Ren awoke with a gasp. The dream he had been caught inside struck him with a heavy jolt, and the remnants clung to him for a heartbeat before dissolving just as fast as they came.
He glanced around. Of course he'd been going over the case again, stuck in his home office with the lights still on.
It's a mess in here. I should probably clean it up.
The desk in front of him, from where he sat on his chair, was covered in scattered documents, scribbled notes, and half-buried leads that only made sense to him. The kind of chaos that collected when he worked too long without breaks.
Ren dragged a hand down his chin. "Okay. I remember exactly where I was. Is it strange I'm speaking to myself?" He gave a tiny shake of his head. "It helps me think."
The Natsume thinking process always started the same. A light tap to the forehead, eyes shut, a beat of silence, then the gears aligned. His brain snapped awake like it remembered its purpose. Before that momentum hit full speed, he gathered the entire mess on his desk and dumped it into the trash. He couldn't stand looking at it anymore.
He moved to the bulletin board pinned to the wall. Notes, strings, and photos created a loose frame of the investigation. Even with everything he had, it was a thin amount of information.
"I practically have nothing…" he muttered.
Ren tapped his finger against his forehead again. The vibration crawled around his skull. His breath drifted out cold, his body temperature always lower than normal thanks to his core.
"I didn't want to resort to something so extreme. So I'll move to the next option."
His eyes settled on a photo of Samuel Foster. A wealthy man who poured enormous amounts of money into anything involving people without magical ability. Ren lifted a hand to his chin, slipping into that silent internal cadence.
Most people saw Foster as generous. Young, rich, kind. A man with enough assets to spend without worry. But something tugged at Ren's mind. Why exactly did the magically powerless interest him so much? Foster had spoken publicly about having magic himself. Sympathy felt too simple.
A small spark lit in Ren's mind.
He pulled out an article from his drawer, ripped a small piece of paper, scribbled notes about the article's contents, and pinned it among the rest on the board.
I forgot to write down his donations to the Clearwater Foundation. A whole organization of the coreless. Mr. Foster, you are now one suspicious member of this case.
Coming back to himself, Ren pulled a chewed pen from his lips and tossed it onto the desk. He made up his mind. He'd pay Samuel Foster a visit during the gala celebrating the donation to the Clearwater Foundation.
⸻
A week later.
Ren used his reputation as a war hero and a bit of money to secure entry into the gala. He figured it wouldn't look strange that he attended, and maybe it'd even help his public image.
On the day of the gala, Ren arrived in a suit designed specifically for him. It was meant for the celebration after the peace parade, the one he skipped. The piece suited his icy spirit.
He blended into the line of guests as reporters yelled questions beyond the velvet rope. Ren's tired eyes drifted ahead. For a moment he saw familiar hair, something that tugged at him, but the figure dissolved as quickly as it appeared. Maybe loneliness played tricks.
Inside, he drifted through food, drinks, and small talk. That last part fell apart almost immediately. He wasn't built for casual conversation. Most chats ended in awkward silence, leaving him with the same blank expression while the other party quietly escaped.
He leaned his elbow on a table, hand pressed to his forehead, and exhaled. Another sip of overpriced wine helped nothing.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Ren's head snapped up. "Lyra?"
She raised a brow and took a seat on the table across from him. "Answer the question. You wouldn't be here for the sake of it."
"You're really putting me on the spot." Ren let his cheek rest against his palm. "I assume you're keeping up your image as Valcrest heir."
"That's a deflection. A weak one." Lyra's fist hit the table, the loud music swallowing the impact. "Don't play with me, Natsume."
Ren didn't react. He simply lifted the glass again. "I'm not sure why you're so eager to know, but I guess I'll tell you. It's investigative business."
"Vague. Smart." Lyra nodded. She examined his face, though as always it revealed nothing. Even she struggled. "You already know how I subtly feel about my clan's activities."
"But you've still been working for them." Ren replied immediately. "I got information on you during my time with the—" He froze.
Is SIS information even public? Shit. Didn't prepare for that.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "If anyone can read your dead face, it's me. Sounds like your tongue slipped something important." She leaned back. "Government connections not yet public? Well, it doesn't matter. I'll have to kill you either way for spying on me."
Ren lifted a single finger. "You're here investigating something too. You wouldn't bother explaining your disapproval of your clan otherwise." His brain kicked into quick analysis, predicting her objective. Then he stopped. "Are we here for the same reason?"
