like Hellhound and Tear Blossom, are also used as code names. With its full name, Tear Blossom, Echo Howling, the meaning becomes multifaceted and provides more stability.”

“There’s also Jewel and Fairy.”

“Let’s not get lost in the details.”

“They’re important.”

“Fine! Next, tell me about Siriusflame!”

He pulled out the picture of Eltiel from the documents and held it in front of Norman.

“The Helkart Street serial slasher case. The victims had nothing in common except that they were all terribly mutilated. Now! Let me hear it! You were the one in charge of Hellhound. What did you think of this case?”

“Let’s see…”

Norman stared vacantly up at the ceiling.

“This case can be summed up in a word: justice.”

Eltiel Siriusflame.

She had red eyes and long, thick golden hair and was always wrapped in a patchwork trench coat, rain or shine. Her nearly six-and-a-half-foot-tall physique was attractive and seemed like it would be soft no matter where you touched it. How many times had Norman Hamish’s gaze been drawn to her?

“Good morning, Lord Norman,” she said.

He opened his eyes and turned to find her face a short distance away.

“…Morning, El.”

She was kneeling on the floor beside Norman’s bed.

“…How long have you been there?”

“Not sure.”

Eltiel softly tilted her head. She seemed as harmless and gentle as a pet dog.

“I see. Did…the owner let you in?”

“Yes, he did!”

Norman lived above a billiards bar. The owner had looked out for him when he first came to Bardium, and that was how he ended up with a place to stay.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Good morning again.”

“Yes, good morning!”

Norman left the bedroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and headed to the living room, then…

“I prepared you breakfast. I also cleaned the living room and kitchen, hung the laundry out to dry, and replaced the bar of soap in the shower with a new one because it was getting small.”

…was met with a barrage of hospitality.

Norman’s lodgings were divided into a fairly spacious kitchen, living room, and bedroom. Up the stairs and through a door was the living room, and beyond that was the kitchen. A short hallway from the living room led to a separate shower room and toilet, and two bedrooms at the end sandwiched a storage closet. The place itself was spacious, relatively new, and in a good location.

It was originally intended for two roommates to share, but the owner was kind enough to let Norman have it at a good price. He had been a military man before coming to Bardium, so his survival skills were excellent but not much use in a city—his once strict, orderly life was a thing of the past. He wasn’t particularly sloppy or prone to leaving things a mess, but that didn’t mean he was particularly domestic, either. Seeing Norman now, only a fellow soldier or a real detective would be able to peg him as ex-military.

“Hee-hee.”

Of course, Eltiel had handled all the domestic chores while he was asleep.

“Thanks as always.”

“My pleasure! El’s doing it because she wants to!”

He had become accustomed to this routine whenever she visited his place. He sat at the kitchen table and ham, eggs, salad, and scones were placed before him in short order. A bite of the scone revealed a crunchy texture and faint sweetness.

“Mmm. It’s delicious.”

“I’m so glad. I’ll get the tea ready.”

She poured in an elegant manner, and he took a sip, enjoying the aroma as they wafted to his nose. It was amazing how there could be such a difference compared to the tea he made when they both used the same tools and tea leaves.

There was a delicious breakfast in front of him, too, and an elegant beauty who looked like a refined maid next to him.

“It’s a good morning…”

“Hee-hee. I’m very happy to hear that, Lord Norman.”

He wished every morning could start like this, but that wouldn’t be ideal because her showing up at his place in the morning always meant work. A file had been placed on the desk, and he waited for Eltiel to sit before opening it.

“Wow, this is something.”

Photos of five separate corpses. The first four had large lacerations, but the fifth was torn to shreds as if it had been consumed with wild abandon. Hardly something to serve up with a leisurely breakfast, but Norman wasn’t sensitive enough to be bothered by it.

“The incident happened on Helkart Street.”

“Oh…there, huh?”

“Yes. Is something the matter?”

“Hmm… No, nothing. That’s on the south side. What’s the official story?”

“Four cases were reported as street slashings, but the causes of death haven’t been made public, and it’s barely been mentioned in the newspaper.”

“Makes sense. My sister’s handiwork, no doubt.”

Information control was his sister’s—and superior’s—job. Norman casually flipped through and scanned the incident report beneath the photos.

“Hmm. I can see why the fifth wasn’t made public.” He took a bite of the second scone and said, “Oooh, chocolate.”

“Yes! Do you like it?”

“It’s delicious. You’ll make a great wife one day.”

“You flatter me…!”

Eltiel clapped her hands to her reddened cheeks, shrinking bashfully into herself as her large frame swayed slightly. She had the air of a large, friendly dog. Her breasts also swayed, and Norman gave thanks for that in his mind—not letting it show on his face, of course.

“Mangled corpses and street slayings. Quite the disturbing case.”

“Yes. That’s why I’ll be accompanying you!”

Eltiel Siriusflame. The modest dress she wore and the trench coat hanging by the front door, despite the absence of rain, were her attempts to blend into human society. She wasn’t trying to integrate. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to—her unique appearance was proof of what made her different from everyone else.

“Great, I’ll need your help.”

“Of course!”

Norman nodded lightly, and Eltiel smiled sweetly like a pet dog playing with its owner—or like a naive girl being deceived by a wicked man’s lies.

Bardium, the city where no wind blew, was encircled by walls.

Beyond the city to the north was a large lake, and a river flowing from it cut through the city from north to south. In the city’s heart stood the municipal buildings—government offices, post offices, banks, and police stations—along with large stores, theaters, museums, and libraries. To the north, there was an affluent neighborhood for the rich, primarily the nobility. The east and south were middle-class residential areas, while the poor lived in the south.

It was only a rough division—many shops and people, the wealthy and the poor, the buyers and the sellers, mingled in the city. Norman’s lodgings were located on the west side, close to the city’s center.

“This must be the crime scene.”

Norman and Eltiel had arrived at Helkart Street. They were standing at an intersection and it would have been an ordinary, unremarkable street if not for the police blockade and a lack of foot traffic. Lined with evenly spaced rows of two-story buildings and streetlights, it was utterly forgettable.

“A street slasher on Helkart Street, of all places.”

“Come to think of it, you seemed bothered by that earlier. Is there something about this place?” Eltiel asked.

“…You mean you don’t know?”

“No.”

“Well, there were rumors about this place a while back. Strange growling in the night, sightings of shadowy, bizarre creatures. And then there were the victims…”

Norman shrugged his shoulders and continued. “They say there’s a monster on Helkart Street.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“…Well, it has nothing to do with the case. Don’t worry about it.”

With his free hand, he pulled a file from his coat pocket and slid out a single photograph. It was of the fifth corpse, the one that had been ripped to shreds.

“Not a trace left at the crime scene… My sister’s doing maybe. El?”

At his call, she sniffed the air a few times.

“…Yes. There’s a lingering scent of disinfectant, about three days old.”

“They were thorough, huh? That’s my sister for you. Never mind, then.”

Norman lightly brushed his fingers over the cobblestones where the body had been found, mentally rifling through the case details.

“Victims one through four had wounds of varying sizes, like they’d been attacked by some kind of animal. People speculated it must have been wild dogs, but…”

He looked at the photo. A corpse, ripped to shreds. It looked like it had been savagely devoured.

“It’s like the body was torn apart with incredible power. No normal animal or human could do that. That’s probably fueling the rumors of monsters in this area, but in reality…”

“We’re dealing with an Unlaw.”

“That’s right.”

That was how Norman and Eltiel had ended up on the case. Of course, it was still a possibility that the first four had, in fact, been attacked by wild dogs, but the fifth corpse being the only one ripped to shreds was quite bizarre.

“What sort of ability do you think we’re dealing with?”

“It could be a physical power boost, or they could be able to create knives, or it could be some kind of slashing attack. But if these were all done by the same culprit, we can definitely make some guesses.”

“I see. And what guesses would those be?”

“Partway through the crime, they became a Category Two.”

The first victim might have been an accident, but by the fourth, their ability would have stabilized. They must have evolved. With training and practice, the breadth of an Unlaw’s ability could be expanded. However, for that to happen, the basic structure of the ability needed to be defined and stabilized—for instance, by giving it a name.

According to Unlaw researchers, naming the ability and keeping that name in mind would stabilize it. Norman had witnessed its effectiveness first hand. The essence was taking something that existed outside the bounds of the world and redefining it.

In other words, if you don’t understand something, give it a name. The unknown is frightening, but once you understand it, it isn’t so bad. That was true for Norman and likely for the culprit as well. Those who stabilized their abilities were classified as Category Two by Cartesius.

“There were five attacks over a period of three weeks. A week elapsed between the first and third attack, but after that, it was every four days for three weeks. It’s easy to see the intervals are getting shorter.”

“They’ve gotten used to their ability.”

“Or maybe they’re enjoying it now. Or they’ve lost self-control.”

“…I see.”

Eltiel tilted her head, looking distressed. Had it triggered a memory? Norman wasn’t about to find out.

“Um…that’s assuming there’s one culprit. What if there’s more?”

“If Unlaw aren’t involved, it’s the police’s problem. But the fifth victim is definitely our wheelhouse,” Norman replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“The fifth attack was the day before yesterday, so the next one might be as soon as tonight.”

“We want to catch them red-handed.”

“That would be our most efficient option. I’m counting on you, El.”

“Yes! Leave it to me!”

“You got it.”

While Norman could defend himself, he was usually outmatched when the opponent was an Unlaw. But when it came to bodyguards, Eltiel Siriusflame was the most reliable one around.

“…By the way, Lord Norman?”

“Yeah?”

“I heard the case came to light sooner than expected. Does that mean the police reached the same conclusion?”

“Ah…no, I don’t think so. Didn’t my sister tell you anything?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“So she skipped the explanation… Well, whatever.”

He thought back to the five victims.

“Victims one through three were homeless. The fourth was a male laborer.”

Everything made sense up until that point, though it seemed strange to put it that way. The trouble was with the next victim.

“The fifth victim was apparently a noble and quite the distinguished antique collector who dealt with other nobles and had many clients.”

“…I see.”

“There was probably pressure from the higher-ups. It’s hard to ignore the wishes of the elites in this city.”

“It’s almost like they’re saying they don’t care about the homeless.”

“They don’t. Nobles and homeless aside, like I said before, Helkart Street already has a reputation for monsters. If real mutilated bodies start showing up, people won’t be able to sleep at night.”

“…Right. But why would a noble come here at night?” asked Eltiel. “It’s far from the more affluent neighborhoods in the north, and there’s nothing really of interest around here.”

“That wasn’t in the report. Either they don’t know…or they’re covering it up.” Norman shrugged again, then glanced around the unremarkable intersection…besides the fact that five people had died there.

“Let’s come back tonight. The culprit has to know the police are already on the move.”

“Does that mean…they’re going to stop?”

“No. They used the street slashings to stabilize their ability. They’ll definitely strike again.”

The only question was when and where.

“Hmm… Right, let’s get out of here.”

“Where to next?”

“Since the victims were originally homeless and laborers, let’s try talking to some of them. We should be able to find some homeless people if we search the alleyways that haven’t been cordoned off.”

“I see. Questioning witnesses. That’s a basic of investigation!”

“That it is. Well, I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but let’s give it a try.”

“Hmm… That might’ve been more than I bargained for…,” Norman muttered with a sigh at the Downey Street restaurant.

They could tell it was already dark outside from their semi-secluded spot in the back of the restaurant. Norman had ordered chicken shawarma and tea.

“Cheer up, Lord Norman!”

Eltiel got double portions of chicken, beef, and mutton kebabs—not sliced like the restaurant usually served but in whole chunks. She also had a hearty side of fries of the crescent-shaped wedge cut variety. There was no salt or sauce on the meat, and the beef was nearly raw, just how she liked it.

She had a big appetite.

“Lord Norman, Lord Norman.”

“Hmm?”

“Say ‘ahhh.’”

“Ahhh.”

He ate the piece of meat she offered him without complaint. It was a little bland, but it wasn’t the seasoning that mattered. It was that she was the one feeding him.

“…All right. Let’s go over things one by one,” Norman said. “Oh, you can keep eating.”

“I will, thank you!”

Eltiel carefully cut the meat with a knife and fork and brought it to her lips.

Norman glanced at the double portion of shawarma sitting before him.

“When we decided to start by talking to the homeless in the area, my hopes weren’t very high, but…”

“We learned something astonishing right away.”

“Exactly. I didn’t expect to find an unlicensed brothel.” He sighed in disbelief and took a sip of his tea. “Apparently, the police didn’t even know it was there. Looks like our distinguished noble made sure it stayed hidden.”

“…Inconvenient truths about nobles have a way of getting buried.”

“Yes, they do. In this case, they knew full well what they were doing was wrong and hid it. This was the kind of brothel where anything goes, even children, regardless of gender. There are legal establishments in the city, but those weren’t enough for them.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Right? The important thing here is that our noble victim was a regular.”

“The homeless are keen observers.”

“People shoot them dirty looks, but they’re otherwise ignored. They’re treated like they don’t exist, which makes them perfect intel-gatherers.”

They’d already uncovered the reason why a noble was frequenting Helkart Street.

“Next, we stopped by the workplace of the fourth victim, the laborer, to ask some questions.”

That was when things had taken a turn.

“He’d been forcing his own sister to work in a brothel.”

The laborer always had money for his debts despite being a compulsive gambler on a losing streak. His sister had been paying with her body.

“Once again, the police were in the dark.”

“It’s less that the police weren’t doing their job and more…”

“This was covered up, too. Probably because it would’ve caused trouble for some big shot. Maybe someone on the police force was a client. This means his sister was likely forced to work in the same illegal brothel on Helkart Street. Otherwise, it would’ve been in the report.”

“So the fourth and fifth victims were connected, after all.”

“Exactly.”

And what was more…

“We contacted a certain righteous detective and took him to investigate the illegal brothel.”

…Detective Harrison’s anger when he learned of the brothel cover up had been thunderous. Though he worked with Cartesius, he was still a man of principle. That was what Norman liked about him.

“And sure enough, the victim’s sister was working there.”

A young girl forced into prostitution by her own brother. It was obvious at a glance how much she’d suffered. Her body was swathed in bandages, and the skin that was exposed was covered in old scars. And it wasn’t just her—the other prostitutes were no better off. Children, some missing limbs, around ten of them, boys and girls alike, all with dead eyes.

The young girl had assumed the role of their leader. What had stayed with Norman was the way she glared at him, ready to protect the other children.

“That’s just heartbreaking.”

“It is, but there’s nothing we can do about it. What matters is that our esteemed noble was her regular customer. It’s a real problem when powerful men harm women for sport.”

“That makes the connection even stronger.”

“Correct. If the first three homeless were just trial runs, then the sister is likely our Unlaw. She killed the brother who sold her to fund his gambling and her client. It’s a simple motive.”

Simplicity was good—grudges were as straightforward as motives got, but they were powerful. She hated them, so she killed them. That was all there was to it. It would be difficult for most people to cross the line from hate to killing, but it was all too simple for an Unlaw. All she had to do was give her hatred a way to take form.

“But if our culprit is the sister, there’s one thing that doesn’t add up,” Norman continued.

“What’s that?”

“If she killed both the client she hated and the brother who sold her…why stay at the brothel?”

“…Oh.”

“Once she killed her brother, there was nothing keeping her there.”

She had no obligation to keep working at the brothel once her brother was dead. And why go out of her way to kill him on Helkart Street when the brothel was just a stone’s throw away to the south?

“Maybe she needs…money?”

“No. Robbery would be a piece of cake for an Unlaw. Though whether that’s a sustainable practice is another matter entirely.”

“Gosh. I really don’t get it,” Eltiel said.

There were multiple children in the brothel who had been bought by the noble, but the sister was the only one with a direct motive, which left her as the only possible culprit. Her capabilities as an Unlaw made killing quite easy.

Only one question remained: Why was she still at the brothel?

“Personally, I don’t really care why.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s simpler if she’s the culprit. It’ll make it easier for me to write my report.”

Norman’s job was to handle Unlaw cases, and part of his responsibilities included writing reports after the fact. His sister, Sufiya Hamish, served as chief of Cartesius’s Bardium branch, acting as a liaison for the government and nobles, while also being in charge of information control and other administrative work. The scientist, Jim Adamworth, researched Unlaw abilities.

There was another person in charge of intel gathering, but they weren’t exactly the biggest fan of Unlaw. Since Sufiya and Jim didn’t get along well with Eltiel and the others, either, they were rarely brought up.

Norman sipped his tea and opened the file to review it one more time.

“Oh.”

“Hmm?”

Eltiel turned her head toward the doorway, prompting Norman to follow her gaze. A child had come into the restaurant, dressed in shabby and ragged clothes, their gender indiscernible. The child made a beeline straight for the back where the two of them sat and stood there without saying a word.

This was a homeless child.

“Nice work,” Norman said.

He offered the child the two untouched rolls of shawarma from his plate. Taking them, the child pulled a note that had been folded in quarters from their tattered pocket and left without a word. They had been in the restaurant for under a minute.

“I asked them to look into the first three homeless victims before we went to the brothel.”

The note was a torn scrap of paper, covered in surprisingly neat handwriting.

“I’m impressed they got so much in so little time… Where they slept, what they ate, the supply routes they used… Yikes, even how frequently they were with women—”

Norman paused for a moment as he scanned the note.

“Lord Norman?”

His pale blue eyes narrowed, the gears turning in his mind.

All the information they’d gathered so far, plus the note he’d just received about the living conditions of the homeless. A girl sold to a brothel by her brother and mutilated by a noble. An illegal, members-only brothel, and the women and children there enduring horrendous conditions. The three homeless victims. Helkart Street. Why the sister hadn’t left the brothel.

All the scattered dots were difficult to connect. Norman had no proof, and he was stacking up maybes to create a semblance of a theory.

Norman had fallen silent, but Eltiel watched him without saying a word. Though she had resumed eating with her elegant manners, she wasn’t being lazy or indifferent.

She was like a loyal dog awaiting her master’s command. If called, if ordered, she would leap into action, maintaining a balance of wire-thin tension and unshakable calm.

“…El, I think we might have to split up after this.”

“What…?” Her shock and disappointment were palpable. “But…what’s my motivation, then…?”

“Sorry. I think it’s probably best if I go back to the street alone.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I’m going to put on a little show. Of course, I’ll need your help for the finale. Can I count on you?”

“…Come now, how could I refuse?” She smiled happily.

Norman had asked knowing full well she would never turn him down.

“Your deductions really are impressive, Lord Norman. You’re an ace detective.”

“In name only. Are you my assistant, then?”

“No, I’d rather be your pet.”

“…If that’s what you want, fine by me.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Norman.” El placed a hand on her chest like a servant swearing allegiance to her master and smiled. “No matter who your enemies are, I’ll follow you to the depths of hell.”

It was a moving statement, but his heart ached thinking about what would come next.

…Well, just a tad.

The boy walked through the city on a chilly night.

At the crossroads of Helkart, he paced on light feet back and forth several times like he was surveying the area. Evenly spaced streetlights illuminated his path dimly, but the street itself was still largely pitch-black, barely visible under scattered moonlight.

He seemed almost lighthearted. He was luring something out, but he was also vulnerable enough to be killed without much trouble at all.

It was the suspicious, gray-haired boy who’d shown up at the illegal brothel. He’d brought in tow a detective and a giant woman, who looked to be the detective’s servant. The boy had carelessly rifled through the brothel for clues and left.

The culprit didn’t know the details.

But they decided to kill him.

They followed the boy. Only ten meters separated them. Silently, the culprit crept closer, fingers relaxed and knees bent.

Ten meters—a distance that would normally take several seconds to close, even at a sprint. But the culprit wasn’t normal. Since stabilizing, the Unlaw’s physical abilities had grown exponentially. A mix of bloodlust and hatred for those who had already killed surged in their chest.

And that gave their power form.

They only needed an instant to close the gap now. One instant before their weapon sank into flesh, and that would be the end.

They closed the distance between them in a step, raised their weapon, and let it hurtle at the boy’s defenseless back.

“Whoa, close one.”

“…?!”

The boy spun around, evading at the last minute.

Norman watched as the girl skidded to a stop, scraping across the cobblestone. She wore a cheap, plain dress with shabby rags over it. Her body was wrapped in bandages and covered in scars. She had roughly cut pale blond hair and claws, about three centimeters long, soaked in blood.

This was the culprit.

“…How?” Jacqueline Harley, the sister of the murdered laborer, asked.

“Your bloodlust gave you away.”

More importantly…

“Let’s talk about you, Jacqueline Harley.”

“…!”

The scarred girl’s face twisted, and she tensed her fingers and claws.

“I’d say that brothel’s going under, just like you wanted.”

“…”

The tension in her body eased slightly. Norman realized his hypothesis hadn’t been far off.

“The detective I brought with me on my visit is pretty high up in the police force and believes in doing what’s right. He’d never forgive himself for overlooking a place like that. That’s why you started attacking people, right?”

“…I’m surprised. I wondered who you were, but you’re a detective?”

“Some call me that, but that isn’t completely accurate.”

“…What are you going to do with me?”

“That depends on your next move.”

Ideally, Norman wanted things to end peacefully. Of course, that would mean he’d have to make it up to Eltiel afterward.

“My job is to capture Unlaw like you, so I’d like you to surrender without a fight.”

“Uhn…Lahw? I see. I knew there were others like me.”

In the moonlit street, Jacqueline crouched low, almost on all fours, eyes narrowed. Her right eye had a conspicuous vertical scar—something she’d carefully hidden with makeup when they met at the brothel.

“You’d be classified as a Category Two Deviation Type.”

“…? Type? Category? There are different stages and types?”

“Cartesius—the organization I’m a part of—designates them.”

It wasn’t that complicated, though. Internal abilities of Unlaw often provided an increase in basic physical skills—like monstrous strength, enough durability to shrug off handgun bullets, enough stamina to run for hours at a time, the ability to heal most wounds overnight.

Their physical prowess already outclassed top athletes, and that was before factoring in other abilities, like manipulating body temperature, extreme flexibility, the power to discharge electricity, or even further specialized physical traits, like growing claw-like fingernails.

It was like every human potential taken to the extreme.

“The abilities themselves aren’t the frightening part, though. Let’s put it this way… When you have such a tremendous excess of physical ability, it’s easy for that excess to affect you mentally, whether it’s feelings of omnipotence, grandiosity, or simply performing on a superior level compared to other humans.”

Their bodies and minds far surpassed most human limits.

“Simply put, you go a little crazy. You can’t help but act on your urges. You abandon human norms, like self-restraint and morals.”

“Ha. So that’s what makes an Unlaw? Ironic. Props to whoever coined that.”

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You understand, don’t you, Detective? You know so much about people like me. There’s no way I can stop. The five I killed were irredeemable scum.”

“Does that justify their murders?”

“If I don’t kill them—”

The wounded girl smiled.

She wanted to. She ought to. She had to. Once she started thinking that way, she couldn’t stop.

“Are you the same as me, Detective?”

“Hmm, what do you think?”

“I think you’re obviously an enemy of women. You already get it, don’t you?” she said, smiling as her claws reflected the faint moonlight.

“Well, I’ve thought about your motive and some other things. Want to hear about the different Types?”

“I’ll pass.”

Jacqueline rose, swaying.

Norman sighed.

“Hee-hee,” Jacqueline giggled.

Then she was ready to kill again.

“Canonical Five!”

Five claws flashed. Norman narrowed his eyes at the name.

“That’s your ability name, huh?”

It was a formal title—proof that her ability had evolved into a deadly weapon that could easily tear others apart, dispensing what she considered justice. It took abnormal physical ability to wield it.

Jacqueline the Ripper, who killed men without a word.

She closed the distance in a flash. Moments before his death, Norman simply whistled.

Fweet!

The master had summoned his dog, and Eltiel Siriusflame came rushing in.

She was a massive hound, the patchwork trench coat draped over her body like a mantle, the red belt of the coat around her neck like a collar. She was over three meters long, with spiky black fur that blended into the darkness, claws as sharp as a cleaver, and saw-like fangs lining her jaws. Only her eyes remained human, shining even more brilliantly.

“Wha—?!”

Jacqueline was stunned.

Claws poised to strike, the black hound leaped in front of Norman, landing on the cobblestones.

“Guh?!”

She rammed into Jacqueline and sent her flying. The impact was staggering—a normal person would have died on the spot, every bone in their body shattered.

“Cough…cough… What was that…?!”

She stared as blood dripped from her mouth, her vision blurring.

