13th July, 1958
Morning light crept slowly into the hotel room.
A faint golden glow slipped through the curtains, resting gently on the walls.
Tom stirred.
With a quiet groan, he opened his eyes and sat up on the bed. For a moment, everything felt normal—until his gaze shifted to the other bed.
Empty.
The sheets were slightly creased, but there was no sign of Oliver.
Tom frowned.
"That's strange…"
He rubbed his eyes and got up, scanning the room.
"Oliver?" he called out casually.
No response.
A slight uneasiness crept into his chest.
He walked toward the bathroom door and knocked twice.
"OLIVER? You in there?"
Silence.
Tom's expression tightened.
He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
The bathroom was empty.
Now the uneasiness turned into something sharper.
"Where the hell…?"
Without wasting another second, Tom rushed toward the main door and pulled it open—
And froze.
Oliver was standing just outside.
Calm.
Composed.
A cup of coffee in his hand as he looked out toward the horizon, watching the sunrise as if nothing in the world was wrong.
He turned his head slightly.
"Hey, Tom. Good morning."
Tom exhaled deeply, tension leaving his body all at once.
"What the hell, man…" he muttered under his breath.
Oliver tilted his head.
"What's the matter? You don't look so good."
Tom forced a small laugh.
"Ah… it's nothing. Just a bad dream, I guess."
His eyes moved over Oliver.
"You're dressed already. Going somewhere?"
Oliver took another sip of his coffee.
"Yeah," he said casually. "I know it's our day off, but I forgot my wallet at the office yesterday."
He shrugged.
"Thought I'd go pick it up."
Tom shook his head with a smirk.
"You really are clumsy."
He turned back toward the room.
"Alright, go ahead. While you're gone, I'll make breakfast."
Oliver nodded.
Tom stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
⸻
Outside, Oliver finished his coffee.
For a brief moment, he stood still—silent, thoughtful.
Then he placed the empty cup aside, picked up the car keys, and walked toward the parking area.
A black Austin FX4 stood waiting.
He got in.
The engine came to life with a low rumble.
And soon, the car disappeared into the quiet morning streets.
⸻
After some time, Oliver arrived at the office building.
He stepped out, locked the car, and made his way inside.
The atmosphere was relaxed—far from the tension of yesterday.
As he walked through the corridor, a few colleagues greeted him.
"Hey! What's up, man?" one of them called out with a grin. "Day off and still working? You're tough."
Oliver chuckled lightly.
"Just forgot my wallet yesterday," he replied. "Came to grab it."
He continued walking.
Finally, he reached his desk.
He began searching.
Drawers opened.
Files shifted.
Papers moved.
Nothing.
A faint crease appeared on his forehead.
"Where did I—"
"E-excuse me…"
A soft voice came from behind him.
Oliver turned.
A young woman stood there, slightly nervous.
She looked to be in her late twenties. Her medium brown hair was neatly tied up, giving her a simple yet striking appearance. There was a quiet gentleness in her presence.
Oliver's expression softened into a smile.
"What's the matter, Mira?"
At the sound of her name, she seemed to flinch slightly.
A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.
"Y-yesterday…" she began, hesitating. "After you left, I came here to pick up some documents."
She held something carefully in her hands.
"I saw your wallet. I thought it might not be safe here, so… I kept it."
She extended her hand.
Oliver took the wallet and nodded.
"Thanks."
For a brief moment, there was silence.
"Alright then," Oliver said casually. "See you tomorrow."
He turned and began to walk away.
"Wait—"
He stopped.
Turning back, he looked at her.
"What is it, Mira?"
She hesitated again.
Her fingers tightened slightly as she gathered courage.
"I… um…" she stammered. "I don't really know how to say this, but…"
She took a small breath.
"This evening… I'm free. And I thought maybe… you and I could… have coffee together?"
Oliver looked at her quietly.
Then he gave a small, apologetic smile.
"That's a good idea. I appreciate it."
A pause.
"But I'm really sorry. I already have plans for tonight."
He added lightly,
"An old friend."
The excitement in her eyes dimmed slightly.
"Oh… I see," she said softly. "No worries."
Oliver noticed.
For a moment, he studied her expression.
Then he spoke again.
"Well… how about Wednesday?"
She looked up.
"I'm completely free that day," he continued. "Does that work for you?"
Her face brightened instantly.
"Yes," she said quickly. "That works."
Oliver nodded.
"Good."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Leaving behind a quiet smile—
And something far more subtle lingering in the air.
Something… verlockend.
Mira stood still for a moment, watching Oliver's figure disappear down the corridor.
The faint echo of his footsteps faded.
Silence followed.
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
And suddenly—
A small smile spread across her face.