A long silence settled between them. Neutral stares. Hard to tell if the moment felt tense or strangely comfortable.
Lyra broke it with a sigh. "Does the name Dante ring any bells?"
"Yes. I was told it'd benefit me to remember it."
"I believe Samuel Foster is Dante."
Ren's hand slid to his chin. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling. He had not considered that angle whatsoever. Maybe he was losing his edge before his detective career even started. "I didn't think of that. I was just trying to figure out what kind of man Mr. Foster was."
"You can investigate all you want. I'll stay ahead." Lyra's expression shifted into something close to a grin, but sharper, lacking any warmth.
Ren shivered. "It's a little eerie when you look at me like that. How often do you get confident like this?"
From behind the stage, the announcer introduced Samuel Foster's appearance. The audience flocked toward the platform in a wave, eager to see him.
"Why don't we just ask him ourselves?" Ren pointed a thumb over his shoulder.
"It's not an interrogation, Ren." Lyra snapped. "Well… he's not supposed to know it is. We need to be discreet." She dragged her chair back and stood. Before Ren even thought about following, she was already weaving into the crowd.
"I was just joking…" Ren sighed. "Is it really that hard to tell…?" He pushed himself up and hurried after her.
"Welcome, everyone!" the announcer shouted into the mic. "I could speak for Mr. Foster about how happy he is to have you all here, but why do that when he's right here?" He swept an arm toward the opposite curtain.
Samuel Foster stepped through the drapes.
The crowd exploded with applause. Ren covered both ears with his hands; the noise hit him like a physical blow.
Foster adjusted his tie and placed a hand on his chest. "Thank you. Thank you, everyone. I cannot stress how appreciative I am that you're all here." He paused until the clapping died down.
"This day feels like the culmination of everything I've worked for. I am simply a man blessed with wealth from birth and by the gods." He raised a hand toward the ceiling lights. "I believe it was a message. A sign that my purpose was to share fortune with those born without it. Without the hardworking souls of this world, I would not be standing here today. It is the people who deserve your praise, not I. Blessed be the Clearwater Foundation for their support of the coreless!"
The cheers rose again.
From the side, Lyra snatched Ren's wrist and dragged him out of the mass of bodies.
"They praise him like a god." Ren rubbed his earlobes gently. "It's scary how easy people are to sway. I mean… it doesn't look like he's actually doing anything wrong."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. Her thoughts worked nonstop; the difference was that she lived at that speed. "Maybe they praise him like a god because they think he is. If my theory is right and the foundation knows about his double identity, they'd hold up his image at all costs."
"Lyra, you're reaching." Ren stuffed his hands into his pockets. A cold breath slipped from him. "It's interesting hearing you piece things together, but everything you're saying is circumstantial. If it didn't fit your theory, you wouldn't be connecting these dots."
"I—" Lyra stalled. "But… it makes sense." Her voice trailed, the certainty wavering. "No, maybe you're right. I trusted my first possibility too much." She shook her head, and as she did, her thoughts drifted to her older sister. What would Cara do? She asked herself the same question every time she hit a wall.
"Cara…" she muttered.
"Hm?" Ren tilted his head.
Lyra snapped her fingers. "Right, focus. Foster will be offstage any second, and we'll get a chance to question him. Also… why is your hair white?"
Ren blinked. "Are you really asking me that right now?"
"It's just— I never really questioned it before. It's only now hitting me that it's entirely white." Lyra stared at him. "There were always more important things to worry about."
"There are more important things right now!" Ren said, gesturing sharply. "I was born this way. Does that satisfy you? What is going on with you…?" His last words fell to a mutter.
"Me?" Lyra's brows angled sharply. "What's your problem with me all of a sudden? I've been at the top of my game investigating this for the last six days." She jabbed her thumb at herself.
"Six days…? That's it?" Ren's eyes widened.
"Eh?" Lyra stopped. The investigation had only taken a week; it never felt difficult. "Y-yeah?"
"You're amazing." Ren covered his mouth with a hand, gaze lowering to the floor. "You work so much faster than I do. I was never the best detective, I suppose."
"W-what?" Lyra blinked, stunned. She didn't even get the chance to respond before Foster stepped down from the stage.
Ren pointed. "We have to catch him. Now."
"Oh. R-right."