A gigantic black hound stood in front of Norman.

“So you’re the Helkart Ripper…”

Unfazed, the man stroked the black hound’s back with a smile. It whined in pleasure.

“El’s the Hound of Helkart.”

Eltiel Siriusflame—the Black Hellhound.

“Th-that’s the woman from before…! That’s why you brought her along…!”

“Yep, she’s my bodyguard. Oh, I’d stay down if I were you. You look tough, but you’re not on El’s level.”

Besides…

“She’s a Category Three.”

Category Three Unlaw had stabilized powers that were quite adaptable. Cartesius ranked them the highest Category.

“…You’re okay with this?!”

“…?”

Her wounded face contorted as she screamed. Her scarred body shook. A body that had been violated by men’s basest desires—sold by her own brother and mutilated by customers.

“You’re just his lapdog, letting him use you as he pleases!” the girl screamed. “I know what kind of man he is! I’ve seen plenty of clients just like him. They were scum who thought of women as disposable tools! He’ll cast you aside the second something goes wrong. He’s an enemy to women everywhere!”

“Enough with the women this and women that.”

The Hound spoke. She lacked human vocal chords, so that should’ve been impossible for her, but Unlaw defied reason. She could speak, so she spoke.

“You’re generalizing. The world doesn’t revolve around you. You and I are different.”

“How?”

“Elementary, my dear Ripper.”

You may hate men, but I love this man.

You were betrayed by men, but this man saved me.

If you send all men to hell, then I’ll fall into hell with him.

It’s as simple as that.

“You chose the wrong master to wag your tail for. If you were going to be a pet, you should’ve chosen a master who loved you.

“If it’s from Lord Norman,” she added with a growl, “I welcome any wounds or pain.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that. Hurting girls isn’t my thing.”

“As expected of my Lord Norman. So kind…!”

“Quit messing around!”

The Ripper flew into a rage.

Jacqueline Harley never had a choice to begin with.

She crouched low like a beast, claws lengthening. Blood streamed from her fingertips, but she didn’t care. Emotions were fuel for Unlaw.

But she would never have the chance to use it.

“El.”

“Woof?”

“Get her.”

“Woof!”

The hound barked, overjoyed at the simple command. She charged at the Ripper, shattering the cobblestones. Jacqueline saw it all.

A pitch-black night. A single hound racing through the darkness.

Night, blackness, and shadow.

And within it all, those blazing eyes.

The Black Hellhound glistened in the midst of hell.

With a roar, she sent the Ripper flying. The woman’s body flew into the air, but it didn’t end there.

“Grrr—”

The Hellhound drew a sharp breath. What came out was no mere sound. Unlike Jacqueline’s claws, a single-use power, this was the result of Eltiel’s unnatural lung capacity and her canine transformation.

Roooaaar!

The Hellhound’s cry, an ability known as Black Demon Hound: Roar, echoed across the night sky. A directed blast of air slammed into the Ripper, devastating her.

Their evening walk was over.

“Woof!”

Tilting her massive head, the hound looked at Jacqueline, who lay bleeding.

“Aaah… Guh…”

Convulsing, Jacqueline looked upward through blurry vision at the hound standing in the night.

“Good work, El.”

Slowly, her master approached and stood beside her, gently stroking her black fur.

“Hrmmm.”

She gave Norman’s cheek a lick.

“Whoa, ha-ha. That tickles.”

Watching them, Jacqueline couldn’t help but ask:

“Why…?”

To her, it only looked like a giant monster about to devour the boy. It could tear out his throat just by baring its fangs, but Norman welcomed its tongue like it was nothing.

“Ah.”

“You and I are different.”

That was what she said. But what made them different?

The hound had him for a companion, and the Ripper had only her no-good older brother. They were related by blood, but there had been no real bond there. She may have hesitated when it came to killing her brother, but when her power awakened, that hesitation vanished.

Her brother had even said that with her power, she had plenty of ways to make money. In the end, he’d only ever seen her as a tool—a convenient workhorse for making money and satisfying his own desires.

The Ripper had a brother who only used her as a tool, but the Hellhound had a master. That was the difference.

That’s why I lost to you.

“Argh… This is the worst.”

The Ripper had been born in hell and now she looked upon a bond forged within the same fires.

She let go of everything, realizing the faults in her sense of justice.

“…That wasn’t a very satisfactory final line.”

Norman shrugged at Jacqueline’s last words before she collapsed, exhausted. She used the last of her strength to give him a complicated look, but…

“Well, whatever.”

…he didn’t really care.

“Nice work, El.”

“Thank you, Lord Norman!”

The beast had once again turned into a beauty.

Her dress was in tatters, leaving her naked beneath her trench coat, which just barely covered her ample breasts—both bigger than her head. Her hips were sensual curves. Her half-lidded eyes gave her a gentle look. The whites of her eyes had turned black, and the pupils glowed red. Being a powerful Shapeshifter Type caused residual effects of her transformation to linger. When they had first met, her eyes stayed inverted even in human form, so she lived blindfolded at times. Only repeated practice allowed her to live without the blindfold. Using her powers or being overwhelmed with emotion would trigger the change again.

“It’s a shame your clothes never survive the transformation.”

“I suppose. But I’ve made peace with it. I feel bad that you always have to buy me clothes, Lord Norman, especially when it’s so difficult to find something in my size.”

“I don’t mind. If you could wear anything you wanted, what would it be?”

“…Let’s see.” Eltiel tilted her head slightly. “Something cute with lots of frills or lace.”

“…Makes sense. I’d love to see that.”

Norman nodded, filing the answer away in his mind.

“You know, Lord Norman… That was quick thinking earlier. Impressive as always!”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?”

“The monster in the rumors, the Helkart Street Demon Dog. You tied me to those rumors.”

“Oh no. You actually were the monster in those rumors.”

“…Pardon?”

“Maybe you don’t remember everything… We first met on Helkart Street. I found you there again later on. I got a little banged up, remember? That probably caused the rumors to get overblown a bit.”

“Oh my…”

Eltiel widened her eyes and smiled.

“That’s…awfully romantic.”

“She was motivated by righteous fury,” Norman said mid-brush.

“Huh?” Eltiel, back in her canine form, yawned in reply. She’d stretched out her large body comfortably in Norman’s living room. Her usual black trench coat lay discarded, and he was brushing her jet-black fur.

It had become their ritual after a job for Norman to groom her. Her fur had a unique luster and silky feel. He spoke as he brushed her slowly and carefully.

“Jacqueline Harley, who was sold by her brother and forced to work in an illegal brothel. She’s eighteen now, but she was twelve when she started working… That’s six years. I don’t even want to think what her adolescence was like.”

“Woof.”

“Exactly. It’s not worth picturing. What matters is that she survived six years in that brothel. Six years of being sold by her brother as a plaything for random rich men.”

She was nothing but a tool forced to satisfy their desires, at their mercy for six years—a workhorse.

“Woof?”

“No, that’s not all. You saw the kids at that brothel, right? It wasn’t just children, but she was one of the older ones, a veteran. Imagine all the kids she saw used and discarded in those six years.”

No age restrictions meant that even young children became merchandise, some even missing limbs. Jacqueline herself had been covered in scars. Surely, some children must have died or been driven mad while working there.

“It’s not a safe area. Not just for the homeless, but also for orphans. Kids being forced to work at those places are either one or the other, or they were sold off like Jacqueline. She probably empathized with them and hated the men who tormented her and those kids.”

“Woof?”

“It’s no different with the homeless.”

Eltiel twitched as Norman moved to brush behind her ears.

“What do they do with damaged merchandise from the brothel? Toss it. Where? In a back alley for the homeless to pick up. That’s how the first three satisfied themselves.”

It wasn’t an uncommon tale.

“The child who gave us the note at the restaurant told me about the living conditions the homeless face.”

Three of the homeless had satisfied their physical urges, likely with the discarded merchandise from the brothel.

“She was aware, of course. Jacqueline must’ve been terrified she was next, but—”

Then she’d awakened as an Unlaw.

“After awakening, she realized how extraordinary she was. And she was clever to boot. Her noble clients might have taught her a thing or two. Just killing her brother wouldn’t change anything. She resented the brothel and the men who used her and the others. Above all, she couldn’t forgive them. That’s why she started killing and kept killing.”

Righteous fury. A rage induced by a need to do what you believe is right. She couldn’t forgive them, so she killed them.

And so she stayed.

“The rest was simple. Killing a homeless person or a laborer wouldn’t cause much of a stir, but it would be a big deal if a noble died. And then one did. That brought attention to the brothel. The police investigated, so it couldn’t be covered up anymore. Lo and behold, she succeeded in bringing it down.”

“Hrrrm?”

She guessed that if the police exposed it, the merchandise would be considered victims and protected. If not, the claws of justice would have likely struck more than five times. Her actions weren’t fully justified, but she was unable to stop.

The Ripper born of hell, bringing forth even more hell.

How ironic that a hellhound would be the one to take down such a monster.

“Well, I guess that’s about it. I probably got a few things wrong, but I’m no detective.”

“Woof.”

“Ha-ha, right? It was a nice way to kill time. Well, I think that’s enough grooming for now.”

“Hmm.”

Eltiel sat up. After shaking herself out, she circled around to where Norman was sitting on the floor.

“Whoa… Ha-ha, that tickles, El.”

“Woof.”

Lick, lick.

She licked Norman’s face with her large, coarse, red tongue, and he laughed at the sensation. In her canine form, her mouth was roomy enough to fit Norman’s head whole, and even a single fang grazing his neck would rip it open.

Yet Norman was unbothered.

He simply laughed and accepted her.

“Hrrrm.”

“Whoa.”

She raised her face after giving him one last lick and returned to her human form.

Her hair, no longer black but golden, fell in waves around her body. Her red eyes were fixed on Norman Hamish, lying there defenseless. He appeared dopey, but he was by no means frail. It was hard to tell under the coat he usually wore, but he was a former soldier who had never slacked in his training, so he was muscular with good coordination. He wasn’t fond of fighting, but that did not make him weak. He was the kind of man who could walk fearlessly through dangerous slums.

Eltiel knew well how intelligent he was. When they solved Unlaw cases together, he was the one playing detective. She also knew how attractive he was.

And that attractive man now lay beneath her.

She thought to herself, if she just used a little force, she could kill him.

He was a human, and she was a monster. That was reality. Despite knowing that, she served him. How to put it? It was…intoxicating.

“Mmm.”

“Ha-ha!”

She licked his face. He laughed, defenselessly, innocently, seemingly unaware he was in very real danger. Whenever she saw him like that, heat flared deep inside her.

He’d been like that since they first met half a year ago.

Eltiel was the daughter of a noble from a certain town. She had awakened as an Unlaw on a trip to Bardium. Out of nowhere, she’d transformed into a black dog, trembling, unable to understand what had happened. The world hadn’t been turned upside down—she was the one who had changed. Quivering, scared, she thought she’d fallen into hell, completely alone.

That was when he’d found her.

Norman hadn’t known the dog he’d found was an Unlaw. It was just a passing whim. She’d been saved by that simple gesture. She’d learned how to use her abilities and begin solving cases as Norman’s partner.

She had no interest in the other Unlaw.

Well, there were three she did have an interest in, but that was a story for another time.

“Lord Norman.”

“Hmm?”

Her face was centimeters away from his.

Her red eyes shined and locked onto his pale blue ones. Her ample breasts pressed gently against his chest, and he could feel them with every breath. Her pale arms rested on his shoulders sensually. Her long hair acted as a natural dress, covering her back and flowing down over her large, pillow-like rear.

Even her hands could crush him with some force. Her frame was large, her eyes inverted, her appetite for meat enormous, her sense of smell on par with any canine, and her strength unnatural.

“Hee-hee.”

“You look like you’re having fun.”

“Yes…yes, very much so.”

Her body swayed, and the soft pressure on her trapped breasts made them jiggle.

“Oh my.”

“Soft and silky. It’s a real test of my self-control.”

“Hee-hee.”

Norman wasn’t afraid of Eltiel.

He accepted both her human disguise and the monster she was.

He accepted Eltiel Siriusflame.

He let her stay close and care for him, even though she could slaughter him on a mere whim. His defenselessness almost seemed to say he wouldn’t mind either way.

“Hng.”

She licked the nape of his neck, and he trembled slightly. She could taste his salty skin on her tongue, wondering how the blood beneath it would taste. She was curious, but she didn’t need to know. Since he treated her like a human, she didn’t need to taste his blood.

“Now then, Lord Norman… I’d like a shower now that you’re done grooming me.”

She moved from his neck to his ear, a hot breath escaping her plump lips. The color of her eyes inverted, and a strong surge of emotion caused a yellow glimmer to flicker in her eyes with a heat that could consume even hell itself.

Loyalty hid the beastliness behind her gaze, and she whispered:

“Whatever form I’m in, please see me as I am.”

Interval Two

“Hmm… So, the Hellhound… You’re fine with a carnivore like that licking her chops in front of you?”

“Men like to flirt with danger, you know.”

“But actual, physical danger? That close?!”

Norman nodded slowly, making it impossible to tell how serious he was.

Jim recoiled. He distanced himself slightly, reviewing the case file.

“Hmm. Not bad for an incident caused by a Category Two. Getting off with only five dead is great. The real issue is the complaints from those antique-obsessed nobles, the city’s big spenders. That distinguished noble you mentioned, Blount Byron, was quite accomplished. I’ve bought furniture from him a few times before.”

Jim continued monologuing. “Thanks to that roar of hers, the commonfolk are terrified there’s some kind of beast out there. The rumors that already existed were only intensified by the slasher, and now the mysterious roar. It’s another useless urban legend in the making. That’s a real problem for Cartesius and its efforts to keep the existence of Unlaw hidden.”

“That’s none of my business. Cleanup falls under my sister’s jurisdiction.”

“What a shame! The field agents always get stuck holding the bag, Norman!”

“…”

Norman sighed as Jim’s enthusiasm increased.

“Now then. ‘Canonical Five,’ huh? It doesn’t follow Cartesius’s naming style, but it’s not bad. I guess we’ll call her ‘the Ripper.’ A twisted sense of justice born from a damaged psyche. The warped expression of someone oppressed. Well, it’s par for the course. The claws are plain but practical. They’d especially have lots of practical applications for a prostitute.”

Jim glanced at Norman to gauge his reaction, but his smile had faded, and he now slumped listlessly in his chair.

“Oh?”

Jim nodded and continued.

“As you know, the weakest Unlaw we can use are Category Twos. Even if they’re provisional, those with stabilized powers and poor mental states are nothing to sneeze at. We can give them orders, at least. Whether they obey or not is up to them.”

“That doesn’t sound great.”

“Precisely!” Jim shouted, throwing his arms open. “That’s exactly why Cartesius prefers Category Three Unlaw whenever possible! They’re more useful than Category Two, but honestly, they’re unreliable. You might be able to nudge them a little, but Category Three is the real deal!”

“You’re really fired up.”

“Of course I am! At Category Three, you’re really cooking with gas! When their minds and abilities are stabilized, their powers can be used in manifold ways. Range extension, designated targets, and more. An incident caused by a Category Three is in a whole different league from that of a lower Category.”

Norman recalled the visions of the past and future from Shizuku’s Echo Howling and Eltiel’s capability for human speech in her black dog canine form and her blast roar—both flexible applications of their Category Three abilities. Jim’s enthusiasm and ramblings were annoying, but the man knew what he was talking about.

“Lo and behold, a Category Three Unlaw appears, which caused your third case, the phantom thief incident. As a result, many valuables were stolen across Bardium, and the damage caused the Bardium Museum to close. That, of course, is one of the reasons you ended up here being interrogated by yours truly.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Don’t you think the scale of these incidents has gotten bigger than a little street slasher rumor? We’re already shorthanded, what with our agents mysteriously dying and disappearing lately. How do you explain that?”

“It was bound to happen.”

“Ha-ha-ha! That’s exactly what a guilty man would say! All right then, Norman, moving on to our next topic, the phantom thief who appeared in the city! How did you face them? How did you, bearing your Jewel, frolic with that rogue?”

In response, Norman flexed his hands against their bindings several times. They remained in place, of course.

“Frolic, huh? Funny you should say that.”

Because—

“This is a tale about youth.”

Lonsday Enhancedia.

She had tanned skin and black hair with a single streak of red in her bangs. Her asymmetrical, chest-length hair looked like she’d haphazardly cut it herself, but her good looks and fearless smile made it seem like a deliberate style choice. She wore trousers with suspenders and a jacket over her men’s shirt. She had boldly sliced off the cloth of the right trouser leg from the inseam down.

She was flawless beauty personified, and her presence was quite commanding. Her legs were long like a supermodel’s, her waist narrow, her ample chest asserting itself prominently, and her posture as straight as a stage actress’s.

The center of the universe seemed to be wherever she stood. She naturally attracted attention, sometimes basking in applause but never listening to those around her.

She was tough like a diamond no matter what came her way.

“Hey, Norman. Figured you’d be by soon. Got a smoke?”

She sprawled in the middle of a sofa that could seat three, her long legs propped up on a table in front of her. On the low table was a bottle of liquor, an empty takeout box from the Downey Street restaurant they frequented, scattered newspapers, and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. The mess had spread well beyond the table.

“…Sigh.”

Norman sighed and adjusted his hat as he surveyed the wreckage.

Lonsday lived on the top floor of a three-story ruin. It was originally a warehouse-slash-hideaway with an unusually elaborate design for a band of bootleggers. Around three months ago, she had mounted a solo raid on the gang, wiped them out, and had been living there alone ever since. She’d made the shower and toilet somewhat usable, but the windows on the first and second floor would have stayed broken if Norman hadn’t gone out of his way to order replacements.

The bottom line was, she was lazy. The way she lounged on the sofa, puffing her cigarette while watching Norman collect trash in a thick burlap sack, made that crystal clear.

“Miss Lonsday, I keep asking you to tidy up after yourself a little more. You haven’t cleaned once since I was last here, have you?”

“Heh-heh. What are you trying to say?” Lonsday waved her hand at Norman, who was tossing liquor bottles and scraps of paper into the trash bag. “If I did that, you’d be out of a job. I know how rough it is to be unemployed.”

“Being your maid isn’t in my job description.”

“And who am I to stop you from expressing your love this way? My heart isn’t too small to accept you for who you are. In fact, it’s quite big.”

“…”

“The things right outside my heart are quite big, too.” Lonsday deliberately knelt on the sofa and threw out her chest.

“Why did you feel the need to clarify that?” Norman couldn’t help but sigh.

An expanse of tan cleavage peeked out from her shirt, which was open down to the third button. He nearly took the bait and looked, but since it would lead to a smattering of teases, he simply continued to pick up the garbage.

“I might not compare to your little pet doggy, but I surely take the cake in terms of firmness and elasticity, no?”

“You definitely take the cake in terms of wearing me down.”

“Heh…”

“Please don’t tell me you’re proud of that.”

Grumbling, he gathered the trash he could see and tossed it into the pit leading to the first floor. It was a hole over two meters wide, about the size of two of Norman’s living rooms. He used a thick burlap bag for the trash because it was meant to be dropped from the third floor—afterward, it would be Norman’s job to retrieve and throw away the contents and bring the bag back up.

When he’d mostly finished, he sat down on the chair opposite Lonsday; you could feel the age of the chair, but it was still fairly luxurious—so luxurious that it made Norman slightly uncomfortable to sit in it, thinking the gang boss must have sat there. If anything, Lonsdale ought to be sitting there, but that was up to her.

“What have you been up to lately, Miss Lonsday?”

“Tough question. Let’s see… Last week, I lost all my money playing poker. Some thugs picked a fight with me on my way back, but I was really pissed off, so I trashed their gang and took everything they had, but I was still in the red. You could say I ended up breaking even ’cause I got some booze and smokes out of it. Or maybe not. The booze was cheap, watered-down stuff, after all.”

“That’s one crazy week.”

She’d taken down the thugs, but the woman was practically a thug herself. She had no stable employment and spent most of her days either drinking or smoking in this very room, gambling her money away, or shaking down thugs. On paper, she was hopeless—and she was actually the most self-indulgent person Norman knew.

Yet, somehow, Lonsday looked oddly picturesque, smoking and drinking on the ruined sofa. It might have been because there was no despair in her, that there was a decadent beauty to it, and she was basically a woman who looked good no matter what she did.

“If you’re used to drinking rubbing alcohol, of course normal liquor would taste weak.”

“That’s the only stuff that gets me drunk. Oh, but the cigs were good. Homemade. I liked them, so I ordered the thugs to get me some every week. I just finished the last of ’em.”

“Huh. It’s rare for a heavy smoker like you to let herself run out.”

“Did I, though? I figured you’d be coming today.”

She sniffed disdainfully and took a deep drag from the cigarettes Norman had bought. Then she turned her eyes to the newspapers that had been on the table since Norman arrived. There were five copies, each with a different date.

“Four incidents this month, all unsolved. The cops might be incompetent, but they do their jobs. If they still can’t crack these cases, then that means they’re something no normal investigation can solve. And the fifth warning was put out yesterday, so it was obvious you’d be sent my way.”

“…You’re sharp as ever.”

“Elementary, my dear assistant,” Lonsday said.

“…”

Norman wondered if she could have chosen a better moment to say that. Maybe the phrase was in vogue.

“Well, that’s about the size of it. It’s the perfect case for you, Miss Lonsday. We’re dealing with a phantom thief, you know.”

“Pfft, what a joke of a title.”

“Are you sure it’s your place to say that with your joke of a job?”

“What’s your point?”

Backing down, Norman took the file from his coat draped over the chair, but Lonsday opened her mouth before Norman could speak:

“Each time he’s left a warning: the phantom thief’s stolen relics and works of art from antique shops, museums, libraries, and even Bardium City Hall. The first antique shop dismissed it as a prank and got taken to the cleaners. After that, the police tightened security with every warning, but that did no good. They’ve seen the thief’s shadow, but this guy’s hit every target. I need more information than that.”

She narrowed her emerald-green eyes and jabbed her slender finger at Norman.

“Come on, bring it out. You have it, don’t you?”

Her shapely lips curved into the smile of a hunter spotting its prey. Like always, she saw through everything. He handed her the envelope sandwiched in the file.

“Huh, even I’ve never seen one of these before. A warning letter… Nice.”

It was a black envelope sealed with red wax, the seal already broken.

“The detective pulled a lot of strings under my sister’s orders to get ahold of this, so take good care of it.”

“It’s his job to pull strings… Hmm.”

Lonsday didn’t open the envelope immediately. She turned it over, felt its texture, and smelled it.

“It’s high-quality. You can’t buy this in Bardium. It’s from Portquarry.”

Portquarry was the name of a city a few hours away from Bardium by train. It was a port city facing the sea, a commercial center connected to many other cities by train. As a major city filled with goods both foreign and domestic, its selection far outclassed Bardium.

“Looks like stationery from a specialty store in Portquarry. The wax, too.”

“Excellent… Hmm…”

She gave a small nod and opened the envelope, revealing a white sheet of paper folded in two. Each of the four corners had a distinctive quill pen emblem, which was apparently the store’s trademark.

Of course, opened, it contained the warning.

I look forward to your best efforts.

Phantom Thief Thistle.

The thief who currently had the city—to be precise, the wealthy and gossip lovers in it—on the edge of their seats.

And the night of the full moon was tomorrow.

“Apparently, the jewel’s worth three hundred thousand stel. Worth a lot to the Bardium Museum.”

“It would sell for ten times that to a collector. At auction, the price would skyrocket. I see, the first four warnings were demonstrations. The real target is this…”

Nodding, Lonsday flipped the letter just like she had the envelope, sniffed it, and ran her fingers over the letters to check the texture. Norman watched as she did it—her jade-green eyes narrowed, but the smile never left her lips.

“Can you tell anything?”

“The culprit is a woman but not some noble-minded thief who robs the rich to feed the poor. She’s smart, mocking both the cops and the museum. She’s vain, arrogant, and looks down on others. She’s hard-working and meticulous. In her twenties or thirties. She visited Portquarry last spring but now lives in Bardium. She’s either a Deviation or Distortion Type Unlaw.”

Norman barely contained his surprise at the torrent of words.

“…And what makes you think that?”

“Hey now, put some thought into it.”

She smirked and rose, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray. She threw the jacket draped over the sofa over her shoulders, then flicked the warning letter at Norman with a two-fingered snap. Sure enough, he caught it between his palms.

“What do we do?”