"Finally…" she whispered under her breath.
A soft laugh almost escaped her lips.
A date.
The word itself felt unreal.
For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy it—the lightness, the excitement, the simple happiness.
But—
The door opened.
She quickly straightened herself.
One of the staff members stepped inside.
"Oh, Miss Mira," he said politely, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but the boss has called for you."
Her smile faded into confusion.
"The boss?"
It was rare.
Very rare.
He barely spoke to her.
"Alright," she replied, adjusting herself. "I'm coming."
As she followed the man, her thoughts began to wander.
Did I do something wrong?
Why would he call me?
Is this about work… or something else?
The questions stacked up, each stranger than the last.
They reached the head office.
The man stopped.
"You can go in," he said, before quietly leaving.
Mira took a small breath.
Then opened the door.
⸻
Inside, the room was calm.
Controlled.
The boss sat behind his desk, reading a document.
As Mira entered, he looked up briefly and gave a polite nod.
He was a man in his fifties—well-kept, composed. His white hair was neatly combed, and despite his age, there was a certain sharpness in his presence. The wrinkles on his face only added to his authority, not diminished it.
"Come in, Mira," he said.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Now they were alone.
"Please, sit down."
"Right away, sir."
She walked forward and sat across from him.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustling of paper.
Then—
He placed the document down.
Removed his glasses.
And looked directly at her.
Silence stretched.
Then he spoke.
"You seem… quite close to Oliver."
The words hit her instantly.
Her eyes widened.
"N-no, sir—" she said quickly. "It's not like that—"
A quiet chuckle interrupted her.
"Hahaha… Mira," he said calmly, "I'm not blind."
Her gaze dropped immediately.
Her face flushed.
She didn't know what to say.
The boss observed her reaction for a moment.
Then, his expression shifted.
Subtly.
The warmth faded.
Replaced by something more serious.
"Well," he continued, "I didn't call you here for that."
Mira looked up again.
"I wanted to talk about Oliver."
"Oliver?" she repeated. "What about him?"
The boss leaned back slightly in his chair.
"I've known him since the day he joined this department," he said. "It's been twelve years now."
His voice carried a quiet weight.
"Very few people last that long in this line of work."
Mira listened carefully.
"He's… exceptional," the boss continued. "Do you know how many cases he's solved?"
Mira shook her head.
"No, sir."
A faint smile appeared on the boss's face.
"Almost every case he's ever been assigned."
Mira's eyes widened.
"And more than that," he added, "not a single one of those cases lasted more than a week."
Silence.
"Do you understand what that means?"
Mira could only stare.
"What…? Really?"
"Yes."
His tone remained steady.
"He's probably the finest investigator in this country."
A pause.
Then—
"But something is wrong."
The words landed heavily.
Mira leaned forward slightly.
"Wrong? What do you mean?"
The boss exhaled quietly.
"It's the current case… the Diable case."
He tapped the desk lightly.
"Today is the seventh day."
Mira froze.
The realization hit her slowly—
Seven days…
For anyone else, it meant nothing.
For Oliver—
It meant everything.
"Oh…" she murmured. "Now that you mention it…"
Her voice trailed off.
"But why?" she asked.
The boss shook his head.
"I don't know."
A brief silence followed.
Then he added,
"And it's not just the case."
Mira's attention sharpened.
"What do you mean?"
"It's his behavior," the boss said. "Lately… it's been different."
He searched for the right words.
"I can't explain it exactly, but…"
A pause.
"It feels like he isn't himself anymore."
Mira didn't respond.
She just listened.
The air in the room felt heavier now.
Then, after a moment, the boss spoke again.
"Do you know anything about his past?"
Mira shook her head.
"Not really, sir."
The boss nodded slightly.
"Neither do I."
A brief pause.
"Except for one thing."
Mira looked up.
"Except?"
The boss folded his hands.
"Before he joined us… he spent six years in Russia."
Mira blinked.
"Russia…?"
Her voice was quieter now.
"Six years… that means—"
"Yes," the boss said.
"He was there during the war."
"From 1939 to 1945."
The words echoed in her mind.
The room faded.
Her thoughts drifted elsewhere—
Somewhere deeper.
Somewhere darker.
She didn't even realize she had gone silent.
The boss noticed.
But said nothing for a moment.
Then, gently—
"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "it's nothing you need to worry about."
He leaned back again.
"If there is a problem, I'll handle it."
Mira blinked.
Returning.
Slowly.
"Y-yes, sir…"
He gave a small nod.
"You may go."
A pause.
"And take the rest of the day off."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Consider it a special permission."
Mira stood up.
But she didn't say anything.
Not a word.
