“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it even if you ask me.”
“Really? I don’t think my face is that bad.”
She pointed at herself.
“That’s not the point.”
“You’re so mean~”
“Mean my—”
Before he could respond, Rico’s voice interrupted him.
“Shall we proceed? Director Velladonna did emphasize urgency.”
He stiffened but shook his head. None of this was fair.
“……If I’d known witches were involved, I wouldn’t have come.”
Rico tilted her head slightly.
“Is that so? You seemed quite comfortable earlier.”
“……”
“The Director has already arranged transport to Navaco Island. You can depart today.”
His words died. There was no escaping this. Even if he ran, the island awaited—the worst post for an investigator. But at least here, he could still investigate.
Rogue turned his back on Rico and the witches. Whether he worked with them or not, his job hadn’t changed. He’d do what he always did. He took a deep breath, stomped his heel against the floor, and raised his voice.
“Hey, you lot! Briefing time!”
Yet no witches in the hall responded. They all carried on as they pleased, as if Rogue’s words hadn’t reached them at all.
“Oi! You listening?! Aren’t you wearing [Collars]?!”
Even after raising his voice, the witches showed no sign of moving. If anything, it felt like they were laughing at him.
As he stood there dumbfounded, a pale girl stepped up to his left.
“Rogue-kun. We’re only cooperating with the Investigation Bureau as a favor. Whether we’re forced or not, if we’re not in the mood, we won’t budge. That doesn’t change, [Collar] or no [Collar].”
She said that bluntly.
“Damn it…”
He’d landed in the worst possible place.
“Oh, don’t look so down, Rogue-kun. You get to investigate with me, right? It’ll be fun, I promise!”
The pale girl reached out familiarly to rest a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.
(…Damn it.)
He cursed again in his mind.
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The capital was always noisy. No matter where you went, car horns blared. The traffic finally lurched forward, but his mood only sank further. Investigating with witches—and on his very first day after being assigned to the precinct. The future looked bleak.
“No need to be so cold,”
the witch said from the passenger seat. Rogue answered without looking her way.
“Shut up. Do you even know your place?”
“Now, now, Rogue-kun. Let’s work together.”
“Who’s going to do that?”
“My, how cruel. Isn’t your promotion on the line?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Oh? I’d say it’s at least a little bit my business.”
“Quit screwing around, you—!”
The witch—Miseria—elbowed him in the ribs. He nearly swerved into a roadside tree.
Wrenching the wheel back into lane, he snapped,
“You’re out of your mind, witch. You have any idea how much it costs to maintain these vehicles?”
“Not my problem,”
“You’re insane.”
Miseria burst into laughter at his words. She kept laughing the whole ride, as if they were on a picnic.
(A witch who laughs this much…?)
But a witch was still a witch—letting his guard down wasn’t an option. Rogue clamped his mouth shut, ignoring Miseria’s attempts at conversation as he drove. They arrived at Dilo, the commercial district of Fifth Sector, and turned from the main street into an alley. A police cordon came into view, so he parked a short distance away.
Puddles lingered from the earlier rain. The backstreet was sunless, the air chilly. The walls were covered in garish graffiti—a hideous mess of spray paint.
Rogue stepped out of the car.
“We’re here.”
“Good work, Rogue-kun.”
Miseria remained seated, her right hand extended, palm up, toward the open car door.
“What are you doing?”
“Aren’t you going to escort me, Rogue-kun?”
“…”
For a second, he wondered if this witch was just some extra hired by Velladonna to mess with him. No, that couldn’t be it.
“…Cut the crap. You didn’t need help getting in.”
“Oh? Just because you didn’t do it before doesn’t mean you shouldn’t now.”
“Quit making excuses. I’ll leave you behind.”
“How ungentlemanly.”
Finally, Miseria stepped out and sauntered over with an air of arrogance.
“Well then! Shall we begin the investigation?”
“Keep it down. This isn’t your show.”
An officer stood by the cordon. Rogue flashed his credentials.