“Obviously, we head for the museum. Now this is getting exciting!”

Just when Norman thought she was being serious for once, she hopped nimbly and pumped her fist—he shrugged. Careless as ever. He knew it would turn out like this.

Lonsday Enhancedia had no stable income, but she did have short windfalls.

She was a detective by trade.

“Let’s go, Norman. Detective versus thief… Who will emerge victorious? Or maybe this is more like a battle of wits between two monsters! Oooh, this is gonna be a blast.”

Lonsday swaggered confidently through the heart of Bardium on her long, jaunty legs, with Norman beside her, of course.

“That stationery paper was limited edition, sold for about a month last year by a specialty store in Portquarry called Prince/Princess. It was made to commemorate the overlapping twentieth birthday of Princess Viira and the store’s twentieth anniversary,” she said while puffing on a cigarette. “It was a trend among young nobles and wealthy ladies in Portquarry to use it for love letters.”

“That’s why it’s a woman in her twenties or thirties?”

“No, there are other reasons I think it’s a woman. She’s probably in her early twenties, though there are some women in their late thirties who try to act like young girls. Super cringe. The older people get, the more their tastes tend to stagnate. If she were past her mid-thirties, she’d probably use a classic style, not some limited edition.”

Her words were scathing.

“Where does that put you, Miss Lonsday? A lady, a girl, a woman?”

“I’m a beauty.”

“No arguments there. In that case, couldn’t we just say she’s in her early twenties?”

“If the stationery were the only factor, sure. I’ll explain later. I’m not trying to be mysterious, just following the right order. As for the materials, the ink is from Bardium. You can tell by the gloss and luster on the letters and how the ink bleeds. So she bought the stationery in Portquarry but the ink locally, which means she uses ink habitually.”

“Okay, that narrows down her profession to…anything. There are plenty of jobs where you’d use ink regularly.”

“Well, yeah. That’s why I didn’t mention it earlier.”

“Okay. So what about her personality? Is she doing it for greed or vanity—?”

“She’s driven by greed. She’s not some noble-minded thief who robs the rich to feed the poor. She’s smart, mocking both the cops and the museum. She’s vain, arrogant, and looks down on others. She’s hard-working and meticulous.” Lonsday repeated what she had said earlier, briefly and precisely. “It’s obvious. Calling herself a phantom thief with lines like, ‘I look forward to your best efforts’? That’s only meant to provoke the police and the museum. A real bleeding heart would target something else, like a noble’s hidden stash.”

“Definitely. It’s a huge risk no matter how you look at it.”

“Her meticulousness shows in the condition of the stationery. She must have kept it carefully sealed until recently since she bought it a year ago. I don’t know why she just got started, but it’s clear she had a plan all along. That’s what I mean when I say the ink is deliberate.”

“Um…what if she just bought it, forgot about it, and then remembered it again when she decided to be a thief?”

“Boring… Don’t look at me like that. This is a person who does very elaborate things and prepares thoroughly, you know? If she’s doing something as risky as sending a warning, there’s a reason behind it. Next is what’s actually written.”

“Hmm, like the handwriting?”

“To be more exact, I didn’t mention this before since you can fake it, but the culprit is ambidextrous.”

“What…? You can tell from her handwriting?”

Lonsday laughed like she was having fun.

“She has beautiful penmanship, but if you look closely, the ink bleed is slightly different on every other character. The same goes for the pen impressions on the back. There’s a pattern: Odd and even letters have different stroke endings. The even-numbered letters were written with slightly more pressure and ink bleed. In other words, the even letters were written with her non-dominant hand, and the odd ones with her dominant. You’d only notice by staring hard and tracing the reverse side like I did, so even if the culprit were right in front of you, you probably wouldn’t notice. They probably only use one hand in daily life.”

“…Why go to all that trouble?”

Just thinking about it made Norman’s head hurt. Did the phantom thief really take the time to switch hands every letter?

“Because she enjoys it. Just like I love solving a good mystery.” Lonsday’s smile grew even wider.

“The stationery, including the envelope, is packed with info about the culprit. It’s practically screaming ‘Notice me.’ If she’s capable of putting in that much detail, then not including anything at all would have been just as easy. Yet she sent a warning. In summary, she meant what she said. ‘I look forward to your best efforts.’”

Lonsday smirked broadly, alarming passersby who gave them a wide berth when they noticed her ghastly smile, but she paid them no mind. It had been a long time since Norman saw Lonsday enjoy herself so much. She was always chatty, but this was over a single envelope. He tried to imagine what would happen next, but she would probably blow his expectations out of the water.

Not that he minded.

“Norman, I’m thirsty. Booze me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He took out a hip flask of rubbing alcohol from his coat and passed it to her. A normal person would probably keel over from drinking it, but she was no normal person. That wasn’t just because of her powers of deduction—it was her very existence. Norman laughed.

“What about her Unlaw abilities?”

“That’s more your wheelhouse than mine. But if you want to hear my beautiful voice, just say so.”

“Oh please, I’d love to hear your beautiful voice and your clever deductions, Miss Lonsday.”

“Very well. If I were in the phantom thief’s shoes, I’d do the exact same thing. My personality’s pretty unhinged, after all.”

“……”

He hadn’t asked about that part.

“Even that bratty Fairy could pull off something like this, though she’d probably make it even more vicious. That shut-in Tear Blossom and that hypocritical, goody-two-shoes Hellhound wouldn’t. That’s the difference.”

“…I’m invoking my right to remain silent.”

“If you’re going to call counsel, make it me. I’d say the crime is toying with a lady’s heart.”

“That’s a flattering charge. Though…can defense attorneys decide the crime?”

“I am the law. Relax. My verdict is guilty yet innocent.”

Lonsday laughed, and Norman shrugged.

“But you have made deductions about Unlaw before, haven’t you, Miss Lonsday?”

Not that he really understood them.

Anyway, Unlaw existed. If something existed, it could be observed. If it could be observed, then it could be deduced—she’d said so before, and he’d seen her make deductions in practice many times.

It was a hopeful remark on his part, but Lonsday only met him with a shrug.

Whenever Norman tried to deduce something, he just looked sloppy—but when Lonsday did it, she elevated it to an art form.

“I hate tossing out hunches without the facts to back them up.”

She stopped short with a click, and Norman automatically did the same. In front of them stood the Bardium Museum, where the phantom thief was set to strike tomorrow night.

“The culprit might just be an ordinary person. No, let me revise that, an exceedingly clever and evil person. If they’re an Unlaw… Let’s see. What about the ability to freeze time? That would explain a lot about the incidents, wouldn’t it?”

“I thought you hated tossing out hunches?”

“Heh-heh.”

“…You seem like you’re having fun.”

“Is that how it looks?”

“Well, kind of.”

“Heh. This isn’t some novel but an honest-to-goodness phantom thief in the flesh. I’ve always wanted to face one.”

The enthusiasm was a little unusual for her. She was normally chatty when it came to deductions, but Norman had never seen her crack jokes or jump around like she had earlier.

Well, she was enthusiastic, at least—though he was worried she might be pushing herself.

Harrison stood at the entrance to the museum, favoring them with a gloomy expression.

“One last thing to confirm, Norman. Do we prioritize the phantom thief or the treasure? Do we let the culprit live or kill them?”

“For now, priority goes to Miss Lonsday’s life. I’d rather keep them alive, but if Miss Lonsday is going to die, it’s okay to kill them.”

She flashed her brightest smile of the day at him.

“Then let’s start the investigation with that plan in mind.”

“…Enhance, huh?”

The moment Harrison caught sight of Lonsday’s face, he turned even more surly than usual, muttering bitterly as he entered the museum without bothering to greet anyone, a somewhat thick file in one hand. It was clear that he didn’t want to talk much.

The museum’s interior was filled with tension from a few guards and police officers. It was eerily quiet, the museum being shut down today and tomorrow because of the warning. With the date of the crime drawing near, the security guards were on edge, keeping a watchful eye on everything. It honestly seemed like a fruitless effort, but the police couldn’t exactly abandon their duty.

“What’s the plan?”

“Um…Miss Lonsday?”

“I want to see where the diamond is kept and where the necklace that was stolen the first time was displayed. And Harrison, do you have a floor plan for this museum?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

According to the floor plan Harrison gave them, the museum had three floors: one basement and two floors above ground. The basement floor held areas used by staff, like the vaults and offices, and the above-ground floors were mostly for exhibitions.

“Make sure to give it back.”

“I’ve already memorized it, so I don’t need it anymore. Let’s go, Norman.”

Lonsday returned the floor plan with a careless gesture and began walking—a beautiful woman striding boldly, her steps echoing in the quiet halls. The security guards and police officers watched with some surprise, but since they didn’t try to stop her, Harrison must have arranged things in advance.

“…Sigh. This is giving me a headache. Busting our asses to protect a cursed diamond.”

“Even with the curse, it’s probably worth enough to justify it.”

The first place they headed was the location where the first necklace was stolen from: the exhibition space on the first floor. The museum was laid out as a series of small rooms that followed a route, and that particular spot didn’t seem to be a priority—it wasn’t the museum’s showpiece, and a visitor strolling through would probably miss it.

There was a bench in the center of the small room, and display cases lined the walls, but there was nothing special to mention.

Maybe Lonsday would see it differently.

But she surveyed the room for a few seconds and said, “That’s enough. Next.”

They walked briskly along the route and went straight up to the second floor. The Blood Diamond Ring exhibit, which had brought Norman and Lonsday there, was in a completely different spot than the first necklace. The ring was at the very end of the route, kept in a glass case at the center of the museum’s largest room. The diamond was large, about the size of a coin—it sparkled under the lights even from a distance.

Despite the name “Blood Diamond,” it wasn’t red at all, but it shined with a transparent brilliance. Several people milled around the display: a pair who were obviously police at a glance, an elderly man in an expensive suit, a middle-aged man in work clothes, a kind-looking older lady, a woman with striking, almond-shaped eyes, and a cute girl wearing round-framed eyeglasses.

Harrison frowned at the crowd around the display case and stepped forward.

“Hey…Oliver, what’s the meaning of this? You’re in our way.”

“Oh, Leonard.”

The middle-aged man he’d addressed glowered at Harrison. He had a stocky build, a tough-looking face, and thinning hair. He glared again at Harrison, then Norman and Lonsday in turn, lingering on her the longest to thoroughly express his animosity.

“You’re the ones in our way. You people might have your agendas, but we have museum security to worry about. We can’t have you thoughtlessly running all over the place…especially you, Miss Playing Detective.”

“You’re as stubborn as ever, Inspector Oliver,” Lonsday replied in an uncharacteristically polite tone.

He was an inspector from the Bardium precinct, a stubborn man who lived for fieldwork. His suit was of decent quality, and though his tough face didn’t suggest it, he kept a surprisingly clean appearance—normally. Today, he seemed oddly exhausted.

Technically, as an inspector, he outranked Harrison, but the situation was complicated. Collaborating with Cartesius gave him authority and influence beyond the normal bounds of police jurisdiction. That allowed him to share materials from Unlaw cases with Norman and even bring him to crime scenes. Normally, Norman only got involved after the police had investigated and thrown in the towel, so it was rare for them to cross paths—but it did happen occasionally. Even if it had been cleared with the organization, the police didn’t like anyone meddling at the scene.

“That stubbornness is why your wife ran out on you. You can spoil your dog or eat your favorite foods out of loneliness, but she won’t come back unless you apologize and admit you were wrong.”

“…Mind your own business,” Inspector Oliver replied bitterly, despite having had his personal life casually exposed.

“What?! How do you know about the inspector’s wife and daughter leaving?!”

“That’s enough of—”

“Just look at the man. I last saw Inspector Oliver two weeks ago, and he’s put on weight since then. He probably gained it fast. Look at his belt. It’s two notches looser. He loves being active in the field, so it’s not a lack of physical activity. It’s weight gain from stress-eating. If a man who can’t cook puts on weight fast from overeating, fish and chips is a safe bet.

“The wedding ring on his left hand is very shiny, probably all that sentimental fiddling leaving it polished with finger grease. What’s more, Inspector Oliver always wore high-quality, well-maintained suits before this. He’s the classic sexist, domineering husband, so his wife probably had to do everything, including picking out his clothes. But today, he looks pretty scruffy. There are fresh and old stains of oil and ketchup on his collar and sleeves. It’s expected of him to have a proper outfit, but he clearly hasn’t washed or ironed anything properly. There are dog hairs on his pant cuffs. Probably a small dog, judging from the location of the hairs. He can’t be bothered to do laundry or clean around the house, but his dog gets some attention, at least. He has energy to play with the dog, but he can’t clean or do laundry. To sum it up, he’s too exhausted to take care of himself after his wife left, and he’s turning to binge-eating fish and chips. His wife finally had enough of him and left. Any objections?”

“…I do the laundry.”

“Probably with a random detergent. Looks like you’ve never heard of stain removal, either.”

A chilly silence fell. They appraised her with a mix of wonder and a hint of fear. Inspector Oliver was expressing the maximum amount of bitterness a human could possibly convey.

“Now then, everyone.” She clapped her hands, attracting everyone’s attention with the theatrical gesture.

Lonsday had somehow become the main attraction of the room meant to house the main attraction: the Blood Diamond.

“As you’ve all probably realized, I’m Lonsday Enhancedia, a detective. I was invited here as an advisor for the phantom thief case. I only have a few questions to ask, so rest assured that I’m not suspecting any of you…yet.”

“That was a terrible thing you did to Inspector Oliver.”

“It was for dramatic effect.”

They were outside the museum. Lonsday looked bored, her right hand shoved into her pocket, letting the ash from her cigarette fall from her left hand as she muttered, “I’m an outsider, and the police don’t like me. If I hadn’t dominated the room like that, I wouldn’t have gotten anything out of them.”

“I see. But was that really enough to go on?”

Because—

“All you did was shake hands with everyone.”

Indeed, she’d greeted everyone there—except for Inspector Oliver—by shaking hands. Norman had expected her to begin questioning them after that, but Lonsday claimed she suddenly remembered something she had to do and immediately left the museum. Neither Harrison nor Inspector Oliver had followed her.

Even Norman was unsure about this.

“Oh…because I figured out the identity of the phantom thief.”

“Oh, I see—Huh?! What did you just say?!”

“I’ve figured out who the phantom thief is, so there was no need to ask them anything. Plus, they provoked me.”

“Huh…?! All you did was shake their hands.”

“Yep, that’s right. Utterly boring.”

“You figured it out just from deducing the envelope and a handshake?”

“The deduction went nowhere, and that pisses me off.”

“Huh…”

He still had one question.

“Mind if I ask who it is?”

“Who cares who it is?” Lonsday took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled. “What a buzzkill.” She tossed out the words carelessly. “Just have Fairy handle it. That one’ll ruin their plans in the worst way possible.”

“It’s supposed to be our job, Miss Lonsday. Yours and mine. Let’s at least go check out the other crime scenes.”

“There’s no need. Once we know their ability Type and Category, there are no more deductions to be had.”

“…Do people just lose interest that fast?”

“That’s exactly what’s happening here.”

“But listen, it might get a little more interesting if we check out the other places.”

“Bored! I’m done playing detective!” Lonsday shouted as she returned to her third-floor ruin, hurled her discarded jacket onto the sofa, carelessly stripped off her wine-red shirt, and violently plopped her butt onto the sofa.

“Really…Thistle? You’ve gotta be kidding me. What a letdown. I thought I’d get to enjoy a good game of deduction, but she’s no different than the usual Unlaw. Norman! Booze! Smokes! Food!”

“They should be in that jacket you threw. I have food, though.”

“Pour me a drink, put the smoke in my mouth and light it, and feed me. Respectfully, like a knight serving his queen.”

“I don’t think knights do that sort of thing.”

“They do in my kingdom.”

“…Long live the queen.”

Sitting next to her as she assumed a haughty posture, Norman first let her take a sip of alcohol, then put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it, waited for her to take a drag, and fed her the hamburger he’d picked up at the Downey Street restaurant on the way home.

The smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and her sweat mixed with Lonsday’s sweet fragrance. Her tanned curves—hugged by black, daring lingerie—glistened enticingly with sweat.

“If you put your hands on me now, no one will find out.”

“Of course they will.”

“Now that I think about it, we’re free until tomorrow night. Wouldn’t it be fun to indulge in some carnal pleasure for stress relief?”

“It’s tempting, but if I get lost in you instead of writing my report, my sister will kill me.”

“Ugh…” She exhaled a growl along with the smoke. “That woman pisses me off in every possible way.”

“Stop acting like a child. You’re a detective, aren’t you?”

“I told you this detective is off duty.”

“Even so, she’s still my sister.”

“Makes me want to kill her all the more.”

“Then please act like my partner and help me write this report.”

“Huh?”

“We can’t do anything until I interview you for it.”

“…Hmm.”

She lifted her bandaged right hand to her face and smiled wryly.

“I liked how you put that.”

“Let me start with a basic premise. Since I met you, I’ve been handling Unlaw cases, and I believe you can profile a person’s character based on the Unlaw abilities they manifest.”

Lonsday, still in her underwear, lazily sank deeper into the sofa.

“According to Cartesius, there are four Types of Unlaw abilities,” she said. “The Lurking Type, which affects the mind and five senses. The Shapeshifter Type, which allows the body to transform into an animal or something else. The Deviation Type, which enhances physical abilities and either expands or grants new physical traits. The Distortion Type, which warps and manipulates the properties of external objects. You already knew that, though.”

“Right.”

Those were the basics when it came to Unlaw. They were classifications of pure ability, unlike Categories, which denoted strength.

“First, the Lurking Type. These guys are socially awkward and don’t have a good grip on personal space, with largely withdrawn personalities. Their difficulties with socializing vary from person to person. They don’t speak much in public, but when they do open their mouths, it’s just insults and trash talk.”

“…”

Norman found it difficult to comment on.

“The Shapeshifter Type is the most dramatic manifestation of an ability, where the person’s appearance changes completely. But once the ability stabilizes, their inner self remains largely as it was before they became an Unlaw, so if their personality is warped, it was originally that way.”

“…”

“The Distortion Type is all about affecting others, and true to its name, it tends to meddle with others. Like those people who are strangely overly familiar and love to give orders. That’s the extreme form of it. They can’t stand it when things don’t go their way, so they constantly interfere in the affairs of others and become unbearable.”

“…”

“The Deviation Type… In other words, me. We tend to be on the extreme side of the value spectrum, and once we get an idea in our heads, we can’t let it go. Maybe it’s because of the usual boost in physical strength, but we think we can handle anything ourselves. We tend to be careless, arrogant, and look down on others. In other words, we have lousy personalities.”

“You’re saying that about yourself?”

“I have a good face, body, and voice, so the scale is tilted in my favor.”

“…”

Ultimately, it was difficult to comment on, but Norman got the gist of what she was saying. The way she phrased things had hints of malice, bias, or exaggeration, but oddly enough, that made things clearer.

“And what’s more, there’s this,” Lonsday said, waving her carefully bandaged hand. “When we shook hands at the museum, she tried to crush my hand. Why? To provoke me. She must have banked on me not calling her out or making a scene in front of everyone, so she went ahead and did it. Her arrogance was unbelievable. I snapped and crushed her hand in return.”

“I heard about that on the way back.”

“Oh, right. Well, you know, we were both grinning and bearing it, but only someone with the same physical abilities as me could pull off that kind of provocation. It’s simple.”

“I didn’t notice at all.”

“…Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you sooner next time. I figured it would heal after a night’s rest.”

“That’s a bad habit, you know, Miss Lonsday.”

Norman gave her a lingering look as she smiled wryly. It wasn’t until after they left the museum and arrived at the crime scene—the library—that he’d noticed her hand was injured. It had struck him as strange that she’d kept her right hand in her pocket the entire time. He’d immediately taken a wet compress and bandages from his coat and treated her wound. Coming from a family of doctors and having been a medic in the military himself, it came easily to him.

What troubled him was that she didn’t mention she was injured. To him, that was a much bigger issue than figuring out who the culprit was.

“Heh-heh.” She laughed for a moment while patting her bandaged right hand with her left, like she was caressing a jewel, with a gentle smile—not the usual ghastly one she wore.

“Your feelings alone are enough to satisfy me.”

“You’re a cheap date.”

“No, I’m a high-value woman. I choose my buyers, and the price depends on them. Any other questions?”

“What do you think her ability is?”

“The ability to pass through solid objects.”

“Even though she almost crushed your hand?”

“It’s a basic ability for Deviation Types. It’s essentially phasing. She can probably phase through walls, floors, and whatever else she feels like.”

“…And why do you think that?”

“There was nothing at the crime scene.”

Lonsday took a bite of her hamburger, then used her fingers to swipe the sauce off her lips—the way she licked her fingers was oddly enticing.

“Relax, Norman. I’m sure of this.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because we’re up against Phantom Thief Thistle.”

“Huh?”

“Hee-hee-hee.”

She laughed mockingly at him, her single lock of red hair swaying.

“No, you don’t need to get it. Just stick to admiring jewels, not blossoms, hounds, or fairies.”

“Sigh.”

She was putting on a performance. Well, that wasn’t anything new.

“Miss Lonsday, if you know that much about them, can’t you do something?”

“Aren’t you listening? That’s why it’s such a buzzkill.”

Her mood had seemed to brighten, but it quickly soured again.

“Listen here, Norman,” she prefaced. “I got my hopes up after seeing that warning, enough that I would have been fine with them being a normal human. I thought I’d be able to play a game of deduction with someone eccentric enough to call themselves a phantom thief. But what was the outcome? Something like phasing, without an ounce of strategy. Give me back my hopes.”

She said her piece, then flopped back and took a swig from a bottle of liquor.

“Hmm, isn’t that just throwing a tantrum?”

“I said I don’t have to be the one to do this. Oh, I heard you were going to the capital with Fairy next week. How about going with me instead?”

“There’s not much I can do about that. By the way, I only heard about that the day before yesterday, so how do you know?”

Norman didn’t know how to answer her, so he evaded the question. She deflated more quickly than he expected. While he mulled over his options…

“I understand the part about the abilities…but why are they a phantom thief?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, wouldn’t you be better off sneaking into a bank with that ability?”

“That’s the arrogance of a Deviation Type. She was taunting the police, after all. Or maybe it’s a hobby…”

She suddenly trailed off.

“Miss Lonsday?”

She leaped up and put her hand on her chin.

“…Why?” Lonsday softly murmured the most crucial question when dealing with an Unlaw. “Why become a phantom thief? They could have robbed a bank if money was their aim. Was it to hone her powers? But she had mastered them from the very first incident. Was being a phantom thief itself the goal, like a hobby? But it’s strange she provoked me at that exact moment. Why would a fool who wants to be a phantom thief reveal their own identity? Arrogance from being a Deviation Type? Or if we follow the logic of a Deviation Type—”

The flow of words suddenly stopped.

“Norman.”

“Yes?”

“I changed my mind. I’ll take on the phantom thief myself.”

A smug smile spread across her face—like she was a completely different person from the one who had seemed so apathetic earlier.

“Oh? Is the detective making a comeback?”

“No, this detective is still on hiatus…or maybe not? It is detective work, in a sense. Heh-heh, this is getting a little interesting. Good job, Norman. I praise you for asking the right questions.”

“I don’t think I said anything out of the ordinary.”

“That’s fine. As long as you’re my partner.”

Lonsday stood up, looking satisfied.

“We’ve got a lot to do. First, let’s deal with that diamond. We’ll have Leonard work on it.”

“He’s going to give you that pissy look again. Speaking of diamonds… I hear this one has a curse on it.”

“Hmm?”

“The Blood Diamond was just a normal, large diamond, wasn’t it? Do you know why they call it the Blood Diamond?”

“Because it’s been bathed in blood, right?”

“Yes.”

It was complete nonsense, the kind of tall tale you hear often. The jewel in the Bardium Museum brings death, or something like that. It was apparently mined near the borders of certain countries, and there was a struggle for it between the two countries that caused numerous deaths. It continued to be a coveted prize afterward, and people died in the struggle for it.

Hence, the name “Blood Diamond”—a diamond bathed in blood, shining with the blood it absorbed.

“I was surprised to find there were actual deaths connected to this diamond, even in Bardium, like the person who oversaw its transport to the city and the one who arranged for it to be displayed in the museum. I don’t know if there’s a connection to the phantom thief, but there might be more deaths if we look into it further. It’s a cursed diamond.”

