One of his things was that he was a lover of mystery.
Not the type in books or riddle, but the crude bleeding type that was in actual individuals.
It was not to bring justice that he hunted killers--to know why people snapped. Maybe because he had, once.
His drug, his obsession was mystery. That was why a decision to be a detective was not an option.
It was inevitable.
His code name: Solved.
He walked the neon streets of Tokyo, dark hair falling about sharp brown eyes that listed all shadows, all faces.
Even the rain had made it an attic, but so what.
He had forgotten how many days ago he had slept, three, perhaps four. The bags he had under his eyes said that story better than words.
He squeezed the cigar with his withered fingers and rolled it between his lips.
His thin figure drove in a way that told of the efficiency of a man who had had to learn how to be economical rather than being trained to be economical. All motions thoughtful, all not flung away.
The knuckle wound, the souvenir of the first case, the mistake of a rawhorn, shone in the flickering streetlights as he lifted up the cigar.
Rain dampened the air and he exhaled and mingled with the smoke.
The ritual brought him back to his feet, reduced his world to the case in point, opened those observant eyes which were always too bright and too few...
Six bodies. Six locations. Identical scars.
The simplicity gnawed at him. This clean was not in the nature of a case.
He pulled up in front of an old apartment house whose walls were grime and age scarred.
Watching he inhaled slowly, saying, "Same scar, same murderer. Too neat." His eyes flashed with a achieving appetite--not of knowing, but of a cracking of a lie.
He made his way up to the 32th-floor, a step at a time, his boots clattering in the dark hall. Two sharp knocks.
"Who's there?" A young and unsteady voice is heard in the door.
Solved made no reply, and the silence was prolonged.
The door opened, and a hooded figure with acutely suspicious eyes stared into the room.
"How may I help--" the man started.
"Got the stuff?" Cut, voice low, look piercing.
The man became rigid with his eyes wide open.
Fear, Solved noted.
Not surprise.
People reading was my second nature. It had been learned in the academy through micro-expressions, but Shibuya streets taught it--where a single twitch lost would mean a knife thrust through the stomach.
He had been three years on the hunt of killers, and had learned that everybody got busted. You only had to have the proper lever.
"Who the hell are you?" the man self-pitched high, voice snipping.
Keep calm, Jason, keep calm, said Solved, like a mere casual gossip.
Jason's breath hitched. His hand made a movement towards his pocket.
"How do you know my name?"
Solved pushed forward, his body crashing into the doorway, rubbing past.
He did not seek permission--he did not have to. The room was his now.
It smelled of bleach, backed with dusty smoked cigarettes. The entry was littered with shoes, one pair of which was darker--stained, in spite of scrubbing.
A great jacket was lying on its own, and something was in the lining.
Solved saw it all in a moment, and fixed his eyes on Jason. "Put the knife away.
Eight inch stainless steel. Clean enough to cut, and too dull to cut scars.
Jason blanched, and his hand was half-frozen in the grip. "What--what knife?"
"Six bodies. Same scar, same angle." The voice of Solved was strong, pitiless. You are left-handed, and you have a twitch in the right shoulder--a sign of an old wound.
That's why the cuts are ragged. That's why it's you."
Jason supported himself, sweating. "You're insane--I didn't--"
Bleach does not make the memory go away, Jason. Solved shook his head at the scrubbed tiles. The place where she was killed is the cleanest place in this dump.
You see her face, night after night, don't you? You smoke to make her out-of-focus, that's why.
Jason's knees buckled. His gaze was roaming, seeking way out.
"You don't know--"
It was not the start, Solved broke in, speaking in a hypnotic tone.
"But you couldn't stop. One kill became six. The sin of conscience is favorable to the sin of repentance, is it? Knowing some one would take you in sport.
Jason trembled with his lips. He shook his head but the fight was exhausting.
Say it, Solved, say it, unyielding, sharp now.
I--I did it, I fell on my knees, Jason said. "I killed them."
Solved's smile was thin, cold. He tapped ash onto the floor. "Case closed."
