Clarissa entered the room with hesitant steps, her administrative blazer looking wrinkled and worn. Her face was deathly pale, and the dark circles framing her eyes betrayed a total lack of sleep.
"Thank you for coming, Miss Clarissa," Laevatein said. Her voice was cold, a sharp blade devoid of sympathy. She leaned forward, the harsh fluorescent lights catching the silver insignias on her uniform. "You were our first informant of the incident. Given your official status as an administrative employee of Baron Frey, explain your alibi."
Clarissa twisted her fingers nervously. "I… I work as an admin on the fifth floor. That morning, I was late because I had to turn back halfway to work. I only arrived back at the Eye Tower around 10:00 AM after retrieving some important documents I'd left at home," she recited, her alibi delivered in a practiced, professional tone.
"But when I returned, the entire building was under total lockdown. I couldn't get in, and I had a premonition that something terrible was happening, so I reported it immediately."
Laevatein stared at the data in her file, her sharp eyes scanning Clarissa for any flickers of deceit. "Our team's reports show a slaughter inside. Dozens are dead. Did you see anything suspicious, Miss Clarissa? Any family disputes, business threats, or tension between Baron Frey and his brother, General Aslan?"
Clarissa shook her head, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with the Inspector. "I'm sorry, Inspector. I know nothing. I am merely an administrative clerk. I handle paperwork and official correspondence. I never heard or saw any signs of a feud or secret business." The lies flowed like water, smooth and untraceable.
Silence hung between them, thick and heavy. Laevatein found no cracks in her testimony. No motive, no suspicion. The woman's alibi was too clean, too perfect.
"Very well, Miss Clarissa," Laevatein said, her voice returning to a flat monotone as she tapped her pen against the desk. "You are free to go. Do not leave the city. We may call upon you again."
Clarissa nodded and hurried out of the police headquarters, breathing a sigh of relief as the night air touched her skin. She had successfully maintained her cover, but the image of the dead Baron Frey haunted her mind.
As she walked beneath the flickering streetlights, a sudden flash of memory struck her. The scent of expensive perfume, a dark altar room, and the cold air of a church wall in Santino's secret passage—the place where she performed her illegal courier work.
She remembered a shadow who claimed to be Santino's special courier: a young man in a sharp suit with cold orange eyes, the one who had dismantled her psyche and forced her to speak of Baron Frey.
The Young Master.
The figure appeared unbidden in her mind, leaving a strange trail of disgust and fear. Clarissa brushed the memory aside, but deep down, she knew: that boy had something to do with the carnage at the Eye Tower this morning.
Back in her grand office, Laevatein sat back in her chair, her silhouette framed by the city lights of Rich City. Clarissa had been cleared. Yet, the motive remained a void.
Another knock. This time, it wasn't the formal tap of an assistant. The door swung open, and five of the finest officers from the Criminal and Intelligence Divisions stepped in, their faces grim and ready for orders.
Laevatein wasted no time. She pointed to the Eye Tower file, which now felt like a cold weight on her desk. "Gather every report from the initial response team. As of today, you are the Eye Tower Tragedy Special Investigation Team, under my direct command."
Her gaze swept over each officer, sharp and demanding. "Start the investigation from zero. Search for leads, every detail left behind, no matter how small the anomaly. Get to work!"
The five officers stood at attention, accepting the grim mission from their commander.
Cube Secret Bunker, Early Morning
Ren opened his eyes; his eyelids felt heavy and encrusted. The first thing to greet him was the sharp, stinging scent of disinfectant, followed by a clinical, hollow silence—the polar opposite of the blood-soaked chaos of the Eye Tower. He lay on an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by steel walls that felt like a dark metallic casing. Thin wires dangled from his chest and arms, connected to a small, humming monitor.
He tried to sit up, but agony immediately flared. The torture radiated from his battered left shoulder and his cracked ribs. He took a short, hitched breath. When he had taken Aslan's elbow strike, adrenaline had shielded him; now, the reality of the pain sapped what little strength he had left.
A moment later, the steel door slid open. Vera stepped in, her face etched with deep concern. Behind her, two unfamiliar figures appeared.
Vera signaled the shorter figure to move. "Lulubel, he's awake."
The one called Lulubel approached, her sharp eyes scanning the monitor. For someone referred to as a doctor, her appearance was utterly eccentric. She was short, but draped in an expensive-looking lab coat. Her long hair was tied in thick pigtails; the left side was a vibrant pink, and the right was a pale light green.
Lulubel looked up, her expression void of emotion. "Given the trauma this patient sustained—severe blunt force to internal organs—it's a miracle he's conscious and stable in less than twenty-four hours."
Ren offered only a cold, silent stare in return.
The other stranger stood quietly by the doorway. Tall, wearing a dark hoodie that concealed blonde hair beneath a jacket. That must be Isaac, Ren thought. The hacker he had known only through earpiece static.
Vera gently took Ren's wrist. "I know this isn't the right time," she whispered, her voice tight. "But I need to briefly explain what has happened."
Vera spoke quickly: "You are in the Cube Bunker. We called in a medical expert we trust, Lulubel, to handle your injuries." She turned to Isaac. "Isaac managed to wipe all CCTV data from the Eye Tower and its surroundings using a modified Aegis core. He's locked it in the Cube's private server as a backup."
"It's now early morning," Vera continued. "The official police report lists the deaths of Baron Frey and Aslan as a mystery. There's no sign of the investigation heading our way yet. For now, we are safe."
Lulubel, tidying instruments on a stainless steel tray, interrupted in a brisk, clinical tone. "Alright. That's enough reporting. Our patient needs to rest. In-depth discussions will wait until tomorrow."
Vera and Isaac nodded, recognizing that Ren's condition was the priority. They stepped out of the emergency medical room, and the steel door hissed shut, providing perfect isolation.
Once certain they were out of earshot, Ren spoke.
"Help me sit up," he commanded, his voice raspy and demanding. "And take these off."
Lulubel offered a thin smile—one that carried no warmth, yet showed no resistance. She adjusted the bed until Ren was propped up, then swiftly removed the IV needles.
"You haven't changed at all." As she fitted arm sling pads to support his injured left arm, Lulubel detailed his grim medical state. "Cracked ribs, internal bleeding, and a mild concussion. You're also dehydrated and exhausted." She finished her work and stepped back, looking at him with a knowing gaze.
"I didn't expect," Lulubel paused. "To cross paths with you again..."
"...Shiroi Hitsuji."