“Nonsense. It’s a jewel with value and history. Of course people fought over it and died. The curse is just people assuming things based on a chain of facts. Money alone is reason enough to kill, and people die easily.”

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“I don’t need to tell you since you’ve been to the West.”

“Fair enough.”

Norman shrugged haphazardly. It was a subject he didn’t want to revisit. He wanted to dig deeper into the mystery of the diamond, but wasn’t keen on discussing the Western Front, either—so he steered the topic in a different direction.

“What do you think of the diamond itself? You don’t hate it, right?”

“I don’t mind it as a work of art, but I don’t need it as an ornament.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because any jewel pales in comparison next to me.”

She laughed, like a jewel gleaming brightly.

“Now then, let’s solve ourselves a mystery.”

The phantom thief, Thistle, quietly sank into the floor. It felt like diving into mud; however, the mud solidified according to Thistle’s will, letting her walk through it as she pleased. With a light movement, she phased through the museum’s roof from its rooftop. Incredibly, she could breathe inside the material and felt no pressure on her body. Her vision wasn’t functioning, but she could still somehow sense the presence of humans.

She phased into the second floor of the Bardium Museum, inside the largest exhibition space. In the center of the spacious hall was a single large display case.

She didn’t use any smoke bombs because she knew who was there. She could somehow sense the presence of a human and one of her own kind—a tall, brown-skinned woman. Her black hair had a single streak of red mixed in, and she was a striking beauty who smoked her cigarette with all the grandeur of a stage actress. She wore a men’s shirt and trousers with one leg cut off, her jacket slung over her shoulders.

Her right hand held a lit cigarette and was carefully wrapped in bandages.

The boy was about the same height as the woman, his gray hair tied in a ponytail behind his neck. His felt hat and coat, as well as his dopey expression, reminded her of a small animal. His features were well-proportioned, and he seemed like he would be more popular with older women than someone his own age.

They were Lonsday Enhancedia and Norman Hamish.

“Normally…”

Lonsday wasn’t surprised when Thistle suddenly appeared out of the ceiling.

“I’d explain how I arrived at your identity and show off my powers of deduction…but it seems unnecessary this time, and is this even the place? We’re in a museum.”

“Heh-heh, I don’t mind.”

The phantom thief couldn’t help but answer her blunt words in a cracked, elderly voice.

Norman’s eyes widened in shock.

Surprised that they hadn’t revealed her true identity, Thistle removed her mask. Lonsday grinned at her exposed face.

“I expected some wicked woman, but it’s that wicked old hag, Filzy Mule.”

“Heh-heh-heh, I guess we’re two of a kind, huh, girlie? Didn’t tell them about me, did you?”

The phantom thief’s peculiar, convulsion-like laugh came from the face of an old woman. The tailcoat, cape, and silk hat tailored to her small frame seemed to clash with her age, but they were the very image of a classic phantom thief. Her name and face lingered faintly in Norman’s memory—she’d been at the museum the day before, one of the people with Inspector Oliver.

“…Didn’t see that coming.”

Norman was shocked for two reasons: One, the thief was an elderly woman, and two, someone her age was an Unlaw. In the past year and a half, he’d seen his share of Unlaw, but never one this old. His experience told him that most awakened to their abilities in their late teens or twenties. Of course, there were outliers—the oldest he knew of was around fifty years of age—but this woman clearly surpassed that.

Filzy Mule looked well into her seventies.

“Who we are doesn’t matter, not for people like us.”

“Oh my. You’re a detective, so I was hoping for some deductions like yesterday.”

“You’re one to talk.”

With the same hand the phantom thief had crushed yesterday, Lonsday gripped her cigarette tighter.

“Hmm. I figured it would be healed already since we’re alike.”

“Ha, of course it’s healed already. But—” Lonsday smiled and added, her eyes warm, “The bandage is a good-luck charm.”

“And a cheap one.”

Norman played off his slight embarrassment with a casual shrug.

“Heh-heh-heh, young’uns sure are passionate.”

“You’re pretty funky for a granny. What was that warning about?”

“Oh, that… That was a disappointment.”

Filzy sighed, her shoulders sagging with a mix of disappointment and frustration, as if to say nothing had gone how she imagined.

“I gave so many obvious hints, and no one noticed a thing. They missed five identical hints. You were the first to realize, Detective.”

“I’ll agree with you that the cops were a disappointment. Seriously underwhelming.”

“I didn’t really get it myself,” Norman piped in.

“That suits you just fine. A detective’s assistant should be a little thick.”

“I can’t say I feel complemented there.”

“Heh-heh-heh.” The old woman laughed, then glanced past Lonsday and Norman at the display case.

It was empty.

“Did you take the diamond somewhere? I wasn’t told anything.”

“Of course I did. The curator was prattling on about Bardium’s honor, planning to face off with you by planting decoys and rigging the showcases.”

“It’s laughable. When the phantom thief was right in front of him… Well, I guess he had his pride.”

Norman didn’t really follow. He hadn’t been informed about the diamond’s relocation since Lonsday had pulled strings and arranged it through Harrison, but Lonsday keeping him out of the loop was nothing new.

“It’s simple, Norman. Remember the people gathered around the diamond yesterday? Besides the detective and curator, there were three women and a middle-aged man in work clothes. The women—this old hag here included—were academics, and the man was a locksmith.”

“And why do you think that?”

“They were expecting the phantom thief. There was no way the museum would let outsiders in once they’d deployed security. The fourth man obviously wasn’t a security guard. So what was he doing there? He was obviously dressed for work. Given the timing, he was probably setting traps or reinforcing the case’s lock. The women were professionals. They were setting up decoys to trick the thief and testing if they passed muster.”

And…

“All of it was just for show.”

“Aren’t you the clever one?” Filzy’s eyes shined with yearning. “When you showed up, I wanted to laugh out loud.”

“Instead, you crushed my hand.”

“That makes us even, dear. To become like this at my age, you have to have some fun. Though I broke a lot of things in the beginning and had to take some time to recover. Was it like that for you, too?”

“I wonder.”

“Is your assistant just a normal human?”

“Well, yes, he is.”

“I see. What a shame.”

“Don’t worry. There are plenty of people like us in this city.”

“Ah, that sounds nice.”

She smirked. The longer the conversation went on, the wider the curve of her smile grew, like a bowstring pulling taut. Norman felt the air crackle sharply. He felt it—but didn’t do anything in particular about it.

“You seem like more of a veteran monster. How nice. I envy you. How many of our kind have you played with?”

“I’m not sure. There’s some I remember, and some I’d rather forget.”

“That sounds nice. I wish that were me,” the phantom thief repeated, completely unbothered by the fact the diamond in her warning letter was missing. “I was thrown for quite the loop when I got this power. My children had left the nest long ago, and my husband died in the war. With nowhere else to go, I came to Bardium and ended up like this.”

Bardium. A city with no wind, surrounded by walls. A place where winds, each carrying its own reason, came to settle.

“After my power stabilized, what do you think came to mind next?”

“What you could do, then how much you were capable of.”

“Heh-heh-heh!” The quick reply made Filzy keep laughing. Her smile was unceasing, detached from everyone, deviating from the norm.

She’d surpassed humanity—and taken the initiative to enjoy it.

“But playing at being a phantom thief out of a novel is far too simple and not fun at all. Hiding my power and pretending to be a normal person is incredibly stressful.”

“Of course it is. We can easily blend in, but we’re monsters at heart.”

The Deviation Type was most suited to living in ordinary life out of all the Unlaw. Since they were constantly using excess physical abilities, as long as they were able to control them, they were able to blend in. Of course, they couldn’t truly integrate.

“Oh, I get how you feel, thief. That’s why I came.”

The Jewel, usually detached from everyone, was laughing. The Unlaw woman kept laughing.

“We’re just alike.”

“Detectives commit sacrilege by dissecting, explaining, and demolishing the facts to arrive at the truth. So let’s compare answers. What motivated you? Why become a phantom thief?” Lonsday took a deep breath and said decisively, “You just wanted to use your abilities to the fullest. The thieving wasn’t the point. The warning letters were. Crimes committed by physical abilities and phasing powers that didn’t fit someone your age. You wanted someone to interfere. Yes, you wanted a playmate.”

The smile never left Lonsday’s face. Filzy was smiling, too.

“That’s why you picked this fight, didn’t you? You were like a naive kid, wanting to see how the detective would react. It’s laughable, but I get it. I had a similar phase before meeting this guy.”

So…

“I’ll play with you. I’ll join you in your second youth.”

“Heh-heh-heh!”

The air warped—not with bloodlust, killing intent, or fighting spirit. Nothing like that. It was probably instinct or a strong, primal urge to unleash her abilities to the fullest.

Lonsday knew this would happen. That was why she hadn’t revealed the identity of Phantom Thief Thistle once she understood her motive.

Who she was didn’t matter in the end. They were both Unlaw. Birds of a feather.

It was a battle between equals: two outcasts crossing paths for a moment.

Once that began, there was no stopping it.

“Norman Hamish!” Lonsday shouted, her eyes gleaming brightly. “The detective in me says she’s the monster! The rest of me asks if I can devour this monster! Well? Can I? Answer me, human!”

Her shout made the air itself tremble. Her fist clenched as she waited for Norman’s answer—as tight as it could possibly go.

So Norman answered her, as a rite of passage between Lonsday and himself. Faced with an intense harbinger of violence that would make the average person keel over on the spot, he touched his felt hat in an almost indifferent gesture, and addressed the beast about to explode:

“Yes, go ahead. Enjoy yourself.”

His words were the signal.

“Ha-ha! I’ll give you your last rights, you old hag who doesn’t know her place!”

“Heh-heh-heh! I’ll enjoy this, you brat who doesn’t respect her elders!”

Two Deviation Type Unlaw. Two monsters, exposing their abnormalities.

Driven by nothing but the madness of wanting to enjoy them.

Norman caught a deep, low, resounding sound. It was the sound of Lonsday’s middle kick and Filzy’s fist crashing into each other.

“Ha-ha-ha!”

“Heh-heh-heh!”

Raucous laughter filled the air as the beauty and the old woman fought fiercely.

Hand-to-hand combat that utilized the physical abilities of Deviation Types was an exchange of speed and super strength. Each jab feint carried the power to crush a person’s skull, and a serious kick to the torso could rupture organs—they traded such blows at the rate of multiple times per second. Battles between Deviation Types of this caliber didn’t happen often—even Norman, who had seen many Unlaw during his year and a half in the city, had only seen a handful of the like.

“Heh-heh-heh-heh!”

The old woman in the tailcoat hopped around with a rictus grin. She flailed her short limbs with acrobatic movements—more like a child swinging their arms around restlessly than someone trained in martial arts. However, her attacks would be fatal for an ordinary person, for whom it would be impossible to anticipate, evade, or block.

“Ha, your moves are as childish as your mind!”

Lonsday moved like a dance, carefully evading the chaotic attacks with her fists raised in front of her.

It resembled boxing but was her own self-taught style, using her long legs for kicks. She used her fists to block Filzy’s attacks and countered with kicks while evading.

“Surprisingly clean moves you’ve got! So even monsters train?”

“The slums are a good teacher!”

Lonsday’s smile changed as she drove a kick into the phantom thief, who fell back to avoid it, landing on a thick, plush carpet.

And…

“Thrud Thistle Snatch!”

The carpet warped—and the old woman shot forward several times her previous speed, using it as a springboard.

“Whoa…?!”

Lonsday unconsciously bit down on the cigarette in her mouth from the pain in her abdomen. The fabric covering her left side was torn, and the flesh beneath it gouged. In a sudden burst of speed, Filzy phased past Lonsday’s defenses to touch her—but no matter how she accelerated, it shouldn’t have been enough to gouge out flesh like that. When he saw that, Norman cried out in shock:

“She’s applying her phasing powers to—”

“Are you dumb, Norman? More importantly, look closer! A cosplay granny is flying toward us like she’s been shot out of a cannon, cackling like crazy! It’s Cosplay Catapult Granny!”

“Heh-heh-heh! That’s the deal!”

When the Cosplay Catapult Granny, whose right hand was soaked in blood touched the wall, the wall warped. Lonsday’s mind grasped the reality of the situation in an instant. Two things became clear to her. First, the attack phased through matter and stole the material it passed through, which was the same as phasing through a showcase or safe and stealing the treasure inside.

That was why all of the crime scenes were undisturbed.

The other thing was how Filzy was speeding up. She used her ability to begin sinking into the floor, creating tension in the matter, and then used the recoil to launch herself back out of it. She used her ability skillfully, simultaneously using two variants of Category Three abilities. Logically, thinking in terms of material permeation meant squeezing one’s body through the material.

Deviation Type abilities affected the user’s body and logically shouldn’t have affected other things, so it must have been her own legs that were warping—but logic and reason didn’t hold with Unlaw. The power to believe became reality. Clothes were the most obvious example. If she could phase through material, she could also phase through her clothes and end up naked each time she used her abilities. But that didn’t happen to Filzy. She likely perceived her clothes as part of herself and had a clear mental image of how matter permeation worked.

“You’re getting too carried away, old head!”

“Heh-heh-heh!”

She jumped and bounced over the floor, the walls, and the ceiling, then continued to accelerate by creating tension with her ability. Her laughter rang from every direction like a dance.

“Do you think you’re dancing, Phantom Thief?”

“Yes. This is the dance of death between you and me!”

With a thunk, the air shook. It was the maximum acceleration Filzy could withstand, thanks to the physical prowess being a Deviation Type gave her. The moment she charged forward, riding the wave of it, Lonsday saw her laugh unrestrainedly.

She was reveling in letting her ability shine to the fullest. Nothing more. The freedom to do what someone pleased went together with pleasure, especially if they were putting their life on the line. Lonsday understood that feeling and wanted to experience it herself—but…

She turned her eyes to Norman Hamish, who was standing still as ever.

The old woman and I are alike. Deep down, we share the same kind of craving.

But the difference is that blockhead standing over there.

“I’m different than you.”

You’re doing what you please. But the difference is, I’m fulfilled.

“Thrud Thistle!”

The moment Filzy’s hand met Lonsday’s chest—

“Anvilcel Maiden!”

The phantom thief’s hand shattered with a wet crunch.

“Heh…heh?”

“Here’s a little lesson for you.”

Her hand had definitely touched Lonsday’s chest—yet it shattered, reacting as if she’d driven her fingers into something incredibly hard. But Filzy had touched Lonsday’s left breast. Nevertheless, her hand had been undeniably shattered. The phantom flower that should have been untouchable—wasn’t.

“When abilities collide and interfere with each other, the stronger one wins. That’s all there is to it.”

An ability that surpassed stealing a heart by phasing through matter…

“D-did you harden your body?”

“Close.”

The brown-skinned beauty smiled.

“Very close. It looks the same, but the reality is different.”

Her grin stretched so wide it seemed like her lips might tear.

“…!”

The old woman jumped back, her instincts kicking in despite the pain. She activated her ability and sank straight down, phasing through to the first floor like she had when she first appeared. Phasing through wall after wall, she moved along the connected route of small exhibit rooms.

“Huff…huff…!”

Her breathing echoed in the dark, quiet exhibit room, both her reason and instinct alike sounding a warning.

“…Heh.”

Still, what welled up in the back of her throat was a dark joy. Filzy had escaped to the first floor without thinking, but her phasing ability gave her the upper hand in the labyrinth-like space. Exhibits lined the room. She knew their value from the work she did and had helped maintain many of them. Even Lonsday would find it difficult to move freely in the cluttered space.

“I’m not done yet,” she whispered like someone in a fever dream, and a moment later—

“Wha—?!”

She instinctively looked up at the loud crash from the second floor.

“…?!”

“Ha-ha! Miss me?!”

Lonsday reappeared, smashing through the wall behind her and blowing away the exhibits, along with the stone and wood that had been a wall.

“…?”

Then she caught sight of something strange—on Lonsday’s hands and feet, there were faintly glowing red patterns that resembled tattoos. But she didn’t have the luxury to ponder what they meant. With a grin fit to tear her cheeks apart, Lonsday seized the shocked Filzy’s neck from behind.

“Ha-ha-ha! Let’s take a museum tour, shall we?!”

With Filzy still pinned to the wall, Lonsday smashed through it. She tore ahead, ignoring the walls and route and destroying everything in her path, Filzy still in her grasp.

“D-damn you…!”

The pain didn’t matter. Her phasing had reflectively kicked in, and she was able to ignore all the damage other than to her neck.

The issue was—

“Gah… Y-you! Look what you’ve done to the exhibits…!”

Lonsday had leveled everything in her path. Each piece there easily surpassed Filzy’s annual income, and Lonsday had destroyed them all while swinging Filzy around. She had to have known what she was doing.

“Ha-ha-ha! Are you dense?! Don’t go complaining when you’re the one who started this here! If it was so important, you should have picked somewhere else!”

Swords used in battle a millennium ago. Coins said to have been in circulation two millennia ago. Weapons forged from the remains of extinct animals, of which only a few existed in the country. Statues chiseled by artists whose names went down in history. Original manuscripts inscribed by ancient philosophers.

Even the museum itself was a centuries-old historical building.

All that value and history, crushed underfoot.

It had taken all of ten seconds for the wind that personified chaos to tear through and destroy the entire first floor.

“Oops. If I go too far, he’ll scold me again.”

“Guh…?!”

There was a sensation of weightlessness. Filzy was hurled upward and onto the second floor before she knew it.

“Oh, you’re back.”

She locked eyes with Norman, who was frozen in place, for a moment. There was no shock or confusion.

“What the—?!”

Just before she crashed into the ceiling, her left hand was pulled back. She hadn’t even realized something had wrapped around it. It wasn’t just any random object. It was the bandage that had been wrapped around Lonsday’s right hand.

Her wrinkled eyes opened wide.

Deviation Types could apply their abilities to their clothes as extensions of themselves. The ability worked as long as you considered your clothes part of your body. Otherwise, you’d risk being naked every time you used your ability.

However, it wasn’t just something that could be pulled off on a whim. To perceive an item as part of yourself required deep focus and strong emotional attachment.

But…

“That’s just a bandage.”

“Is that what it looks like?”

Lonsday’s smile morphed from wild, monstrous laughter into a gentle, human smile.

“That’s the difference between you and me.”

We’re alike.

“Too bad for you, I’m a clingy woman.”

But different.

“Anvilcel Maiden!”

Lonsday reeled in the bandage.

“Gah?!”

A fist harder than steel drove into the face of the phantom thief. Filzy was completely unaware of the change Lonsday’s body had undergone.

“Anvilcel Maiden!”

It was the expansion of Lonsday’s density. She wasn’t hardening her body but increasing her body’s density, which gave her hardness and made her heavier. She was now dozens of times harder and weightier than steel, the floor and carpet beneath her likely cracked. Despite her compressing several tons of mass into a human shape, she experienced no slowdown from weight or the laws of physics—her form was just as heavy, hard, and strong as she desired it.

“Ugh…gah…!”

The phantom thief fought back, even with one hand bound and her face smashed in. She phased through the wrapped bandage and attempted to steal Lonsday’s body with her right hand.

However—

“…!”

“Ha-ha-ha! What’s wrong? Laugh, Phantom Thief! You can’t use your age as an excuse anymore!”

Filzy couldn’t phase through the ultra-dense flesh. She only scraped its surface. Of course, Lonsday still felt the pain. Her density had increased, but her pain receptors were the same size.

But she was still laughing.

“Let’s have a chain death match.”

Neither of them could defend anymore; consequently, the attack from their fellow non-human landed with full force.

However…

Naturally, the Jewel had the advantage.

“Ugh…ugh…guh…!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Lonsday’s fist landed again and again—jab, straight hook, uppercut, blow. A barrage with her left fist. The old woman’s attacks might have been better described as a desperate struggle rather than a counterattack. The next blow almost sent Filzy flying, but the bandage yanked her back, and another blow landed. The old woman’s body leaped, rebounded, and leaped again.

“You like to dance, huh? Dancing is something you do together!”

The phantom thief danced. The detective laughed. Despite the pain and injuries, the smile on her face never left—a ghastly smile covered in blood. Laughing in the midst of corruption, the diamond of greed—Enhancedia—grew stronger. She was a detective who used pretenses, cover-ups, schemes, and plots to uncover the one truth from many mysteries.

The Anvilcel Maiden (Unsullied Gem) pointed to the truth.

“Guh…!”

The Jewel’s fist knocked the phantom flower’s teeth loose.

“S-stop—”

“Stop?! Ha, what are you talking about now?! I caught you red-handed for trespassing and burglary! I’ll overlook the assault and attempted murder since I did the same! You’re an old hag, right?! Don’t you know?”

The beauty laughed.

“You shouldn’t steal other people’s things!”

Another blow to the face, then a large, downward blow that struck the thief’s head and sent her flying.

“Ugh…guh…!”

The phantom flower gathered the rest of her strength in that moment.

She’d mocked the police four times, and in the end, it was a jewel of the same stripe whose life she would take, using her ability to phase through and steal anything.

But—

“It’s useless.”

“H-how…?”

“Elementary, my dear phantom.”

To Filzy, it was just a bandage, but to Lonsday, it had a deeper meaning—a token of kindness the great detective had received from her assistant.

“A thief might steal treasure, but the truth always belongs to a detective.”

Lonsday spun around while pulling Filzy close with her right hand. Her right foot, marked with red designs, drew a circle. Using her ability to make only her toes heavy and the rest of her foot light, combined with her own physical strength and centrifugal force, she reached the speed of sound in an instant. The air ruptured with a crack.

She pounded home with a sweeping kick, meant to knock down, which exploded against Filzy’s side as she was pulled closer. In that moment—

“Anvilcel Maiden: Burst!”

Her forefoot was overloaded for a round house kick that carried several dozen tons of mass and struck faster than the speed of sound. The old woman’s body vanished, smashing through the floorboards.

“…Hmm. Hey, Norman, I have two things to say to you.”

“Yes, yes. What are they?”

“The bandage tore just now. Get me a new one later.”

“Of course, as many as you want. What else?”

“We need to get the hell out of here.”

“Huh?”

“When I was going ham on the first floor earlier, I broke a few of the support pillars, and this just finished the job.”

“…My sister’s going to blow her top over this.”

“Ha, don’t worry, Norman.”

Everything—from the floor to the walls to the ceiling—trembled as the collapse began. Lonsday puffed out her chest proudly, having caused all the destruction.

“I’m far more valuable than some museum, right?”

“…Ah.”

Filzy felt no pain—or anything else. She lay gasping for breath in the rubble after being kicked by Lonsday, feeling only a strange floating sensation.

“Wh…why…?”

What was different between Lonsday and her?

“The difference was the bandage,” Lonsday said with a smile.

Filzy had no idea what she meant—probably something to do with the boy who had been standing there all along.

The detective held him firmly and didn’t let him go.

She was different than Filzy.

Filzy’s husband had died in the war, but her daughter had a family, and she was a grandmother. Reflecting on it, her granddaughter was about the same age as that boy—yet, despite her love for her family, she’d left them behind to come to this city.

“…Ha.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

The answer was in the difference between them. She’d thrown away the things that should have been precious to her in the act of seeking fulfillment and had become nothing but a reckless monster as a result.

“Ha-ha-ha.”

How ironic that someone who’d discarded everything had the power to phase through anything.

That’s why I couldn’t defeat her. Even as a monster, she held on to what was important.

Lonsday had destroyed everything in an act of self-indulgence, but she hadn’t been mistaken about what mattered most to her.

“Ah…really, how embarrassing.”

That those should be my last words.

The life of the old woman, who just wanted to be fulfilled, slipped away.

“The answer was perfume,” Norman heard Lonsday say in a bored tone before she muttered, “Hey, Norman, that hurts a little.”

“Deal with it. You’d be dead if you were a normal person.”

“Ha, now that’s a good joke.”

He hadn’t meant it as one, but she burst out laughing.

After the fight, Norman and Lonsday left the cleanup to Harrison and returned to the ruins.

The officer’s whole body seemed to scream in wordless protest and rage over the damage to the crime scene, but that was his job, so they’d left him to it. Norman was treating Lonsday’s wounds. She wore only her underwear, and the contrast between the purple lingerie and her brown skin was enticing—but this wasn’t the time for that. She had a deep gouge in her side and bruises all over her body. The arms she’d defended herself with were covered in cuts and bruises as well.

Norman carefully treated her wounds while she lay sprawled on the sofa. He disinfected them, applied ointment, covered them with compresses and gauze, and wrapped each one with bandages. He also neatly stitched the gash on her side.