The moaning of some siren was heard as he was called by Solved. Always two steps ahead.
He looked to the window, where the rain was beating the glass, and the lights of the city were visible through the smoke. Justice felt hollow tonight.
Why do I feel I miss something?
The staircase was very dark and Solved fell down the steps, the burden of the case heavy as foul rot.
Then a flash--eyes in the shades. Not one pair, but two.
He stood still with his hand close to his coat. He'd known this day would come. A detective who pitted himself too deep, who solved all cases, made enemies. Not only those that were criminals, but those who were corrupt, and lived on buried truths.
Two faces came out Alfredo, lean and sharp in an Italian suit, and Takashi, with hand in jacket. They identified themselves as problem solvers.
Solved recognized them through the grainy surveillance--matchmakers to the payer of cold cases.
Alfredo spoke, with a slight accent, to indicate the title of the piece, which was: Detective Solved. "You're too good at your job."
Too good," said Takashi, in a hard voice.
"Morrison case. Yamamoto's disappearance. The warehouse murders. All of them connected to names that do not like light.
Solved made a drag, smoke between them. "You're saying I got too close."
You came too near to all everything," Alfredo said, and stepped forward. And yet some mysteries remain covered, Detective.
"Not my style."
The pistol of Takashi flashed, dumb and still.
"Then your story ends here."
The bullet that pierced the chest of Solved and sent him banging on the wall was the first one. The latter struck his shoulder. Sliding down with his cigar, its ember flaming in the dark.
Nor personal, Alfredo, crouching, said. "Just business."
The thoughts of Solved grew clearer as the blood thickened. They're tying up loose ends. But whose? The blackness came near, and as he thought his final bitter thought of all: there was a cost always to the truth.
Sensibility came back like a low ebb. Not pain, not panic--simply warm and throbbing, living.
Solved opened his eyes on... nothing. No body, no ground. Only infinite space, shimmering with threads of light that weave like a cosmic library.
[WELCOME, DETECTIVE SOLVED]
Words glittered up in front of him, fine, impossible.
"What the hell?" There was no throat to his voice.
[YOU are selected: ENIGMA Seed Vesel].
[INVESTIGATION: EXCEPTIONAL]
[DEDUCTION: UNWAVERING]
[TRUTH-SEEKING: ABSOLUTE]
And all there burst forth into windows--cities of the Middle Ages with runes that gleamed in the darkness and dim shadows and secrets that beat like the heart.
[VALAMORE summons up a detective.
Crimes that go beyond mortal law, demand justice.
[ACCEPT THE CALLING? Y/N]
He would have laughed had he not been in the know. Isekai, direct out of late-night novels. But this was real.
"New world, new cases, new rules?" he asked the void.
[ACCURATE. ENIGMA SYSTEM ABILities Ratio to Mysteries Solved.
[EVERY Case closed put more power on.
[Every single fact, that you discover, brings you nearer to ultimate realization.
"And if I say no?"
[ETERNAL REST. NO MYSTERIES. NO TRUTH.]
Silence wasn't his drug. The unsolved cases of Tokyo, Yamamoto, the warehouse, ate him up. And Valamore said something which his world had never, could never say: an opportunity to pursue the truth without the hands of corrupt people tugging at the strings.
"Hell yes," he said. Valamore, show me what you have got.
[CHOICE CONFIRMED]
[TRANSFER INITIATING...]
[WELCOME TO VALAMORE]
[FIRST CASE AWAITS]
There was a flash of light, and a window opened:
[DETECTIVE: SOLVED]
[LEVEL 1 TRUTH SEEKER | (0/50 EXP)]
[INVESTIGATION: 18]
[DEDUCTION: 20]
[INTUITION: 15]
[AUTHORITY: 5]
[COMBAT: 8]
[SpecialABILITY: Psychological Pressure].
[PASSIVE SKILL: Truth Sight]
Sensation came back--flesh, weight, breath. Solved had been opened to a new world by this, and mysteries were old friends.