“Rogue, Special Investigator under the direct command of the Ireil Branch Chief. This one’s a consultant—an expert on [Magic Traces].”
“Understood, sir!”
The officer saluted and let them through.
Velladonna had provided fake credentials—likely because revealing witches in the investigation would be bad optics for the Bureau. Rogue didn’t mind the extra precaution.
At the body bag, Rogue’s eyes widened.
It lay crumpled, as if empty. No way a full-grown person was inside.
Grimacing, he unzipped it.
“Fucking hell…”
His mutter was justified.
Inside was an infant. Hairless, wrapped in an oversized coat, its vacant eyes staring into nothing.
“Crime-Fta”—an eighty-year-old florist. Yet the DNA matched the baby in front of him. The fingerprints confirmed it was him.
Eight decades of life, erased without a trace.
“Fascinating phenomenon.”
Miseria spoke up.
“The young age, the elderly revert to infancy. Hmm, impressive magic. What’s your take, Rogue-kun?”
“…No signs of struggle. If the killer erased all traces, cleanup must’ve taken serious time.”
“And?”
“Even if this is off the main street, you can’t dump a body here without someone noticing. Likely… the killer murdered the victim elsewhere, cleaned up, then transported the remains here.”
Miseria clapped slowly.
“Excellent deduction. As expected of the Bureau’s rising star.”
“You mocking me?”
“Not at all. You’re mostly right. The real question is—how did they bring it here?”
“That’s not the damn issue.”
“Oh?”
Ignoring her smirk, Rogue backtracked to the graffiti-covered alley where they’d arrived. He stopped.
“The killer came and went from here.”
On the wall in front of him was a drawing that appeared to have been made by local delinquents. Various colors of spray paint were splattered everywhere. At the edge of his vision, he saw Miseria strolled up leisurely.
“Care to explain?” she asked.
“[Void Shift] sigil. Lets you move a body from elsewhere easily. Spray over it, and no one spots the mark.”
Magic required either [Incantation] or [Sigils]. Unlike instant incantations, sigils delayed activation—perfect for premeditated crimes.
Miseria clapped again, exaggerated.
“Brilliant! Then all we need is to remove the spray paint.” She stared at him expectantly.
“…”
“Hm? What’s the plan, Rogue-kun?”
Wordlessly, Rogue pulled out his comms device, dialing a forensics contact. They’d have a pressure washer.
“I’ll get the tools to clean it off.”
“Oh? All that trouble? Why not just use purification magic?”
“……It’s my choice, isn’t it?”
“Hmm. I see.”
She clapped again, as if something clicked.
“You’re [Voiceless], aren’t you?”
“…”
As Rogue was about to press the call button, Miseria said,
“Well, there’s no helping it then. I’ll use magic instead. Seriously, you should’ve just told me sooner.”
She snatched the device from the rogue and returned it to his pocket.
“…I’m not handing personal intel to a witch.”
“Oh? But I already know your name, your job… How long until [Means] reaches you, I wonder?”
“……”
“How long will it take for the [means] to arrive?”
“…So I should rely on you?”
“No need to be so harsh. We’re partners now. Feel free to ask me anything.”
“…I don’t need your help.”
“Tsk tsk. Sure about that? Didn’t Velladonna want this case closed fast?”
Her face was pure mischief. Rogue’s gut boiled, but he held back. Maybe he was being stubborn. The sooner this ended, the better—for him, for everyone.
With great effort, he spoke.
“…Use the magic.”
Miseria exhaled a laugh.
“Gladly.”
She thrust her left hand out, palm up.
“What’re you doing?”
“Kiss it. Oh, and kneel while you thank me. You’ve got a minute.”
“The hell?!”
His mind blanked.
Was she serious? At a murder scene?
“Problem, Rogue-kun?”
“A damn big one!”
He was so thrown his words tangled.
“Th-This is insane! It’s unrelated! What’s even the point?!”
“Rogue-kun.”
She stepped forward. He stepped back.
“Don’t you think people need reasons to act? Even easy things feel like a chore without one.”
“S-So what?”
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