“You’re as skillful as ever.”

“Out of all the things I learned on the battlefield, this was the most useful… So perfume?”

“It’s pretty simple.” She snorted dismissively. “There was residual perfume on the warning letter. That’s how I knew her identity just from shaking her hand. Got my hand crushed for it, though.”

“…Oh.”

Norman cut the bandage with a snip of his scissors, and Lonsday let the sound echo in her mind while flipping a mental switch.

“Phantom Thief Thistle.”

“Exactly. Thistle, the flower. That was her perfume. It’s one of our national flowers. Only someone older and fairly patriotic would wear it. The stationery was to commemorate the princess’s birthday, too. Sure, anyone could wear thistle perfume, but for someone in her line of work to wear the perfume that was the thief’s namesake? Besides…”

She snorted again.

“In the language of flowers, thistle means ‘touch me not.’”

“…Well, that’s something.”

“After the museum collapsed, I snuck into the underground employee office and rummaged through the old hag’s desk. She had a photo of Portquarry, plus envelopes and stationery from that specialty store. Also, her desk had pen caddies on both the left and right. She wanted someone to catch on.”

Norman knelt next to the sofa and pressed a compress to her thigh.

“…So why did she become a phantom thief in the first place?”

He supported her leg on his own thigh, running his fingers over it to check for injury.

“I understand wanting to use abilities after becoming an Unlaw, but why a phantom thief, of all things?”

“Who knows?”

Lonsday’s toes brushed his thigh. It tickled.

“Even I don’t know that much. All she said was that her husband had died and her children had left the nest. It was obvious she had pent-up frustration after going so wild once she became an Unlaw. An academic who worked at a museum turning into a thief… We might be able to figure it out if we search her bookshelf.”

“…I see. I’ll have the detective look into it.”

If her bookshelf was lined with novels about phantom thieves—or maybe she’d written one herself… It was difficult to say, but Filzy Mule might have been enjoying her youth to the fullest. Aged, weak, and with no family, she might have used her awakened ability to fulfill a long-held dream.

The theory was a bit out there, but so were phantom thieves.

“Hey, Norman… Was I right to kill that woman?”

Lonsday looked at the man caring for her. Even though the injuries all over her body would heal completely in a day or two thanks to her Deviation Type ability to regenerate, he treated her with care.

He was a loyal man. This was the man she chose to ask.

Ultimately, Lonsday Enhancedia had killed Filzy Mule—blow after blow, ending with an ultra-heavy roundhouse kick for good measure. She died after taking damage beyond the endurance of a Deviation Type. To kill an Unlaw, especially a physically powerful Deviation or Shapeshifter Type, required power of that caliber. The hole in her floor was made by the same method she used to kill Filzy Mule—overwhelming, crushing force.

The man she’d killed then was an Unlaw who’d abused his abilities. So she killed him.

Lonsday Enhancedia was a detective—a champion of justice who uncovered crimes through deduction, found the hidden truth in mysteries, and handed criminals over to the law. Before she became an Unlaw, she was already a detective who put criminals behind bars with a reliable sense of justice and morals. She wanted to do what was right and was born with an uncommonly sharp mind, able to discern what other people couldn’t.

Her eyes were those of a great detective who missed nothing.

It was inevitable that she became a detective since she believed it was her life’s work. But a year and a half ago, she became an Unlaw who deviated from everyone else—she wanted to use her powers for fun, just like the old woman who became a phantom detective, and began living by no rules but her own. Though she meant to do the right thing, enjoyment began to come first for her. She stopped protecting the innocent and began to find pleasure in using her abilities freely to hunt down criminals.

She was a paradox. The detective had become something far different than a detective.

And still…

“Yes, I think you were right to do it,” Norman Hamish affirmed to Lonsday Enhancedia.

He swapped out the leg that was resting on his thigh.

“Mmm…”

He traced the sole of her foot, arch, ankle, and thigh, his slow movement pulling a sigh from Lonsday. He was gentle yet persistent, like someone examining a jewel for flaws.

“That lady did whatever she wanted, and when she found out that you were an Unlaw, Miss Lonsday, she tried to kill you right away. If she had managed to kill you, she would have started hunting Unlaw. It’s a miracle she hadn’t harmed anyone before now.”

“…”

“Besides, with that ability, capturing her would’ve been no easy feat. You know it’s very difficult to deal with a Category Three without killing them, right? You did what you had to do.”

“…”

“Besides…”

Norman looked up and stared straight ahead at her, smiling slightly.

“I told you to.”

“…Right.” She sighed and relaxed.

Lonsday couldn’t tell anymore if what he said was right. She’d lost that ability. A broken sense of ethics. A lack of guilt. Her common sense gone. Her judgment no longer reliable. She could reason between right and wrong and think logically, but Lonsday could no longer be sure about it. She didn’t have conviction in her own deductions anymore.

It had been like this ever since she became an Unlaw.

She was a detective with supreme deductive reasoning but a broken understanding of justice.

That was Lonsday.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

So she let Norman guide her on what to do and tell her what she should do. He was her moral compass who allowed her to remain a detective when she could no longer be one.

That was why he was her partner—rather than rejecting Lonsday as an Unlaw, he embraced her as one.

“Heh… Hey, Norman.”

“Yes?”

“Am I a detective?”

“Of course. You’re the finest detective I know,” he said.

Those were the words that made her happiest. He’d said them a year and a half ago when they met during a case—first as enemies, then working with each other—before she lost herself.

“Heh-heh-heh, I see.”

She was almost certainly no longer the detective called “Jewel,” but there was someone who cherished her as if she were one.

The red pattern that appeared on the toes he touched was proof enough.

That alone made her an unbreakable diamond.

“As long as you keep saying that, I’ll keep being a detective.”

Interval Three

“And that was how Enhancedia destroyed the museum and solved the mystery of the phantom thief…”

Jim sighed deeply. He lowered his gaze, stretched out his right arm, and placed his left over his chest, slowly continuing the theatrical gesture.

“Aaah! You! Do you even know what you’ve done?!”

He sprang to his feet and started shouting, both eyes open as wide as they could go.

“The entire museum is ruined! Eighty percent of the exhibits are either destroyed or damaged! Do you understand how many hundreds, thousands, even billions of stels of damage this is, considering the value of the museum itself?! No, it’s not even an issue of money!”

“So which is it?”

“Both! As a patron of the arts, I simply can’t forgive this atrocity…!”

“We didn’t destroy the art museum. Just the main museum.”

“That’s not the point!”

Jim flailed his arms and spun around several times, Norman watching him with a squint.

“…”

“It’s your job to minimize damage from these incidents! What were you doing?! You’d better think of a good excuse because I’m recording this for posterity!”

“There was nothing I could have done.”

Norman gave a quick nod to the enraged Jim.

“Miss Lonsday is more valuable than all the art you speak of.”

“…”

His tone was utterly serious and without a trace of humor, even taking Jim aback. He gave Norman a look of complete disbelief for several seconds.

“Well, whatever.”

Changing course, Jim sat quietly in his chair.

“Filzy Mule. It’s the belief of Cartesius that one needs to have a strong sense of self to become an Unlaw as a child—but I’ve never seen such an old one before, either. Apparently, age has no effect on awakening.”

He spoke smoothly, like his earlier agitation had never happened.

“I remember her from when I visited the museum. She explained the exhibits to me a few times and seemed like a gentle old woman. I never imagined she’d turn into an eccentric phantom thief like that, hopping around in costume. It’s very troubling.”

“I was wondering why she was so eccentric, but now that I know she’s your acquaintance, it makes sense.”

“Ha-ha-ha! You don’t get to tell me that!”

Jim laughed three times and shrugged.

“Still, the ability to infiltrate anywhere is useful. It’s unusual to see someone reach Category Three in the field. It would have been useful to keep her.”

Norman didn’t even flinch.

“…Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

“Not really. Actually, my whole body hurts, and talking is starting to be a bother.”

“Then it’s time for the final tale! We’ve been following the ranks in order so far, so if we continue…!”

“…No, there’s no rank above that. Category Three is it.”

“Then let me hear it!”

The locked-room murder with Tear Blossom. The serial murders with Hellhound. The phantom thief case with Jewel.

And lastly…

“This is the whole reason you’re being interrogated! Last week, the first limited express train between this city and the capital went missing! It arrived hours late, and most of its passengers were killed in a dreadful train crash!”

“It was a horrible ordeal.”

“The only survivors were you and Fairy—Airystep! Tell me what really happened!”

“…What really happened, huh?”

Norman gave a short, mocking laugh.

“It’s nothing major, just a tale about ideals.”

Clareth Airystep.

She was a flaxen-haired girl wearing a side ponytail. She had heterochromatic eyes—one a pale pink and the other a light blue-green—and always a puckish grin on her face.

Describing Clareth was difficult, as she was the type of girl who couldn’t be summed up in one word. The only constant about her was that she always carried a light green wand. When she smiled, it didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t enjoying herself; she smiled even when she wasn’t enjoying herself, when she was angry, or even sad. It was hard to tell what she was thinking because she was unpredictable.

That was Clareth for you.

“I’m excited to see the capital, Mr. Norman,” she said, sitting across from him on the sofa with her legs crossed and a mischievous grin.

She had been reading a book, then suddenly looked up at him and winked with a smile.

“I’m not really excited about it, to be honest.”

“Really? That’s a shame. I’ve been so excited I haven’t been able to sleep for a week.”

“Huh? And how much did you sleep last night?”

“A full twelve hours.”

“That’s too much.”

“Hee-hee.”

“Good grief.”

Realizing she was teasing him, Norman turned his gaze to the window where the landscape outside passed by at high speed.

Norman and Clareth were currently on a train—the Trevid Express, bound for Nornol from Bardium. The seats of their private compartment were soft and comfortable, but they could still feel vibrations and hear sounds. Clareth followed Norman’s gaze and looked out at the vast prairie stretching toward the horizon.

“A train to the capital, huh? This is my first time on one of these. The ticket was ridiculously expensive because it’s advertised as being state-of-the-art. Did you notice when we got on? Everyone who boarded is rich, even the curator of the museum you destroyed last week.”

“I saw him. Let’s make sure we don’t cross paths with him. I feel like he might murder me.”

“In that sense, I’m lucky I got to experience this with Cartesius footing the bill.” She picked up her teacup from the tea set she’d ordered through room service, which was sitting on the table beneath the window.

“School isn’t exactly useful to me, you know.”

She attended a girls’ school in Bardium. Its uniform was a white, double-breasted jacket and a green skirt, which would normally reach the calves but rode above her knees. It was truly unusual for an Unlaw to attend school. With her skirt that short, Norman didn’t think it was appropriate for him to be sitting across from her in the small compartment—he could almost see her inner thighs but didn’t say anything.

“You should attend your classes properly.”

“My attendance isn’t exactly stable because of my work with you, you know? I’m popular at school, though. Someone comes to me about their problems every day.”

“I’m glad you’re blending in, but what does that have to do with classes?”

“Unfortunately, girls’ boarding schools are mostly about bridal training. It’s horribly boring.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason why you should be studying?”

“There’s no reason to study, is there? There’s only one person who would take me anyway.”

Her sweet smile was as refreshing as a spring breeze, but her eyes held no mirth.

“…Who do you think is paying for your tuition?”

“Hmm, who was it again? Some kindhearted person, I guess.”

“…My sister, and don’t forget it.”

“Hee-hee.”

She took a sip of her tea.

“Well, going outside the city, especially to the capital, is a rare opportunity. I’m truly looking forward to it, you know?”

“Clareth, just so you know, we’re here for work.”

“I know. But I am allowed to enjoy the sights of the capital, too, right?”

“As long as we finish our work. I was originally planning to stay a night anyway.

“Hee-hee. I can’t wait, Mr. Norman.”

She put down her teacup and deftly twirled the handle of her wand round and round. Norman shrugged indifferently. A year after visiting Bardium, he was heading to the capital for the first time in six months. The main office of Cartesius was located in the capital, and he was going there to deliver various reports; while that was originally his sister Sufiya’s job, she was busy with things in Bardium, so Norman was filling in for her while sightseeing.

It was also a very rare chance for Clareth to accompany him.

“It isn’t every day that an Unlaw like me gets to leave the city on an outing.”

The girl, who wore a cheerful smile that didn’t reach her eyes, was called a monster and not allowed to leave the city—she did have some freedom of movement within the city, but if she left on her own, she would be either restrained or killed. The Unlaw, whose existence and locations were tracked, was aware of this.

Her excitement was real, at least.

“I can’t believe I’m going on a sleepover date with you. Everyone’s going to be jealous.”

“I’ll go whenever you want if you give me an invite.”

“Huh. So what if all four of us invite you at the same time?”

“…I’ll clone myself.”

“How sad. I wanted you to say you’d choose me, even if it was a lie.”

Though her words said otherwise, Clareth smiled happily and twirled her wand.

“Trains aren’t so bad,” Clareth muttered, looking outside at the scenery.

“Rails let you travel anywhere. It’s much faster than walking on foot, riding a horse, or driving a car or a motorcycle. But without them, the train can’t move. Isn’t that interesting? A train seems like freedom, but it’s actually the least free. You can only go on the predetermined route, but it’s the fastest.”

“Are you talking about limitations?”

“No, Mr. Norman. Yes, there are limitations, but there’s freedom within them. For example, this express train is state-of-the-art, but what makes it so?”

“It’s much faster than the older ones and can carry a lot of things.”

“I see. By the way, can I ask how many carriages are on this train, and how many of those are passenger cars?”

“It’s a ten-car train, with two passenger cars. One is a bar and restaurant, and the rest are all freight cars.”

“Yes, exactly. The ratio of cars is a form of freedom, isn’t it? But here’s something strange: Very few people leave Bardium. While there are traveling merchants, would they really need such a luxurious car on an express train? Wouldn’t it be better to make the whole thing a freight train?”

Norman thought for a moment in reply to her question.

“I don’t think it’s that complicated.”

“Oh?”

“It’s mainly for the merchants. They send loads of cargo to the capital in those freight cars, which is necessary for transporting food, essentials, luxury goods, and so on. They’ll put it on the train last. When they do that, the transportation cost goes up, right? When more money is involved, the responsibility increases, too. And that means someone has to ride with the cargo.”

“I get it. So that’s why all those people are in the room.”

Her wand wrapped the floor with a thunk.

“A brilliant deduction, Mr. Norman.”

“No need for flattery.”

Norman rose.

“Where are you going, Mr. Norman?”

“Just getting a tea refill. It’ll be a while before we reach the capital. Are you hungry at all? Want me to get you something to eat?”

“Shouldn’t a luxury train like this have a server? But—”

“But?”

“We probably shouldn’t go out just yet,” she said, standing.

She exhaled slowly. Just when Norman began to wonder when she was doing—

“Mmph.”

She kissed him. Before he could react to the abrupt move, she had already pushed him back down onto the sofa.

“Phwf.”

Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and when he opened his eyes in shock, he found hers centimeters from him—also open. Her heterochromatic eyes glowed mysteriously. The kiss lingered for more than ten seconds.

“Phew. Thanks for the treat.”

“…What the hell was that?”

The moment he asked, a series of heavy thumps, like something dropping to the floor, came from outside the room.

“…Clareth?”

“I’m making my move.”

Norman considered his reply, then slipped on his coat that had been folded on the sofa, feeling its weight, and donned his felt hat.

“Is it safe to head out?”

“I don’t recommend it. Of course, as long as I’m with you, you won’t have so much as a scratch on you, not even on a ghastly battlefield or in a hive of criminal scum. In fact, you’d have such a wonderful time with me, you’d think it was a fun date. But even so, it’s not worth the risk. Why not just stay here and keep kissing me? What do you think?”

It was such a blatantly contrived suggestion that Norman quickly realized…

“So it is safe.”

“…Oh dear, what a pity.”

But she didn’t seem all that disappointed.

When they stepped out of the compartment, there were countless dead bodies strewn on the ground.

“This reminds me of something that happened at school…”

“Right.”

“There was an incident where tons of mannequins were scattered all over the theater club’s storeroom. People asked me to look into it. There was a bit of a commotion because they thought it might have been a thief.”

“Huh.”

“It turns out a cleaning girl knocked them over and left them like that because she was afraid of getting in trouble, which was adorable. I took care of the rest.”

“Wow, they really do rely on you.”

“The mannequins were laid out just like this.”

“Unfortunately, these are no mannequins.”

Norman sighed in response to Clareth and looked around the train. The two passenger cars with their rows of compartments had become a moving steel coffin. Everyone had keeled over dead.

“…I hope the driver’s still kicking?” Norman asked Clareth, who had lightly linked her arm through his. She placed her head on his shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around him, and tapped the floor with her wand several times.

“Keep the window open and stay by me for now.”

“Hmm, roger that. But just standing here won’t help. Let’s take another look to be sure.”

They went into a nearby compartment to observe one of the dead. A middle-aged man in a pricey-looking suit sat there, saliva dripping from his mouth. He showed no signs of having fought or resisted.

“It doesn’t look like he was attacked, and there are no wounds on him. What’s your impression, Clareth?”

“Something feels off.” She cocked her head in thought. “Let’s see if your skills can change my mood.”

Without hesitation, she clung to Norman’s arm.

“There was something weird about the air, but I couldn’t tell what, so I just stayed put and defended our room.”

“And I’m alive thanks to that… Wait, then what was the kiss for? If you defended us with your power, the kiss was pointless.”

“I just wanted to kiss you.”

“…I see.”

Well, he could live with it, he decided.

“Hang on… This is actually really bad.”

“What makes you say that, Mr. Norman?”

“It doesn’t matter who they targeted. We’re in big trouble if we reach the capital like this.”

Norman finished speaking and immediately began walking briskly with Clareth, who was still clinging to his arm in tow.

“Oh my, I’ve never seen you move so fast, Mr. Norman. What’s going to be big trouble?”

“If a train arrives full of corpses, with only two survivors, what would most people think?”

“That they’re a wonder couple who survived by the power of love and destiny.”

“That those two are the culprits.”

“Hee-hee. I’m happy you didn’t deny it, at least.”

The train car shook violently as Clareth laughed.

“Whoa.”

Her balance shifted, momentarily uncertain. It was only for a few seconds, but—

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Norman.”

Clareth, with her petite frame and refreshing scent, was snugly nestled in Norman’s arms.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course. Anyway, that was a big jolt.”

“…That’s not good. The driver in the engine room might be down for the count, too. If we derail, I’m counting on you.”

“I’m glad you’re relying on me, but I could break a bone or two.”

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

When they entered the next car—the dining car—sure enough, there were bodies scattered everywhere. But that wasn’t all that was waiting for them.

“Hmm?”

There was a giant snake.

A huge snake, easily three meters long, the likes of which they’d never seen before, lunged at them.

Thunk.

In return, Clareth, the girl, simply known as “Fairy,” tapped her wand.

“Spriggan Hand!”

The giant snake was sliced clean down the middle. Blood gushed forth, spattering the dining car.

“Wow, I didn’t expect that.”

Clareth and Norman both smiled, not a drop of blood on them.

“I’ve seen snakes before, but never that size. What about you, Mr. Norman?”

“Snakes that size don’t usually exist, especially not on a train.”

An ability that was abnormal. In other words—

“An Unlaw is hijacking the train.”

“The problem is whether the culprit is still aboard the train,” Norman said, rummaging through the corpses in the dining car. “Like I said before, if we reach the last stop without figuring things out, we’ll be the suspects. We have to find the culprit or some clues, or we’ll be interrogated once we reach the capital.”

“You’re unusually talkative today.”

While Norman examined the bodies, Clareth sat elegantly in a chair, sipping tea and watching him.

“What do you think the goal of this trainjacking is?”

“The dead are nobles, merchants, and wealthy people from Bardium. It wouldn’t be strange if someone wanted them dead for political or financial reasons. Or we might be the real targets. Or it’s a random terrorist attack. Or they’re targeting the cargo.”

“Huh? So in the end, we come back to the cargo.”

“It’s not out of the question they’re after money. But there is a problem with that idea.”

“Oh.”

“The problem is how they plan to collect it. Supposing for argument’s sake they manage to take the cargo, where is this train going?”

“To the station in the capital.”

“Exactly. Even if there is a team waiting there to recover it, the capital station is so big that there are bound to be unconnected people there. A brand-new express train is sure to turn some heads, and with most of the passengers dead, I think they’d have some difficulty taking just the cargo.”

“True. It would be difficult but not impossible. Then…could this be an assassination?”

“I wonder.”

Norman thought for a moment. There were many ways to kill someone, even if you weren’t an Unlaw.

But, he thought.

“Poison gas is tricky for an assassination. There’s always a chance someone might miraculously survive.”

In any case…

“Let’s head to the engine room for now. We’ll capture the culprit if they’re there, and if not…we’ll figure something out then.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it the best I can.”

Fairy smiled and tapped her wand with a soft thunk.

“Don’t overdo it.”

They headed to the next car.

“The Shapeshifter Type earlier, I think they came back to check if anyone survived the poison gas. The delay was that they were waiting for the gas to spread. Now the problem is whether that snake is the sole perpetrator or they have accomplices.”

“What’s your guess, Mr. Norman?”

“They’re working with others.”

Because…

“These guys are clearly working together.”

When they entered the next freight car after the dining car, they found five more men among the cargo, already dead. The way they were armed with crude military knives and guns made it clear that they weren’t passengers.

“Oh my, oh my! If you’re correct, and these are the accomplices of the snake from earlier, then what does this mean? Could there be someone here besides us?!”

“Quick on the uptake as always, Clareth.”

It was obvious who did it.

“…I’d like a bit more of a reaction, Mr. Norman.” The Fairy pouted cutely, puffing out her cheeks. “Can’t you be like, ‘I’m shocked,’ or ‘I wish you’d kept them alive,’ or something?”

“Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t have preferred them alive.” He seemed a little dissatisfied with her.

“Well, too bad. My job as your bodyguard is to prioritize your safety.”

Though she expressed regret, she seemed to be pleased with Norman’s dissatisfaction.

“Well then, Mr. Norman, how about you put that military autopsy expertise of yours to good use and deduce their identities, personalities, motives, and even what they had for breakfast?”

“Deduction isn’t really a military doctor’s wheelhouse. I’m sure Miss Lonsday could deduce their daily diet, not just what they had for breakfast.”

Norman shrugged haphazardly and looked over the hastily arranged corpses again. He wasn’t there to examine them. He already knew that Clareth, who was currently sitting on the cargo, had done it, so it didn’t matter.

“…Hmm.”

He gave a single nod.

“Well, there are some things even I can figure out.”

“Impressive. Like what?”

They were probably day laborers or small-time thugs. There were day-laborer work tickets in their jacket pockets. Surely, they were given them at the end of the day’s work and could later exchange them for cash. The text on them was small, but there was an address printed on them. There were also coins, bottles of cheap liquor, and betting stubs.

“Their hands are badly calloused, like from construction or factory work. They’re small-time crooks who’d come running if you called them out to them in a back alley.”

“Hmm.”

Clareth looked puzzled.

“Construction, now trainjacking? Being unemployed opens up more opportunities than I thought. That’s educational.”

“…What’s wrong with being unemployed?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Norman. I’m not judging you for being unemployed.”

“…Anyway, underlings being around means there’s a boss. Maybe they were sent to recover the cargo? Odd, considering they were barely armed. Were they planning to carry it out piece by piece…?

“Not to mention it’s odd for thugs dressed like that to show up on a luxury train.”

“I agree. What exactly was going to be the plan at the station—? Huh?”

“Mr. Norman?”

With a look of realization, Norman took out a pocket watch—he checked it against the express train schedule and made a tsk. Then came a small book from his coat, his face uncharacteristically grim.

“What’s that?”

“A geography book.”

“Hmm. You really do have everything in that coat of yours. And?”

“This train’s not going to the capital anymore.”

“…What?” Her pale pink and light blue-green eyes narrowed slightly.

“That shaking earlier was us being diverted. We’re on an unused track now.”

Norman showed the geography book to Clareth, too. It was open to the region they were currently in. Taking a pen from his breast pocket, he drew a line on the map that was mostly straight with a light curve on it.

“This is our original route. There was a simplified version on the guide map. And…probably here is where we switched to the unused track.”

“By ‘unused,’ you mean…?”

“There’s an abandoned coal mine ahead. I was wondering what they were thinking, hijacking a train, but now it makes sense. They’ll unload at an abandoned station off the normal route and just take it all. That’s why none of the corpses were prepped to carry anything.”