She simply nodded—
And walked out.
The door closed behind her.
The boss remained seated.
Watching.
Thinking.
Silently.
Evening settled quietly over the city.
Inside a spacious two-storey house, warm lights glowed through wide windows. The place was elegant—well-furnished, carefully maintained—but tonight, it felt unusually empty.
Robert moved around the living room, adjusting things here and there.
His wife and son were away, visiting her parents.
So for once—
the house belonged only to him.
And to the past he was about to revisit.
He wiped the table one last time, then opened the refrigerator, checking the bottles.
Beer.
Enough for three.
A small smile formed on his face.
"Five years…" he murmured.
Five years since the three of them had last sat together like this.
Then—
the doorbell rang.
Robert froze for a second.
Then quickly walked to the door, excitement barely hidden.
He opened it.
And there they were.
Tom.
And Oliver.
For a brief moment, none of them spoke.
Then—
Robert broke into a wide smile.
"Finally," he said, extending his hand, "you two decided to do me a favor."
Tom laughed.
Oliver gave a faint smile.
They shook hands—firm, familiar.
Old bonds, untouched by time.
"Let us in, you idiot," Tom joked.
Robert stepped aside.
"Of course, of course—come in."
⸻
Inside, the atmosphere shifted quickly.
Food was already laid out.
Grilled meat.
Simple dishes.
Beer bottles placed neatly at the center.
They didn't waste time.
They sat down.
And began.
At first, the conversation was light—casual, almost nostalgic.
Robert, already halfway into his second bottle, leaned back and laughed loudly.
"Man, you don't even know what happened today," he said. "Some old grandpa at the hospital started giving vulgar signs to the nurses—hahahaha!"
Tom burst out laughing.
Even Oliver allowed a small chuckle.
Time moved easily.
Comfortably.
Like nothing had ever changed.
⸻
By the time the clock struck nine, the effect of alcohol had begun to settle in.
Tom was relaxed.
Robert—clearly drunk.
Only Oliver remained mostly untouched, his bottle barely half-finished.
Robert noticed.
He leaned forward, pointing at him.
"Hey… Oliver," he said, slurring slightly. "Why aren't you drinking, man?"
Oliver smiled faintly.
"I don't drink much anymore."
Robert stared at him.
Then suddenly burst out laughing.
"Bullshit!" he shouted. "In high school, you were the one forcing us to drink! Two bottles a day! And now you don't drink? Hahahaha!"
Tom shook his head, smiling.
"It is what it is," he said. "People change."
Robert smirked, taking another sip.
"Yeah… maybe."
He paused.
Then leaned back.
"So… how's work?"
Tom sighed.
"Nothing much. New case. This time it's… harder."
Oliver spoke calmly,
"Work is work. Though this one is… annoying."
Robert nodded.
"Yeah… same here," he said. "Being a doctor isn't easy either."
Tom raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really?"
Robert sat up slightly.
"There's this one patient," he said. "An old case. A woman—Aisha Ford."
Tom listened.
"She's suffering from some rare disease… affects her nervous system. Comes in every week."
"Poor woman," Tom muttered.
Robert nodded slowly.
"But when she came last time…" he continued, "…she brought someone with her. A boy. Probably adopted."
He frowned slightly, trying to remember.
"I don't recall his name… but…"
He paused.
Then said—
"He looked like her."
Tom blinked.
"Her?"
Robert nodded.
"Yeah… his face reminded me of our childhood friend."
A brief silence.
"Yui."
The name landed heavily.
Tom went silent.
Oliver lowered his gaze.
But Robert—too drunk to notice—continued.
"Oh yeah, Oliver," he said, grinning, "you had a crush on her in high school, right?"
Tom's expression tightened.
"Robert… maybe we shouldn't—"
But Robert waved him off.
"Why not?" he laughed. "It's not embarrassing! Just a high school crush! So tell me—where is she now? Married? Where does she live?"
Tom was about to intervene again—
But Oliver spoke first.
Calm.
Direct.
"She died."
Silence.
Robert froze.
"Four years ago," Oliver continued. "Her own son killed her."
The words cut through the room.
Robert's eyes widened.
His drunkenness faded, just slightly.
"I… I'm sorry—"
Oliver shook his head.
"You don't need to be."
A pause.
Then, quietly—
"I failed to protect her."
Robert stared at him.
Then asked, almost carefully,
"Don't tell me… you still love her?"
Oliver didn't look up.
Didn't hesitate.
"As much as I did twenty years ago."
No one spoke after that.
The laughter was gone.
The warmth—gone.
Only silence remained.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Unavoidable.
And in that silence—
something unseen tightened its grip around all three of them.
Chapter Ends
To be Continued