“Bold of them. Wouldn’t it be a big deal if the train didn’t arrive?”

“Even then, they’ll have plenty of time to take what they want.”

He closed the geography book heavily.

“…Well, this is more serious than I thought.”

“More serious than an Unlaw trainjacker?”

“I’d say it’s a toss-up. That was bad enough, but these guys are way more prepared than I thought…”

This is bad. Norman realized he was growing impatient.

“Hmm.”

He touched his hat, collecting his thoughts. A trainjacking. Influential people in the city murdered. The snake Unlaw. Low-level underlings. With that setup, there was a good chance that the ringleader—or someone similar—was in the engine room, and that there were more thugs in the other cars, too.

“We don’t have to worry about being surrounded by police at the capital since we switched tracks, but someone might be waiting to ambush us at the abandoned station.”

“Well, that’s not an issue, right? Since you have me.”

“…You’re not wrong.”

Norman would have had no problem with an ordinary crime, but this incident involved Unlaw, and they were his responsibility. Leaving things be would tarnish his reputation, and his reputation was everything. He needed to score points and build his reputation for a certain reason that only his sister knew.

“…Okay, Clareth.”

“What?”

“Do me a favor and spare the chief mastermind if you find him?”

“I’d rather not,” the Fairy giggled to herself. She jabbed the corpses carelessly with her wand, having fun. “Like I said before, I’m your bodyguard. Your safety is my top priority, meaning I’ve made a firm decision to thoroughly kill anything that might threaten you.”

She said that dreadful line with a sweet smile. Norman had expected as much, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“But that’s true. You have your own reasons for wanting them alive, too.” Clareth placed her slender fingers on her chin and said, “Let’s make a bet, Mr. Norman.” She twirled her wand and made a graceful bow, her skirt’s edge held between her fingers.

“Like I said, I want to kill anything potentially dangerous, be it human or Unlaw. There’s nothing that trumps guaranteeing your safety.”

But…

“I sympathize with your situation, Mr. Norman. So if the culprit in the engine room has a boring motive, I’ll kill them. But if they have a reason for doing this, I’ll let them live. How does that sound?”

“How is that a bet? And what’s your definition of boring?”

“We’ll figure that out together.”

“…I feel like this will all end with me talking you out of becoming the culprit.”

“Hee-hee. Fine.” The Fairy laughed and shook her head in a dramatic gesture that was completely out of place, indecent, and frivolous in a room full of corpses.

This guardian protected only what she wanted to protect. She wasn’t just guarding her treasure out of obligation—she was a monster who distorted those around her.

“Someone else can have the role of the villain. I’m here to play the monster who tears apart a scheming fool.”

“I’ll pulverize them for you, Mr. Norman. I’m completely serious. So you’ll need to be just as serious to stop me, okay?”

“I knew you’d come.”

When they reached the engine room, it was larger than they expected. The vibrations of the train and the sound of the wind were much louder there, and the floor shook continuously. At the back were the engine compartment where fuel was fed in and the driver’s seat. The space in front of the seat was only a few meters, enough for people to stand close.

What mattered was the man sitting sideways in the chair, facing them. He was a small man, even considering that he was seated. You couldn’t even get away with flattering him by calling him good-looking—to be blunt, he was even ugly. His clothes were average, not especially clean or dirty, and he looked like an average blue-collar man you might encounter anywhere.

The only thing that stood out about him was the pipe in his mouth, but that was just how unremarkable he was.

Norman knew at a glance—he was an Unlaw.

He had the rough aura of someone accustomed to violence. His eyes were dark, as if resigned to everything, but there was a dull gleam in their depths.

He wasn’t surprised to see Norman or Clareth—if anything, he seemed to expect them, nodding with indifference as if to say he’d already foreseen this outcome.

“…Oh?”

“…Clareth?”

Her arm still twined around Norman’s, she betrayed a hint of surprise. It was an unusual expression for her.

“…And who might you be? Are you the mastermind behind this trainjacking? What’s your goal?”

“My name is Nocker Cromwell. Let’s see… My goal is to either kill you or recruit you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hmm.”

For a few moments, both Norman and Clareth froze. It was no surprise that he was the mastermind of the trainjacking, but that his goal was to either kill or recruit Norman and Clareth? Wasn’t he after the cargo or trying to assassinate someone important?

“Let’s talk, Hamish. We have plenty of time since this train is no longer headed to the capital.”

“You switched tracks midway, right?”

“You’re a sharp as ever. Let me explain it to you simply, Norman Hamish. I was once in the same situation as that fairy over here.”

“…I get it.”

Norman nodded, understanding with a single word.

“You were one of Cartesius’s Unlaw?”

“That’s right.”

Nocker replaced his pipe between his lips.

“I was discarded by Cartesius in Bardium.”

He exhaled a heavy puff of smoke, his words carrying no emotion. He spoke only the facts, concisely, like his ability to feel had been eroded away. Norman didn’t recognize him, meaning he must have been discarded over a year and a half ago.

“I came close to death but didn’t die. That’s why I’m active where I am.”

“Where would that be?”

“The Unlaw Rights Movement.”

“Excuse me?”

“My goal is to make the existence of Unlaw public and secure their human rights.”

“…”

Human rights—for Unlaw? Norman stood still, his mouth hanging open in surprise, and even Clareth’s smile was frozen in place.

“I knew you’d be on this train.”

“Who told you?”

“The trainjacking and cargo recovery are secondary. Did you know, Fairy, that you’re one of the most useful and dangerous monsters in Cartesius?”

“Mr. Norman? He’s ignoring you.”

“I know human rights for Unlaw must seem absurd. But the way they’re treated is appalling. Airystep, I hear you attend a girls’ academy in Bardium? Are your colleagues free to leave, too, as long as they file a post-event report?”

“Well, that’s because Mr. Norman loves us…”

“That’s only the case for you four. Our living quarters were assigned, and we had nearly no freedom to leave.”

“…”

Clareth trembled minutely, like she’d remembered something.

In fact, she’d lived in those conditions herself.

“I know you played a part in getting those restrictions relaxed, Hamish. Well done.”

“…Thanks?” Norman wasn’t sure what to say, being praised out of nowhere.

“But that’s still not enough. The Twins in the capital are developing anti-Unlaw weapons. If they succeed, we won’t even be useful anymore. That’s why—”

The small man spoke with quiet intensity.

“We Unlaw need to be liberated. We have the power to fight—now we need funds, time, and manpower.”

“Is that possible?”

“Of course, Hamish. If you join me, the four from Bardium will follow. That would make it somewhat doable.”

“…I see. You’ve given this some serious thought.”

Norman thought seriously lobbying for human rights for Unlaw was absurd. If the world realized their existence, it would mean a return to the witch hunts of the Middle Ages at best.

“Hmm.”

As far-fetched as the idea was, there was no trace of joking in Nocker’s voice or demeanor. The little man was serious, like a determined miner who kept doggedly swinging his pickax at a promised vein of gold—whether it existed or not, he would keep digging until he found it.

“I see.”

And then Norman realized something.

A mind that sought to distort its surroundings—to distort the very nature of what existed around it to fit its own shape.

“You’re a Distortion Type, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

Distortion Types had qualities that distinctly differentiated them from other Unlaw. Their ability and spirit were focused outward—on their environment. They explicitly distorted things other than themselves, including the matter their powers affected, and the people their presence distorted. They distorted matter, people, and common sense.

Incidents caused by Distortion Types tended to be the largest scale among all Unlaw.

Clareth was no exception.

“You’re a quick study, Hamish. Then I’ll just ask you. I’m going to distort the world into a future where Unlaw can live. Will you help me? You want that, too, don’t you?”

“Hmm.”

There was something Norman liked about how he only said what mattered, with no time wasted, but Norman wasn’t happy-go-lucky enough to make a decision based on liking the man.

“I do have a question.”

“What is it? I’ll answer as best I can.”

“Did you have a reason for killing the passengers?”

Norman didn’t know whether the people who were killed deserved it, but there was no reason for them to be caught up in this and killed.

“No,” Nocker said, as artless as someone striking steel with a sledgehammer. “I killed them because they were in my way. I couldn’t deal with so many civilians, so I killed them.”

“I see,” Norman said with a nod. “Clareth, I’ll acknowledge that I lost the bet.”

“Oh my, are you sure?”

“Yes, we’re done here.”

His words were unusually cold and empty—so much so that it was unsettling.

It might have been easier in the long run to neutralize him without killing him and have him give the same speech to Cartesius, but more importantly—

“We’ll deal with him here.”

The bet had been about the culprit’s motive. But after hearing Nocker’s story, there was no reason to spare him. Norman couldn’t let a monster who killed people because they were in the way stay alive.

“I didn’t think he would be this beyond saving.”

“Hmm. I’m glad to see this side of you, Mr. Norman, but…”

The Fairy took a step forward, her movements light and unaffected by the terrible vibrations. Maintaining her otherworldly aura, she rapped the floor with her wand.

A soft thunk echoed.

“Spriggan Hand! Dwerkknock!”

And—nothing happened.

“Clareth?”

“Hmm, I knew it wouldn’t work. We’re both Category Three.”

“I told you I knew you’d be on this train.” Nocker rose. He was indeed short. Shorter than Clareth.

“I suspected we’d have a breakdown in negotiations. If you’re an obstacle, then I have to eliminate you. And you, Airystep. I can cancel out your powers with mine. That’s why I was waiting here for you.”

“It looks like it. I was using my powers before we even hit the engine room, but I guess it was pointless.”

“So that’s why you were so surprised earlier…”

Distortion Types had the power to distort and interfere with the properties of matter.

In that case—

If Clareth could distort something with her power, Nocker could distort it even further, completely nullifying the Fairy’s magic.

“My powers are rendered useless as well, but it’s fine if we cancel each other out. The Fairy is just a human, after all.”

He produced a crude-looking knife.

“If you won’t go along with me, I’ll kill you just like all the other passengers because you’re in my way.”

Nocker Cromwell’s movements were simple—he closed the distance of several meters between them, weapon brandished—singular and honed, movements that could be used many ways.

How could such an Unlaw have been discarded? He should have been useful. He should have been valued—yet he was discarded like an unwanted pebble. How many stories had ended the same way?

No, there were more pressing matters—

“Want me to handle it, Clareth?”

“Just watch from right over there, Mr. Norman.”

“Hmm.”

Norman shoved his hands into his pockets and stood stock-still. Reality would soon decide the outcome.

“Die, Fairy.”

It was a line spoken like a curse. For once, Norman saw a flicker of emotion in her.

“Hee-hee.”

A sharp, high-pitched clang rang out.

“…!”

Nocker’s eyes flew open. It wasn’t the sound of a knife striking flesh he’d expected—it was the sound of the heavy knife glancing off the wall.

“So, without your ability, you’re just a normal person, huh?”

She hadn’t defended herself with power. What she’d used was her emerald-green wand, leveraging the L-shaped handle to hook Nocker’s knife-wielding hand and deflect it. The sheer speed and efficiency of her move sent the little man’s knife into the wall instead.

“Good grief. You underestimated me. I’m supposed to be Mr. Norman’s bodyguard, remember? Just because I can’t use my powers doesn’t mean I can’t protect him.”

The Fairy giggled softly, her wand glittering. Her fingers flicked around the center of the wand, spinning it and causing the tip to spring upward and strike Nocker’s elbow with precision.

“Guh…?!”

The blow to his joint caused the little man to reel in pain and confusion, dropping the knife—

“Now, now, I thought you were going to kill me?”

“…”

He froze in place with a thunk. Clareth pivoted, spun her wand, and hooked the handle around Nocker’s neck.

“Of course, I won’t let you.”

Her punch drove deep into the little man’s solar plexus. It was a textbook strike, thrown from a lowered stance.

“Guh?! Gah!”

Clareth didn’t stop there. Releasing him from the handle’s hook, she struck with her next hit, sending him crashing into the wall with a heavy clout to the temple. She unleashed a flurry of blows, finally forcing Nocker to retreat several steps.

“Guh! Damn…you…!”

Even so, the narrow space meant she was still within striking distance as he produced a new knife—

“Where did you learn this kind of martial arts…? The file on you…didn’t say anything about—”

“How old was that file? People grow every day, whether they’re human or Unlaw.”

“You cheeky little—”

“I’m good at surprising people. That comes with being an Unlaw.”

It was a narrow passage, but with just a little man and girl, there was space enough to wield a knife, though not with full range—so Clareth gripped the center of her wand and twirled it as she swung, knife and wand clashing repeatedly.

The little man’s movements were those of an assassin with military combat origins. His killing technique aimed for the fastest, shortest route, slipping through the gaps in his opponent’s breath and awareness, while hers aimed to redirect and control her opponent’s moves.

She blocked his strikes with her wand and, taking advantage of the flow, plunged the tip forward. When he dodged, she spun, hooking the handle around his body to control him. Her moves were like a dance—a warm spring breeze that was impossible to grasp because it blew wherever it pleased.

A girl detached from the real world. No matter where she was, she never quite matched her surroundings. And while it may have been insulting to say about a young girl, Norman thought the way she danced freely in the narrow corridor, wand in hand, was frighteningly fitting—like she was moving through an enchanted land where fairies fluttered about, beyond the reach of humans.

“…!”

“Hee-hee.”

The battle lasted only a few seconds before the little man grimaced. The Fairy had taken control of the fight.

“Where did you learn those moves?”

It may have been said in fear. Fear because an ordinary schoolgirl could match him, a professional killer in battle. The child he’d thought would be easy prey after sealing her powers was giving him trouble.

Maybe, just maybe, she was still hiding something?

He might have dismissed the thought as himself overthinking things.

“Hee-hee-hee.”

But the Fairy’s smile didn’t let him.

No matter the situation—even if she were about to be killed—her smile never faltered. She never changed, never flinched, never showed fear. The one who changed, who showed fear, was always her opponent. They feared what they didn’t understand.

“…!”

The small man jumped. He forced himself to leap backward, not caring that he’d slammed his back into the engine, and what he grabbed wasn’t a knife.

“How about this?!”

It was a small pistol that had fallen out of his sleeve. It was a single-shot assassin’s gun, small enough to hide in his clothes but still very capable of killing a person. He pulled the trigger immediately.

“…”

Norman stood completely still. He knew what would happen, though he was still worried.

“Phew.”

Clareth let out a sharp breath for the first time. She raised her wand vertically, and the bullet struck the center of the handle, where fissures rushed along the whole surface before it exploded open.

Then the little man saw two things.

“…?!”

A slender silver blade emerging from the shattered sheath of the wand and geometric-patterned wings emerging from the Fairy’s back.

“Clareth!” Norman shouted in a panic, but the Fairy ignored him and stepped forward.

In an instant, a flawless, arrow-like thrust pierced Nocker’s heart, like a flash of white blades dancing an airy step.

“Cough!”

Nocker coughed up blood.

“……Dwerkknock!”

“Spriggan Hand!”

Nothing happened.

“Damn you!”

“Too bad for you. If you can seal me, I can just as easily seal you.”

Spriggan Hand—it was the power to freely manipulate air as a solid. Clareth could shape air into any form she desired. The terrifying thing was that it was invisible to the naked eye.

It was originally an ability to manipulate the air in her line of sight, but she expanded its range of distortion through training to dozens of meters around her, allowing her to solidify and manipulate air remotely, controlling its composition and even atmospheric pressure.

Spriggan protected treasures. That was why she called her ability The Fairy’s Grasp.

In contrast, Nocker’s Dwerkknock must have been an ability that turned solid things soft, but for him, what mattered wasn’t just what the ability could do—it was something more.

“So that’s…how it is.”

“Hmm?”

“Those wings of light you had just now… They’re what make you special…!”

Though the wings on her back had already vanished, the image was burned into Nocker’s eyes.

“With that power…you’re capable of distorting so much more…!”

“Don’t impose your version of distortion on me. You and I want to distort different things.”

You and I, we’re not the same.

Even if you say that, I don’t care.

“Maybe you were discarded because you couldn’t even understand that?”

“…!”

The little man tried to shout something.

“That’s enough.”

Before he could finish, the Fairy pulled her thin sword from his chest. Blood spurted from the wound, and with a dull sound from the little man’s throat, his life ebbed away.

That was the end.

The monster who had distorted so many lives perished, and the two he targeted survived.

“…Phew. I’m beat. I broke the sheath, Mr. Norman.”

Clareth swung the sword to shake off the blood with a wry smile.

“Well, there’s no helping it. Let’s go buy you a new one next time… Oh, also…”

“Hmm?”

“That’s some impressive skill you have.”

“Hee-hee.”

She smiled at the praise—not a feigned smile but one of pure joy, different than the usual.

“Elementary, my dear Mr. Norman.”

Her smile was warm as a spring breeze.

“It’s all thanks to you teaching me.”

“Well, that was a fun trip.”

Two days after the trainjacking, having finished his report in the capital, Clareth smiled at him as usual on their way home.

Taking down the ringleader was all well and good, but what came next was the difficult part. The aftermath was always a hassle. They turned the train back around at the abandoned mine toward its original destination of the capital, Nornol.

They arrived that night, but the police’s questioning and their explanations lasted into the wee hours of the morning, and after only a few hours’ sleep, Norman took care of his original business, went on a sightseeing date with Clareth, and left the capital the next day without ever taking a breather.

It made him uneasy that they hadn’t been detained for very long, but he decided to look at it as a blessing in disguise.

Norman went to Nornol every six months, but he still hadn’t come to like it. He hadn’t even visited his family. In the end, he belonged in that city with no wind, surrounded by walls.

“I can’t really say it was fun.” Norman lightly touched his felt hat as he recalled the events of their trip. “I was especially surprised to find someone in the same Category as you.”

“I regret my bet with you didn’t have a satisfying conclusion,” Clareth said, and something seemed to occur to her as she raised her chin slightly. “Here’s a bonus quiz. I used my ability just once. Can you guess where?”

“When you stopped the bullet, right?” came his instant reply. “I was surprised you deflected it with your wand, but I wasn’t sure what would happen to the scattered pieces of your wand or the bullet when you moved again. You just pushed them out of the way to attack, right?”

“Perfect. Just as I expected.”

“That was the easy part, though.”

“Hee-hee.”

The Fairy toyed with the new wand she’d acquired in the capital.

“…But, Clareth, you were reckless back there…”

The image of her green, shimmering wings flashed through his mind.

“I know. But it was just for a moment, right? I want you to forget about it.”

“Geez…I’m begging you here.”

Norman sighed and went on.

“Good grief… That was one hassle of a journey.”

Between being caught up in a train hijacking, tangling with a self-serving revolutionary, and writing all those extra reports, Norman couldn’t find any joy in it.

“What do you think, Mr. Norman?”

“About?”

“About the Unlaw Rights Movement. His actions were outrageous, but the idea itself—”

Hmm.

Since she asked, he thought about it.

“The concept of human rights for Unlaw isn’t bad. In fact, it’s a good thing. If that’s all it was, I might have supported it.”

“Huh. That’s a shame. If you’d been his ally, things might have worked out.”

“It’s not that easy.” Norman smiled bitterly. “It wouldn’t have worked out no matter what,” he said with certainty, like it was the natural order of things.

“Most people are ordinary humans. The world doesn’t revolve around a tiny handful of people.”

“It’s the majority over the minority.”

“Unfortunately.”

At least, that was how the world worked—for now.

“Making your existence public would only breed suspicion. It’s better to stay hidden. Living every day wondering if your neighbor had mysterious powers would be a pain.”

That was why Nocker Cromwell’s goal was merely an idealistic pipe dream—it would only create chaos far worse than any individual incident. He must have understood that, yet he still acted on it, and the result had been an empty express train with only Norman and Clareth aboard.

“I understand his feelings to some extent.”

Understanding them didn’t mean that he agreed with them.

“Hee-hee.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just rare to hear you get all emotional like that, Mr. Norman.”

“…Even I get like that sometimes.”

Norman cleared his throat with an ahem. He wasn’t acting like himself.

“Besides, when I get home, I have to report everything to my sister. Just thinking about it is a hassle.”

“I’ll give you that it’s a hassle. But, you know, Mr. Norman.”

The Fairy crooked her lips in a thin smile, her heterochromatic eyes looking straight at him.

“…”

In an instant, all sound vanished from Norman’s world. All that was left in the whole world was the Fairy smiling beautifully—her otherworldly, dreamy smile that seemed like it couldn’t be of this world.

“If it’s that much of a hassle, why don’t you just run away and never return to Bardium?”

The Fairy’s words flowed into his ears like sweetness itself.

“That’s right, that city is a disaster. So why don’t we go somewhere, just the two of us? It’s just a thought. I wouldn’t mind. For you, I’d throw away my current life without hesitation.”

What she said didn’t matter—he was seized by an uncontrollable urge to agree unconditionally with her bewitching tones.

Clareth Airystep was that kind of being. It wasn’t just because she was an Unlaw; she herself was like a fairy. A mysterious child who tempted people into another world. Being a Distortion Type Unlaw gave her a certain devilish charm from that alone. If Norman accepted her enticing invitation, she would probably protect him from every misfortune.

There weren’t many monsters who could match Clareth’s combat ability as an Unlaw.

Norman knew that well. That was why he replied:

“Let’s not.”

Clareth Airystep had expected that answer from him.

A Distortion Type was a monster that sought to manipulate everything around them, separate from their abilities. They wanted to distort their environment and society to fit their own desires. Clareth had done the same a year and a half ago as a student at the girls’ school in Bardium—she’d become an Unlaw and manifested that mentality, taking control of students and teachers alike and turning them into puppets who would do as she desired.

The school transformed from a place to nurture humans into a fairyland where everyone knelt before a queen. It might have simply been the first time Clareth had learned to harness her innate charm effectively. The school was one that many of the children of Bardium’s nobles and merchants attended, and the possibilities of what she could do were endless; just when she started considering them and what to distort, she’d met Norman.

From that point on, Clareth Airystep stopped distorting her surroundings—to be precise, she channeled her inherent longing as a Distortion Type to distort something toward Norman Hamish. To distort others was to change their very nature: to make someone who sought justice into someone who sought corruption, someone who comforted others in their sorrow into someone who delighted in others’ sorrows, and a normal human into a monster.

And to make him, who held the collars of four Unlaw, hold her collar alone.

Clareth found the man called Norman Hamish to be entirely too inflexible. He hadn’t changed since they’d met a year and a half ago, even while living side-by-side with the fairy Clareth Airystep, Tear Blossom, Hellhound, and Jewel. He hadn’t changed at all. Norman regarded her as a student in need of guidance, enough that he gave her lessons in self-defense. He had things he wouldn’t compromise on and priorities he upheld, and Clareth couldn’t change that.

It would be interesting if he put her first, but she also didn’t want him to change. If all it took was a little bit of temptation to change Norman, then she wouldn’t have been interested in him in the first place. Fairy wasn’t interested in toys that broke easily. They were for playing with forever.

Clareth had realized it was an Unlaw incident from the very first attack. With her ability spanning several dozen meters, she had a grasp of the entire situation on the train from the outset, from the condition of every train car to the fact that the little man was waiting for them in the engine room. Though she knew everything, she pretended not to, and even invited Norman to make a bet with her midway through because she wanted to observe the decisions he made.

Of course, she was also protecting him with all her might. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t forgive anyone who hurt Norman. Distorted love. Distorted affection. Distorted yearning. She knew that it was wrong.

That was where Nocker Cromwell was mistaken.

Whether the Unlaw had human rights or not didn’t matter to her since they could do whatever they pleased. Even so, Unlaw mustn’t think their actions were justified. Distorting the world around them to be as they pleased could never be right.

Anyone who laid hands on the guardian’s treasure—Norman—did so at their own risk.

The Spriggan Hand—the Guardian Fairy—protected treasure, after all.

“Hee-hee.”

She gave the young man she’d claimed as her treasure a slow, lingering gaze as if she was running her tongue all over him. But he remained unmoved, like he did whenever she gazed at him, innocently shrugging.

“Then maybe I’ll hold my tongue today.”

“Yeah. An invitation like that puts me in a tough spot, too.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, Mr. Norman.”

Her wand moved in a supple motion to press against the center of Norman’s chest.

“Ooof.”

Just that was enough to render him unable to move. She’d struck perfectly along his body’s midline—something Norman had also taught her. While keeping him pinned, Clareth rose and straddled his lap. She pressed their bodies together, so close they could feel each other’s breath, and their gazes locked.

The fairy smiled.

“I can make it so no one outside hears anything.” Her whisper was sweet, melting. She used her ability to transmit the sound directly to his eardrum, which was apparently quite pleasurable, like a tingling in the brain.

“It just so happens that the door to this compartment has no glass, so no one can see in from outside.”

“Meaning?”

“I wonder how many hours until we get to Bardium? No matter what we do, no one will know, right?”

Norman gulped softly. The reaction gave her genuine joy.

Even if she couldn’t distort his nature, this was a different matter.

“Time to choose, Mr. Norman.”

Spreading out from her back, a faint green distortion of the air wrapped around him so he couldn’t escape, and the Fairy smiled. It was her usual smile, but it had even greater love and desire behind it.

The Guardian Fairy lavished love on her chosen treasure.

“Your choices are what bring me the most joy.”

Interval Four

“Speaking practically, Fairy is quite something. I’ve studied many Unlaw, but she stands out among them.”

“Oh, we agree for once. Like you said, Clareth is really amazing. I feel kind of embarrassed being called ‘Mr. Norman’ by her.”

The two boys nodded in agreement.

“But can you really say you exert any real control over her?”

“Clareth’s wildness is part of her charm.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll let your fawning slide for now, but I do have one question.”

“What happened on the ride home is private.”

“I don’t care about that. I want to ask about Nocker. He was a brilliant Unlaw who mainly handled assassinations of higher-ups who posed a threat to Cartesius…”

Jim tilted his head exaggeratedly, like he was pondering.

“With her abilities sealed, the fairy should be just an ordinary human. Would she really be able to take down a professional killer in combat?”

“It just means Clareth is that strong.”

“That story seems a little hard to swallow.”

The weighty stare that clung to Norman said he wasn’t convinced.

“For example, are you sure Nocker said nothing at the end?”

“He said nothing. Didn’t I tell you? He died instantly from a single stab to the heart.”

“Hmm. Oh, I see.”

“…”

“If both their abilities had been functioning, I would buy that. But with both sides neutralized, Fairy winning is dubious at best. Perhaps something special happened?”

“I hate to break it to you, but reality can be dull. Nothing happened, and that’s the end of it.”

“Hmm… I wonder.” Jim nodded several times and said, “All things considered, it was quite the rough journey, Norman.”

“And this is how you treat me after my ordeal?”

“That’s how it goes. After you were questioned in the capital, some doubts came to light when things were discussed at Cartesius headquarters.”

Those doubts were—

“You’re suspected of being connected to Nocker Cromwell.”

“…What?”

“It’s not that strange a notion, is it? Your obsession with Unlaw is widely known.”

“Were you even listening to me?”

“I was listening, but there’s the issue of how much of your story was actually true.”

“…Sigh.”

Norman’s body went limp. Now that he’d said it, there was no turning back. The interrogation had lost all meaning.

“At headquarters, they believe that you and the miner, Nocker, planned the train hijacking together, but then your alliance broke down. There were many nobles and influential figures aboard that train, all connected to Bardium’s branch of Cartesius. That’s plenty of reason to target them. It’s no surprise that you would be involved in the human rights movement, either.”

Because…

“You said it yourself. That the four of them aren’t monsters but human beings. That being the case—”

Jim spread his arms wide.

“Your tale is done, but our real business starts now.”

“And there you have it, Norman. Let me list the charges against you again: disturbing the peace, property destruction, and alleged treason against Cartesius. Do you understand why you’re in this situation now?”

“No, not at all. That last one is especially insulting.”

“Is it really? Weren’t your regular visits to the capital part of your plan?”

“You know full well I was just reporting to headquarters on my sister’s behalf.”

“But Cartesius still has its doubts. That’s why I’m here interrogating you. I can’t just nod and say, ‘Sure, okay,’ when you say you didn’t do it. The four incidents you told me about might be isolated, but together, they stack up against you. You won’t be walking out of here scot-free.”

At that, Jim let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Honestly, this pains me as your friend, you know? If I left your interrogation to someone else, you’d be found guilty instantly. That’s why I took it upon myself to act as your interrogator.”

“…We’re going back to square one here, but the way things are going, what happens to me again?”

“Execution. We may be short on agents, but your last actions constituted a clear act of treason. Cartesius can’t deal with that leniently.”

“What if you intervened on my behalf?”

“Heh.”

The nature of Jim’s smile changed. What was a fixed grin became deeper and more intense.

This was the real business, so to speak.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Norman.” The words were practically sung. “I’m offering you the simple and obvious benefit of avoiding a death sentence. I’ll even pull some strings to clear all your current debts. In exchange…,” he continued, “I want your help with militarization of the Unlaw.”

“…Militarization?”

“That’s right. I don’t need to explain the why to you, do I?”

Norman’s face was blank. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel anything so much as he was suppressing some emotion. Jim was smiling. He was grinning broadly as if to say he couldn’t be enjoying himself more.

“Two years ago, our country suffered a major defeat in the war and brokered a ceasefire in exchange for major compensation. But that’s only temporary. We don’t know when war will break out again. What do we do then?”

The Unlaw possessed supernatural abilities, each one causing incidents that reflected their individual psyches. What if those were weaponized?

“I find those monsters called Unlaw utterly revolting, but I can’t deny their usefulness. They’re costly to train but yield excellent results as weapons.”

“…And?”

“I’m recruiting you, Norman. I rate your ability to control the Unlaw above anyone else’s. I want you to lead the Unlaw special forces unit I’m assembling.”

“…”

“Depending on their abilities, they’ll either kill enemies on the battlefield or act as spies in enemy nations. We’re in an age where spies are more valuable than ever. Of course, I’ll guarantee your salary and benefits.”

“…”

“You already dedicated your life to your country once. This is the same as picking up a gun for your country. What do you say, Norman? I want to hear your answer.”

Norman gave no reaction, not shrugging, stirring, or changing expressions.

He just asked one question.

“What happens to the four of them?”

“Of course, they’ll stay your pets. They’ll just be your weapons from now on, too.”

“I see. We’re done here.”

It happened in an instant. Before Jim knew it, Norman was standing in front of him. In a single motion, without any warning, he’d leaped onto the long table. Jim hadn’t taken his eyes off him and was sure Norman had been bound hand and foot with rope. He’d crushed the documents Jim was holding minutes ago—yet he made sure not to step on the photos of Shizuku and the others.

“Gah?!”

He tried to stand but couldn’t because Norman had kicked his right knee before he even had a chance to move. As Jim fell forward, Norman struck him in the head with an elbow and caught Jim’s head under his arm as he came down off the long table.

“Wai—”

“No.”

There was a dull crack, the sound of Norman breaking Jim’s cervical vertebrae. When he relaxed his arms, the corpse of the boy who’d been smirking only moments ago rolled to the ground. Ignoring it, Norman said:

“…That was exhausting. Now, where am I?”

Weighed down with fatigue, he placed both hands on the long table near the back.

“Should I go stop the other four and free my sister? Or leave the cleanup to someone else…? No, I’ll just take everyone and run. I have contingency plans, but—”

While he was mumbling to himself, something made him turn around. Two things were wrong behind him: the door on the left was half open and the corpse Norman had just created was nowhere to be found.

“Huh… Huh?”

His gaze turned upward, or rather, his ears had reacted to the clicking of footsteps above his head.

“…I see.”

Norman nodded once more and started gathering his things from the desk. He fixed his clothes, tucked away his personal items and folding cane into his coat, confirmed that his gun was still loaded, and, finally, placed his felt hat on his head.

“Good grief… That guy has no sense of taste.”

He sighed, the reason for which was visible outside the window as he approached.

A night view of Bardium spread out before him. There was only one place high enough to give him such a sweeping view.

“…Bardium Tower, huh?”

A strong gust of wind blew at the top of Bardium Tower. It was a large bell tower, furnished with a large bell as its symbol. The stone structure was fairly large, supported by pillars on every side. It had no walls by design, offering a view of the walled city below as the wind blew strongly.

At its center, directly under the massive bell, Jim Adamworth waited for Norman Hamish.

Norman had broken his neck, but there he stood—alive—as if nothing had happened.

“Don’t you find the city odd?” Jim began speaking immediately. “No one knows when the city walls were erected—but it seems like it all started with nobles who backed the founding of Cartesius. The wealthy settled here, bringing those who worked for them, and it gradually became a city.”

“And?”

“That was the Bardium of old, but as you know, it’s now a den of monsters. There’s a new Unlaw incident every week, and you’re always running around town trying to deal with it.”

A different outcome than his goal. There was definitely something strange about the city.

“I believe this city is one big test site for the Unlaw. I looked into it at Cartesius headquarters but found no clear answers.”

“Then are you an Unlaw, too?”

Norman had thought regenerative abilities were impossible—but it wouldn’t be strange for an Unlaw to have that ability. The part that made it hard to believe was that Jim, with his status in Cartesius, would be one of them.

“Of course not. Don’t lump me in with those monsters.”

“Then what are you?”

“I specialize in Unlaw Categories, but the only way for them to ascend Categories is either steady training or significant mental and physical strain. Applying the letter is quicker, but we only have so many test subjects.”

“…I see. That makes me want to puke.”

“Yes. This is an artificial immortality procedure to forcibly sustain the Unlaw.”

“That’s ridiculous. If you want to militarize them using that, it’s as good as mass-producing them.”

“Unfortunately, the success rate is low. That goes for Unlaw as well as ordinary humans. To date, I’m the only successful example.”

“I really wish you weren’t.” Norman swallowed the bile rising in his throat and held down his hat against the wind. This wasn’t a story he wanted to keep hearing, but Jim kept talking.

“Well, now that I’ve revealed that shocking truth, nothing has changed. We’re already short-staffed due to the missing intelligence agents. On top of that, when we captured you, you wiped out twenty of my private troops like some kind of hitman, just like you did to me. I’ll let that one slide.”

“I meant to restrain them, but they came at me ready to kill so I had no choice.”

“Ha-ha-ha! And? Now you have escape and murder added to your charges.”

“Huh, are you pulling the strings behind all this?”

Norman reset all the switches in his mind.

Whenever he worked with Shizuku and the others, Norman switched his own thoughts, abilities, and actions. It wasn’t that he was slacking off. Letting them use their abilities to the fullest simply made it that much easier to solve cases—and above all, he wanted to meet the expectations they had of him.

“…Oh, and why do you think that?”

“The train hijacking was too well done.”

“Do you mean the route change?” Jim was unruffled. Instead, he smiled at Norman like he was anticipating something.

“No. What happened before that. How did Nocker Cromwell’s thugs sneak into the freight car? If they’d boarded with the passengers, I would have noticed them.”

“Then…hmm. They either boarded before the passengers or were lying in wait when the passengers arrived.”

“Right. In that case, there was more to that plan than just the culprits.”

“Which would be?”

“Mary Wallwood was the CEO of a shipping company.”

The woman who was killed in the first case. She’d lost her husband and used her skills to take charge of his shipping company.

But she was dead.

Shipping companies were crucial to the walled city.

“If she died, the company would cease to function. Or cracks would start to show.”

As he spoke, Norman laid out everything he had seen in his mind like a map.

He was in the living room of his home. The furniture was in its usual place, but the small items placed there were clues. First, he picked up a model train. Seeing a woman’s nightgown lying on the floor, he next turned his attention to…

“The man Jacqueline Harley murdered, Blount Byron, was an antique dealer for the nobility.”

There was a blood-soaked bandage.

“The incident she caused resulted in his death, exposed an illegal brothel, and put the nobles under police scrutiny and pressure. Ultimately, their motions were limited.”

Pulling the bandage led him to grubby coins in a grubby box.

The desire the Ripper sought to punish, and the hell that gave birth to her.

“You’re jumping ahead.”

“For now.”

But as he walked through the room of memories and took in what he saw, the story started to shift.

The large diamond ring Filzy Mule tried to steal had come to rest atop the woman’s nightgown.

“The phantom thief case. That incident completely destroyed the museum, effectively shutting down its operations. The question there is, what happens to the undamaged exhibits? You can’t just leave them in a destroyed museum.”

“Either the wealthy buy them, or they’re relocated to somewhere else in the city or a museum in a different city.”

“Exactly. But the nobles were limited by the fallout from the brothel incident, especially those who desired antiques. They probably didn’t want to make any large purchases after the death of Blount Byron. On top of that, the ring was already thought of as cursed and was further tainted by the destruction of the museum. Even in this city, it would be difficult to find a buyer for it.”

The box of gold coins disappeared from the room.

“So they’d move it to a museum outside the city. Who would handle moving it but a shipping company?”

“So it was the Wallwood company? Did you confirm it?”

“I did. The museum curator was among the dead on the train. The cargo list included the diamond, and there were documents from the Wallwood company.”

Norman found the dining car, with its corpses of nobles and merchants who dealt in expensive goods. Among them was the director of the Bardium museum, who was present to oversee the transport of the artwork.

“Hmm. But why go out of your way to choose a precarious company whose CEO just died?”

“And that’s where we circle back to the beginning.”

“Ah, I see.” Jim nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Norman didn’t move, only sighed.

“Earlier, you said you were friends with Lady Mary.”

That was how the train hijacking occurred—the four seemingly separate cases came together as one.

“All four incidents were connected.”

“Are you saying I committed those crimes?”

“Yes.” Norman nodded and steepled his fingers.

This was the main event.

“Nocker Cromwell said he’d gotten information that we’d be on the train. I see, that’s why he orchestrated the train hijacking. But when I think it through, it doesn’t add up. He was discarded by Cartesius. I never know when, but I do go to the capital pretty regularly, and it was only recently that Clareth was assigned as my bodyguard.”

Nocker Cromwell had acted because he knew that Norman Hamish’s companion on the trip would be Clareth Airystep—but how would a revolutionary who was supposed to have been discarded by Cartesius know such a thing?

“Alternatively, how did Mary Wallwood know about Alfred Curtis’s awakening? Were they really discussing their future? Perhaps. But a newly awakened Unlaw would do everything in their power to hide the change. So…did someone tell her?”

In that way, Norman had begun to question things, and—

“Then everything connected.”

Could someone have told Mary about Alfred?

Could someone have told Jacqueline what would happen if Mr. Byron were killed?

Could someone have pushed the museum director?

Could someone have informed Nocker of Norman?

“Someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.”

The chain of nearly forced connections was made up of fragile threads. Only after piling doubt upon doubt could he see them, assuming they even existed at all. They ensnared all who touched them—malice woven by someone’s will, entangling and spreading like a web throughout the city.

A thin, nearly invisible spider’s thread that you wouldn’t notice even if you saw it.

“And that someone…is you.”

“Excellent reasoning. You’re an ace detective.”

But—

“You’re the one who said the whos and hows didn’t matter, right? You should be talking about the whys.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s not like I’m writing a report.”

“That’s exactly it, Norman! That’s what I mean! That attitude of yours!” Jim’s ever-present smile fell away to reveal a face screaming like a sobbing child. “Don’t you think you could be a little more caring toward me?!”

“…What?”

“We’re friends, yet you always talk about those monsters! I don’t even mean like in the interrogation. You’re always asking about how to stabilize or utilize their abilities! You just drop by my lab whenever you feel like it, ask for what you want, and leave! Think of how I feel, left all alone and heartbroken when you’re gone!”

“…Hang on. That’s your reason? You did all this because you wanted me to pay attention to you?”

“Well, I mean, I had a practical reason, too.” Jim suddenly regained his composure, but the speed of the change could only be called eerie. “Honestly, I wanted to know what lay beyond Category Three. I thought you might know, but like I said, you’re always so cold, so I thought putting you in danger a few different ways might get me some answers.”

“You…wanted to get information out of me, but what if I’d been killed in the process?”

“I was confident you wouldn’t be. Though honestly, it wasn’t worth it. You never talked, and even though I had my people monitor all four battles, there were no results from Fairy or Demon Dog. In the Jewel incident, my agent was caught in the collapse and killed. And Fairy even wiped out an entire group of miners.”

“Don’t play the victim.”

“Sure, whatever. But you don’t have to be so cold!”

“What’s with the emotional whiplash? Are you trying to make me laugh?”

“Heh… If you’re laughing, that makes all my efforts worth it…”

“…”

“Whoa, that cold stare gives me the chills!”

Norman only felt visceral disgust at his writhing—but that was Jim’s why. He wanted Norman to notice him. He had questions only Norman could answer.

Norman couldn’t understand and didn’t want to.

“And that’s it! I’ve shown you every trick up my sleeve! My dear friend, my dear Detective, I framed you, and you killed me, so how about we call it even?! Why not research and dominate the monsters together?!”

“No way in hell.”

At this point in time, one of them had framed the other, who’d killed him outright—yet Jim still wanted to talk it out and reconcile. Norman thought it was the height of selfishness.

Toying with people’s hearts, lying to them, deceiving them, and acting purely to serve himself.

“Monsters…you call them monsters? Who’s the monster here?”

There was a creak of his heart twisting painfully at the reality in front of him. The person beside him. Even unseen and then touched, friction grew between them, creating tension.

“Ah…that’s exactly what I mean about you.”

Norman tsked before he could stop himself. This. This was what he couldn’t forgive, why he had stayed in the city.

“You call them monsters. But, you know…you should take a look in the mirror.”

They were branded as Unlaw—as monsters—used as weapons and tools, exploited for others’ convenience and greed, not given any rights as people, and only seen for their powers.

“Who’s the real monster?”

If they chose to commit crimes and abuse their powers, that would be one thing—they would deserve to be punished. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if they had accidents caused by their powers, or lost control, but never actually crossed the line? There were all different types of people, with all different types of powers. Maybe the gulf between them was just a bit wider than usual.

Norman was sure it wasn’t that big of a difference.

They could live without committing crimes, doing what was right, doing things for others—even if they were just a little different—without causing trouble for anyone.

“Being a monster isn’t the issue. Doing evil as one is, which you are.”

“That’s strange coming from you, Norman. Aren’t you using those four yourself?”

“Yeah. That’s right. I am.”

From the outside, he was no different than Jim. He’d pushed aside, killed, and rejected others to prioritize them—all for his own reasons.

“Even so, those girls gave their love to me. A monster like me.”

They’d each confessed to Norman, the monster, in their own way.

“Yes, this music warms my heart.”

“Whichever form I’m in, please see me as I am.”

“As long as you keep saying that, I’ll keep being a detective.”

“Your choices are what bring me the most joy.”

They’d brought color to Norman’s once-empty world.

He couldn’t allow their hearts to be trampled on. That was something he couldn’t forgive.

If forgiveness wasn’t an option, he’d put everything on the line to end things.

“So I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you until you admit defeat. And if you don’t admit defeat, I’ll just kill you until you die.”

“Nice! That’s fine, too! Try to deduce how you’ll kill me and prove it to me! You be the detective, and I’ll be the villain!”

“Call us whatever you want. No matter what title we have, there’s only one word that describes us.”

That was—

“We’re birds of a feather, fighting among ourselves, like true monsters.”

The detective’s cold eyes focused sharply on the villain. He took the folding cane from his breast pocket, swung it lightly to open it, then assumed a natural stance, gripping the middle of the cane. The villain smiled widely, eyes gleaming brightly as he raised his fists in front of his face.

The distance between them was just a few meters. Light flickered from the moonlight and the lamps on the four stone pillars.

“Let’s have some fun, Norman!”

The villain advanced lightly, with inhuman physicality. He bridged the distance between them in an instant, and threw a sharp, right-handed straight punch at Norman. It was a textbook-perfect technique.

“Oh?!”

A crack, like wood snapping, echoed—it was the sound of the villain’s right elbow breaking. Norman had blocked the right fist closing in on him with his technique, using his left arm that held the cane. Faster than the villain’s arm could completely extend, Norman looped his cane around it, locked the joint, and used the villain’s own momentum to break his arm.

“That’s number two.”

And the detective didn’t stop there. He hooked his left arm around the villain’s right, using his wrist to move the tip of the cane into place, his target the villain’s throat. With a crack, the detective slammed the butt of the cane into him, successfully making contact with its mark.

“Guh!”

A muffled sound escaped the villain’s throat, inarticulate. His throat had been crushed, and the cervical vertebrae behind were pulverized by the cane thrust straight into it—his neck snapped in an unnatural direction, like a camellia flower plopping to the ground.

He was dead instantly, killed by a single counterattack. However, the distorted smile on the face seated on his broken neck only deepened—when he should have stayed dead.

“Huff… How…?”

He tried to say How like you, but couldn’t finish, as the detective was already in motion.

A kick from his right foot crushed the villain’s left knee. The villain’s knee buckled, not just from the detective’s raw strength but from simple human anatomy. The detective seized the villain’s head, which was still reeling from the momentum, with the left arm that was still wrapped around him.

“Ooof!”

With a sharp intake of breath, the detective dashed the villain’s face against the cobblestones and heard the sound of his skull being crushed.

“…”

Not losing the power behind the blow, the detective spun once on the cobblestones, then looked behind him: Red blood poured from the villain’s head, staining the ground. His forehead was caved in, his brain likely damaged.

The vital points and structure of the human body and how to efficiently destroy someone—the detective, who had once been a military doctor, knew them all too well. It was a terrible thing to use techniques and knowledge meant to save people to kill them.

“That’s number three.”

He stared at the corpse, with its broken neck and crushed face.

“N-N-N-N-Normaaan!”

The villain sprang up, shouting the detective’s name. His neck had already regenerated, and his facial wounds were also starting to heal. His speech was slurred, and he wobbled for a few steps but was soon back to normal.

“…That’s gross.”

The wound was healing in reverse—blood continued to flow, but the wound slowly packed itself with flesh, creating a gruesome portrait.

“Don’t say that, Norman! You can do the same, can’t you?!”

Laughing loudly, the villain approached the detective as if to embrace him.

This time, a left hook tore through the night air and headed straight for the detective’s face, but he dropped to his knees and ducked his head to avoid it. The hook barely grazed his face, splitting his ear slightly and sending blood flying. He pushed his right side forward, like he was about to dive into the villain’s arms, and used the momentum to strike with his right elbow.

“Gah…!”

The elbow struck the villain’s heart precisely and sank deeply, shattering his ribs with the force. Before the villain could counterattack with his right arm, the detective hooked his cane around the villain’s right heel. He kicked the heel as if trying to raise the handle, and the villain toppled backward like his body was being yanked with it.

“Number four.”

The detective stopped him from falling by grabbing his tailcoat, held him there, and stabbed the handle of his cane into his left eye. The eyeball made a sloppy sound as it was crushed and slowly collapsed as the detective pulled out his cane.

“That was a little gross.”

He rubbed the handle of his cane against the cobblestones, almost as an afterthought, but never took his eyes off the villain.

“That was a cruel thing to say, Norman.”

“I hate this.”

The detective watched the villain get up with a sigh—more precisely, he watched his wounds mend, his crushed left eye repairing itself in reverse. He’d pierced his vitals, broken his neck, damaged his brain, and crushed his eyeball, but the wounds all healed. He focused intensely on the healing wound, burning the image into his mind while finding it unpleasant.

“…?!”

There was a sudden, red-hot sensation in his side, and intense pain made him collapse. Blood gushed from his right, and he reflexively pressed down on his side to stop it.

“Ha-ha-ha, I had something up my sleeve, after all.”

In the villain’s hand was a small gun—a compact, single-shot type that truly could be hidden up a sleeve. The detective had failed to react in time because he was focused on the villain’s wounds.

“I…was aiming for your heart, you know.”

“…With the muzzle, where you were looking…and the angle of your arm, I was able to calculate the trajectory. I was…too distracted to evade it, though.”

“Hee-hee-hee… That’s pretty amazing to say so casually.”

He was impressed and healing his wounds, but his steps were unsteady—likely from blood loss. Still, the villain was smiling.

“Well, that’s some impressive martial arts skill you’ve got there. Being immortal means that you just don’t die, but you can still lose. Once this is done, I’ll get back to basics and re-hone my craft. That wound looks pretty serious, so how about we call it a night?”

“I don’t give a damn about that.” Norman spat out the words and rose. His gait was unsteady, but he still struggled to his feet.

“Norman! Don’t push yourself too hard! I don’t want you to die!”

“Not my problem.”

Jim came within arm’s reach, and everything changed. Norman moved in a flash, like a predator, disregarding his own wounds and circling behind Jim.

“…?!”

He stabbed a thin sword into Jim’s chest—along with his own. The blade had been hidden in his collapsible cane.

“What…are you doing, Norman?! A hug I wouldn’t mind, but getting stabbed?! You’re in more danger than me…!”

“I avoided the vitals… Well, if you move wrong, it could probably hit a major blood vessel.”

That stopped Jim in his tracks—the thought that he wouldn’t die, but Norman might, and Norman knew just where to avoid a lethal blow.

“Besides…it’s not like this was for nothing.”

Norman took a step forward. Shoved by the back of his knees, Jim did the same.

“You’re immortal but barely. Blood doesn’t regenerate. And your body is still human.”

Another step forward.

“Besides, isn’t there a limit to your healing? That last wound obviously took longer to heal than the first.”

That was why Norman let himself get shot—he was observing how long it took for Jim’s eye wound to heal.

Another step forward.

“That inconsistency wouldn’t exist if you were truly immortal, meaning there are limits to your healing. I don’t know what resources your body uses to heal, but knowing that’s enough.”

“You thought that far ahea—”

Another step forward.

There were probably various definitions of an ace detective, but if it meant not overlooking minute details to deduce the truth, then Norman Hamish was certainly worthy of the title.

One more step forward, then another.

“Norman, you can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I am.”

One last step forward, and he was already at the edge of the great bell tower—with one more step, they’d plunge straight from the tower to the ground. Of course, a fall from there meant certain death for him. Beneath his feet, the faraway cityscape standing out starkly against the vast pitch-black darkness.

“Even you couldn’t survive a fall from this height, could you?”

“But you’ll die, too! Are you planning to commit a lover’s murder-suicide with me?! That actually wouldn’t be a bad twist!”

You call that not a bad twist? Even Norman couldn’t help but snicker.

Even now, Jim had moved because it would kill Norman—he was truly committed.

“Why would you go this far?”

“If I don’t do this, you won’t stop, will you?”

“Are you sure about this? What about the girls you love?”

Jim’s question triggered visions. Of Shizuku. Of Eltiel. Of Lonsday. Of Clareth.

Maybe it was a hallucination from blood loss. They were yelling at him to stop.

As the questions piled on further, Norman began to wonder in the back of his mind why he was doing this himself.

“…Sigh.”

Norman smiled faintly—but not for Jim Adamworth.

His smile was for the girls who were mere visions.

Or perhaps it was for himself.

“Elementary, my dear beloveds.”

He didn’t even need to take another step forward, as a gust of wind blew in, giving the hero who was trying to protect the city a push. Norman Hamish and Jim Adamworth were hurled into the air. The darkness below them was like a waterfall basin, with the tower rising in the night like the huge waterfall itself.

The detective and villain plunged into its depths.

The strong wind tore them away from each other, and fresh blood whirled in the air. As his life ebbed away into the sky, Norman had a feeling of déjà vu.

It was Shizuku’s vision come to life.

She’d seen him falling from a great height. If her vision was correct, she might be watching helplessly from the ground now, unable to act. But Norman believed that in this situation, where he faced certain death, Shizuku wouldn’t be the only one there.

He saw blood dancing and splashing in the air, and in the next moment, a voice was carried to him on the wind.

“Geez, this is what happens when you leave me behind, Mr. Norman.”

Along with the voice, Norman collided with a board-like surface—no, not collided. What caught him was an extremely thin wall of air. Dozens, maybe hundreds of these walls, each weak enough to break easily on its own, were deployed in the direction of Norman’s fall. His body burst through the successive walls, taking no damage because of their fragility. The many layers slowed his freefall.

They distorted the very nature of the air, as if to envelope something precious.

The Spriggan Hand’s protected treasure.

Of course, that didn’t mean it was over. The brittle air walls, meant for Norman’s safety, couldn’t cancel out his velocity entirely.

“Handling my assistant’s messes is my job, but even I have limits.”

The Jewel caught the detective midair. About halfway down the tower, a brown-skinned woman cradled Norman in her arms. As for how she did it, the answer was simple: She rushed up the tower’s walls with her extraordinary physical ability, spun her body, and used centrifugal force to return to the wall.

“Hngh!”

She thrust her hardened hand into the wall, scraping the outer wall of the tower with her wrist as they both fell. Norman’s body couldn’t handle a forcible stop at the moment—he was already on the verge of losing consciousness from the shock of hitting the wall earlier, so she let them slide along, using her wrist as a brake to slow them down.

She’d deduced that her extreme physical abilities were the best way to save him.

The Anvilcel Maiden pointed to the truth.

“Catch him, or I’ll kill you!”

Still a few meters off the ground, she threw Norman as gently as she could. The threat to his life was still far from over—the surface lay in deep shadows with little light. Hell didn’t end just because the fall had been shortened to a mere few meters.

“Woof!”

The Black Hellhound charged forward, hurled herself into the air, and caught Norman in her beautiful, glossy fur. She didn’t worry about the landing, just welcomed her master with her belly and dropped down onto the cobblestones below. She absorbed all the impact herself, giving Norman the sensation that he’d merely landed on a bed.

The Hellhound stood on the earth that should have been hell, still burning with the same loyalty after shapeshifting into a human.

The Black Dog gleamed in the midst of hell.

“Lord Norman!”

The Hellhound quickly scooped him up—the stab wound in his chest and the gunshot wound in his side weren’t fatal, but he’d lost enough blood that he wouldn’t survive long. As she held him, the detective rushed over, rubbing her wrist, and the Fairy squatted nearby, opening a medical kit—but Norman remained unresponsive.

“I won’t allow you to die like this, Norman.”

Tear Blossom placed her hands on his chest—her long, white hair hanging loose and her slender, pale hands bare. The girl who loathed touching anything used her ability for the one man in the world she wanted to touch.

“Norman.”

Shizuku Teardrop called to the one who brought her peace.

“Lord Norman.”

Eltiel Siriusflame called to the only one unafraid of her.

“Norman.”

Lonsday Enhancedia called to the one who gave her a sense of justice.

“Mr. Norman.”

Clareth Airystep called to the one who never let her be bored.

“Ah…”

A faint noise escaped him as he resonated with them.

Through the other four, Shizuku amplified her power and channeled her love into Norman—it had failed to reach him in the past, but now it would. The message she wanted to give to the one she loved was simple.

Echo Howling resonated in the mind.

“Gasp.”

Light returned to Norman’s eyes as he looked at the four girls surrounding him. Shizuku, unaccustomed to using her ability like this, was sweating like a waterfall. Eltiel clung to Norman for dear life. Lonsday smiled at him faintly, but the cigarette she held between her trembling fingers was unlit. There was no smile on Clareth’s face, just a desperate urgency as she began treating him.

Norman tried to say something witty.

“…That was great. Can we do it again?”

Judging from the pokes, scratches, kicks, and painful prodding they gave his wounds, they didn’t think it was so great.

“Norrrmaaan!”

As morning approached, the dark sky brightened to white, and a scream rang out. When the five of them looked for the source of the scream, they saw Jim—for whom battered was an understatement. His entire body was covered in blood, broken bones protruding from every centimeter of his flesh. His gait was unsteady, his arms and legs twisted at odd angles.

“I saw it! Just now! That was exactly what I had been looking for! Ha-ha-ha! I knew you would be the key, Norman! You’re the best!”

Despite his injuries, his eyes gleamed brightly, lit up with joy.

“…Ugh. There he goes. Has he always been like that?”

“He’s always been hard to stomach…but he’s changed a lot.”

“He was never not super creepy, but now he’s even worse.”

“So this guy’s the big bad behind everything? Good grief… Norman?”

The four found themselves unusually united as they recoiled, only to watch Norman take an unsteady step toward Jim.

“…You’re really persistent, Jim.”

“Sorry, Norman! A murder-suicide with you would have been fun, but it didn’t work out! But now! Those four who saved you, why do they look like that?!”

Jim’s body had begun to regenerate, though at a slower pace than before.

“That glow they’re emitting from their bodies! It has a totally different quality than their abilities! Tell me what it is!”

“…Sigh.”

Norman let out a long, resigned sigh.

“…I call it Critical Case.”

“Critical Case! What does that mean?! What kind of power-up is it?!”

“No, Jim. It’s not a power-up. In fact, it’s the reverse.”

It was…

“Think of it as a safety valve that visualizes how active their abilities are using their bodies. It doesn’t expand their abilities. Even if their abilities are stable, there’s a lot we still don’t understand, and the risk of things going out of control isn’t zero.”

“…And that glow?”

“That was Stable State…meaning the strain of their abilities is manageable. When they reach their Deepened State, just before going out of control, the glow gets stronger and more beautiful. It’s really just a visual yardstick and nothing more.”

That was why Norman always stood next to or behind them when Shizuku and the other girls battled—to monitor their condition and stop them immediately if there was a problem. He always kept an eye on them.

“Since Unlaw abilities are tied to emotion, they might glow from heightened feelings even without using their abilities. Well, I’d say it’s harmless.”

“…What are you talking about, Norman? It’s not a power-up? No, you’re wrong, wrong, wrong there! Monitoring stability and ability output will make things easier to control!”

His excitement having reached its peak, Jim roared, his emotions bursting free as he was overwhelmed by the revelation.

“How were you able to manage that?!”

“It’s not that complicated, really. It’s just another extension of their abilities.” Norman staggered and tried to catch his breath. “I don’t want to go into too much detail, but you have to be considerate of and physically close to the other person.”

In Shizuku’s case, she had to change her hair because of her outfit—her fine, smooth, and beautiful hair. At first, we each held a strand and focused on it. It was honestly quite a perk to touch both her hair and hands the whole time. Her initial shyness was adorable when we’d sit face-to-face, or she’d sit astride my knee, or lean against me.

It made me happy how the distance between us gradually evaporated. She was just like a cat. That was one of Shizuku’s charms. She acted reserved in front of others but clung to me when we were alone—these days, we can be wrapped up in each other and still do separate things.

When I realized that, I felt almost moved. Well, you’ll never get to see that anyway—not that I’d ever want another guy to…and if they did, I’d have to kill them.

El’s eye color had already changed from the aftereffects of her transformation, so it was easy to make her glow. The problem was when she was in canine form. To make it obvious, like her fur was bursting into flame, we began by brushing every centimeter of her. Her canine form was so soft that I wound up dozing off more than once.

El would nod off with me, and there were times when I woke up and found myself held by a naked El because she’d turned back. That was something. When I opened my eyes, bam! They were magnificent. But what made El truly special was her kindness and devotion. She did everything for me, and I honestly feel bad about treating her roughly at times. But the trouble is, part of me likes it, too. I’d happily spend the rest of my life being idle and pampered by El.

The lines on Miss Lonsday’s body are tattoos now, but we made her veins glow at first—it looked a little grotesque, and I wanted Miss Lonsday to stay beautiful and stylish, so I drew lines on her skin with ink, and we made those glow instead. The challenge was drawing directly on her skin with my fingers—it was dangerous for those, and for my eyes, too. She kept teasing me while I was drawing, but it was necessary, so I held on to my self-control with everything I had. She looked so good when she teased me. It was unfair.

That said, Miss Lonsday looks good no matter what she does. She said something similar herself—that if you gathered all the jewels in the world, they wouldn’t come close to her worth. Huh? I said that already? Oh well. It’s worth saying over and over. I’m captivated every time I look at her.

Clareth’s glow was the easiest to bring out. She managed it on her own without any help from me. That’s just how much of an amazing prodigy she is. The fun part was thinking of the wing design together. Clareth is really chic, after all—it had to be something fairy-like that matched her look. While we worked on it, she didn’t stop teasing me the whole time…though I have to confess, I don’t mind being toyed with like that. What could I do? Clareth is at her cutest when she’s laughing at my reactions. You probably won’t get this, but her smiles aren’t always the same. The tone of her voice or the angle of her smile can be different. Just figuring out those little differences makes time fly by—she’s truly a girl with demonic charm.

“See? It’s simple. Anyone can do it if they care about the other person.”

…

The four of them were at a loss for words. Shizuku nearly dropped her sniper rifle, Eltiel let out a strange cry, Lonsday dropped her cigarette, and even Clareth’s usual smile faltered as she gaped.

They knew Norman cared about them—still, he normally never expressed his feelings in such blunt terms or voiced desire for them openly.

“Did my Echo Howling cause it…?” Shizuku alone had a suspicion it might have.

She had used Echo Howling to save Norman earlier, but it hadn’t gone normally—to begin with, her power never worked on him directly, and it was the first time she’d projected an echo from one person to another. Was that the reason Norman couldn’t keep his words from spilling out?

She didn’t know. She didn’t understand anything—not his words, nor what he was thinking.

“…So you’re telling me, Norman…” Confronted with the emotional confession, Jim chose his words carefully before speaking. “What’s needed for Critical Case is understanding and coexistence with an Unlaw?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve been saying that all along. Treat them like humans, not monsters. You can love them without understanding them.”

“…I see.”

At this revelation, Jim nodded, shook, and trembled.

“Ha! Ha-ha-ha! I see! So that’s how it is! I finally understand! I finally understand you, Norman! I was mistaken all along!”

What Jim Adamworth had been searching for was a way forward, beyond the current Categories. From a distance, the sun began to rise beyond the castle walls, shining on him.

“Love! To think that something so vague as love could be the key! Thank you for teaching me, Norman! Ahhh, but that’s a problem since I can’t replicate it! I can’t be a deviant who loves Unlaw—Wait, that’s it! I have a good idea!”

The bloodstained boy smiled broadly.

“Love me! For you, Norman, I can love you, too! Take me higher!”

And with the morning sun at his back, there was an explosion of four lights.

Shizuku Teardrop’s long hair glowed a deep blue. Eltiel Siriusflame’s inverted eyes blazed with yellow fire. Vivid red lines raced across the body of Lonsday Enhancedia. Wings of glowing green geometric patterns unfurled on the back of Clareth Airystep.

“Critical Case, Deepened State.”

A state just shy of their abilities going out of control was something Norman should have been able to stop—but with the combined impact of Norman’s words and Jim’s nonsense, there was no stopping them. Teardrop-shaped bullets blew off one of Jim’s legs, and a hellhound wrapped in yellow flame bit into his torso and flung him through the air, where a jewel leaped up and kicked him back down—as he hit the ground, a fairy’s sword cleaved his head from his body.

Jim’s severed head rolled at Norman’s feet as he exclaimed:

“Norman! Did you see that?!”

Even as only a head, his eyes were as wide as they could go, and he wore the same delighted expression.

“You were right! That just now was what I’ve been seeking, a level beyond Category Three…!”

“Yeah, yeah. Congratulations. But I’m sorry.” Norman took a pistol from his pocket as he said it. “Now that you know about Critical Case, I’m going to have to kill you.”

The morning sun rising behind Norman was blocked by his own body, its shadow now cast upon Jim’s severed head.

“I’ll confess to one thing. When you were interrogating me, you were complaining that your agents kept going missing or dead, right?”

“Don’t tell me you—”

“Yep. I eliminated them.”

Norman Hamish readily confessed to his treason against Cartesius.

“I did call it a safety valve, but I knew someone like you wouldn’t be able to help taking an interest in Critical Case. So I’m sorry, but—”

“You’re going to kill me? Fine by me! Kill me! I’ve always been curious what it’s like to die as a severed head! But, Norman, if I survive this, it must be fate! I’ll definitely come back, and we’ll ascend to greatness together!”

“I don’t need to go anywhere.” Norman gave the four of them a quick glance. “What I want to protect is right here.”

He cocked the hammer to make clear that his heart was already decided—then pulled the trigger.

Epilogue

Norman sat across from two women in the windowless office.

One was Sufiya Hamish. She had the same hair and eye color as Norman and wore glasses. She was head of the Cartesius Bardium branch. Iris Norton stood behind her in a black suit and had black hair. She was an intelligence officer who closely monitored and gathered information on the Unlaw within the city and served as Sufiya’s secretary.

“Hmm. So how do you feel?”

“How do I feel? That’s a tough question. I got stabbed in the chest, I got shot in my ribs, my left arm is cracked, and my right ear is torn. And I fell from the top of a tower two weeks ago. I can’t walk without a cane. And while I was in that condition, I was kicked out of the hospital to come here. So yeah. I’m in top shape.”

“Then everything’s fine.”

Norman replied to his sister’s calm smile with silence, a protest that was entirely pointless.

“Now, my foolish little brother, I called you here for two reasons.”

“What is it? I already gave you the report on that deviant actor. Well, Iris, not you. You didn’t even visit me once. Iris did, but it felt more like an interrogation. Actually, tell me something first: Is Jim really dead?”

“Yes, it’s been dealt with. You’re better off not knowing the specifics.”

“Sure. I don’t want to know, and I don’t even want to remember.”

“Jim Adamworth is dead, and the militarization of Unlaw has been suspended. There shouldn’t be any problems, at least for now. Of course, there will be no conscription in the city, either.”

“If there were, everything you did would be for nothing.”

“Yes, that’s part of my job and also something that concerns you.”

With that, Sufiya took out a small box and placed it on her desk.

“Here you go.”

“…Thanks.”

He stood up despite the pain, reseated himself, and opened it. There was a badge inside the box of a cane and hat, surrounded by blue, red, yellow, and green designs—there was also text on the brim of the hat: ELEMENTARY.

“…What’s this?”

“You always said you wanted an official job, right? Well, as a reward for this job, I’ve arranged for you to operate as a detective agency called ‘Elementary.’ All the necessary documents have been sent to your lodgings, so feel free to use that as your office.”

“…You’re up on trends, huh?”

“No, it’s as in the four elements.”

“Huh? Oh…I see. Well, whatever.”

“You did well. You worked hard to solve the case for them and earned points for Cartesius in the process.”

He didn’t react to his sister’s sarcastic smile.

“The second matter is—”

“Your next job.”

“…Fine. I’ll do my best, even though I’m still recovering.”

“All right. That’s all, then.”

Norman sighed, rose to his feet, and opened the door, leaning on his cane.

“…Hamish.”

The voice wasn’t Sufiya’s. It belonged to Iris, who’d been silent up until now.

“Is that detective agency what you wished for?” Her words were like a chilly blade.

“…Well, it’s not exactly what I hoped for, but I’ll take it.”

“I see.” Her stare pierced through Norman.

“You never change, huh?”

“Where should we sit?”

“I’ll sit here.”

“Fine.”

In the living room of Norman Hamish’s lodgings, Clareth and Lonsday plopped onto the only two sofas in the room like they owned them.

“Eltiel, make some tea with brandy.”

“Nice! I’ll have a royal milk tea.”

“I’m not your servant, you know,” Eltiel replied while sweeping the floor with a broom. She’d been cleaning regularly during Norman’s hospitalization, but she was giving it another go today.

“Feel free to make it yourself.”

“What do you say, Clareth?”

“Norman will probably make tea when he gets back, so let’s wait for him.”

“Good idea.”

“Good grief…”

Eltiel couldn’t help but sigh at the two of them. It was no use talking to them because they never listened.

“Not a speck of cooperation between them.” Smiling wryly, Shizuku worked in a corner of the room.

“That’s rich coming from you, Shizuku. That’s some dangerous luggage you’ve got there.

“You’re not the only one Norman’s teaching self-defense to, Miss Clareth.”

“Hee-hee. That’s some self-defense.” Clareth smiled, her gaze lingering on the rifle Shizuku was doing maintenance on bare-handed. Shizuku wiped down the metal sections with oil, oblivious to everything around her.

“Why don’t you come over here? We’re still senior and junior, after all.”

“I already dropped out, senior.”

“Come on, Shizuku. You come over here, too. Let’s be friends.”

“…No, thank you, Detective. Do we really need to be friends?”

“Good question. I guess so, considering the future.”

“The detective agency, right? It’s great that Lord Norman will be in charge of his own business.”

“Elementary. It still makes me laugh, though.”

The four of them had already been informed by Sufiya about the detective agency, which was why they had gathered for Norman’s discharge. They wouldn’t have gathered otherwise—the four of them could probably turn a tea party into a deathmatch. It could easily escalate from someone getting in someone else’s way or them simply finding it interesting.

Essentially, they had taken a stance of non-aggression against the others because they knew Norman was trying to protect all four of them.

“…Does he really need a detective agency?” Shizuku muttered after polishing the parts, assembling them with practiced hands. “We’ve all managed fine on our own the past year and a half.”

It might have sounded like a monologue, but there was someone who caught her words.

“If you ask me if it’s necessary or not, I’d say not.” Wearing her usual smile, the Fairy picked up the tears spilled by the flower. “The four of us helped Mr. Norman this time. It was a small miracle that he caused by always being there for us. In that case, don’t you want to show him the miracle again? I’m sure he’d be happy to see us drinking tea together or something.”

“…”

Shizuku’s hands stopped for a moment. Lonsday comfortably puffed on her cigarette, and Eltiel listened attentively to Clareth’s words.

“Does the idea of us four being together bother you that much?”

“…Not that much. Well, I don’t really care.”

“Then it shouldn’t matter if we gather here, either.”

The pleasant, sharp sound of Shizuku spinning her assembled rifle rang out. She hadn’t responded immediately after finishing her gun repairs. She wiped her hands on a cloth and removed the gun barrel again, then carefully stored the rifle in the violin case lying next to her.

“…I’m fine with it if Norman’s happy.” Shizuku remained where she was, grudgingly. She produced a violin from a different case that didn’t house a gun and haphazardly plucked at its strings.

“You’re a smooth talker.”

“Thank you. And what do you think, Detective?”

“Hard to say. What about you, Eltiel?”

“If it brings Lord Norman joy, then it’s fine by me,” she replied instantly, like it was only natural. Then she gathered the trash into a dustpan and threw it in the can. Like a faithful dog, she only wished for her master’s happiness—because it was also her own.

“About what I expected. Well, I mostly agree with you. And a detective agency won’t be so bad.”

“Hee-hee. What a weak-willed bunch.”

“Ha, that’s Elementary.”

“…?”

Clareth slightly furrowed her brow at the puzzling response. Shizuku and Eltiel also looked to Lonsday, who met their gazes with a smile.

“It’s the four elements theory. The idea that the world is made up of four elements. Sounds kind of like us, right?”

She wasn’t making some detective-esque pronouncement of the truth. It was gentler than that, like a wry smile mixed in with a quiet prayer.

Earth, water, fire, and wind. The four elements of a single world.

Shizuku Teardrop.

Eltiel Siriusflame.

Lonsday Enhancedia.

Clareth Airystep.

Together, the four of them formed a single world—the world of Norman Hamish.

“Elementary.”

That was why the four of them could gather in this office.

In here…

She didn’t have to tremble in a corner of the room.

She didn’t have to hide who she was.

She didn’t have to doubt what she should do.

She didn’t have to be bored.

It was something he had dreamed of, the promised place where they belonged, and the miracle he had created.

The four of them thought the same thing: Wouldn’t that be nice?

Norman returned to his lodgings and placed his hand on the doorknob.

“…”

The door was unlocked. After a moment’s hesitation, he opened it easily.

“Hey, welcome home.”

When he opened the door, the four of them were gathered in his living room just like he’d thought they would be. He recalled saying some outlandish things during the Bardium Tower case, but it wasn’t important. It was unlike him, but he hadn’t been lying, either.

“Welcome back.”

Shizuku sat cross-legged on the floor in the center of the room. Next to her were two violin cases. She had taken off her gloves but still continued to wear her hood. She plucked the violin strings with her fingers, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Welcome back. I made tea.” Eltiel had just emerged from the living room, carrying tea for all five of them.

“You’re late. Did that schemer load up your plate with more crap? I hope it’s an interesting case, at least.” Lonsday lounged in one of the two sofas in the room as if she owned them, her feet up on the small table next to her, happily puffing away on her cigarette.

“Hmm. I’d welcome an interesting case. Welcome back, Mr. Norman.” Clareth sat demurely on the sofa opposite Lonsday. Her smile, the same as always, was genuine.

“Yeah.”

This was probably one of Norman Hamish’s whys—just as he couldn’t stand to see the girls rejected, he wanted to find a place where they could truly belong. Long ago, he’d made that promise to them, and more specifically, that they’d all be able to gather and have tea.

The sight he’d thought was a pipe dream was right in front of him. It was a minor miracle.

This last case has been an incredible ordeal. But if he could see this moment—and see it again in the future—it would be priceless to him. All the hardship would be worth it.

“All right, I have something to tell you all while we drink our tea.”

Tear Blossom. Hellhound. Jewel. Fairy.

Slowly, Norman looked around at the four people who meant the most to him.

“It’s not worth much, but I’ve got our next case.”

In a city surrounded by walls, where no wind blew, the tale of humans and monsters would continue.