Miseria took another step forward, and Rogue took another step back.
“Honestly? I couldn’t care less if this case gets solved. The only thing I want from this investigation is [fun]. If you provide that, I’ll help with anything.”
Her eyes gleamed as she theatrically extended her hand further.
“…Fun?”
One more step back. His back hit the wall. Miseria’s gaze locked onto his, her pupils burning.
“Exactly. Understood?”
“…Like hell I do.”
“Then negotiations failed?”
“…Didn’t say that.”
“Hmm. But you’re not enthusiastic. Maybe I should stop.”
She grinned.
“…Wait. I’ll do something else. Name it.”
“Let’s see…”
Miseria looked up as if deep in thought, then tapped her right cheek with her finger.
“How about here? It’s softer than the back of the hand.”
“…Tch. It’s not about softness.”
“Hmm? Then should I pick a harder spot? What about your forehead? Even you could manage that, I’d think.”
“——————”
The moment he fell silent, Rogue understood. Miseria didn’t just want to make an investigator kneel—she wanted to see the instant someone flinched in pain or hesitation. That was what amused her.
“D…damn it…!”
But realizing that didn’t mean he could resist any further. No matter how he struggled, she’d steer this toward humiliation. And if they lingered too long, the other officers might come to check on them.
Gritting his teeth, Rogue crouched down and dropped to one knee.
(I have to kiss this ? Right here, right now?)
Up close, Miseria’s hand was pure white, yet tinged with a faint, lifelike flush—glossy and unsettlingly alive.
(…It’s for the investigation.)
He repeated it to himself. This was necessary.
But no matter how much he rationalized it, he couldn’t shake the indignity.
Rage burned through his skull. Why did he have to kneel before a witch? Why was he the one forced to do this? He glared at the source of his torment.
“My, what a lovely face, Rogue-kun. A young man’s suffering truly is honeyed nectar,”
Miseria cooed, laughing hard enough to squeeze tears from her eyes. She patted his shoulder like she was congratulating him, and it made him sick.
“I’ll make you regret this…!”
“I look forward to it.”
“Damn you—wait, you’re young too, aren’t you? What ‘young man’s suffering’?!”
“If I look young, that’s all the better.”
That’s when it hit him.
(Right… Witches don’t age.)
“Well, never mind that. Let’s fulfill our little bargain. Come here.”
Miseria’s laughter vanished like a switched-off light as she stepped toward the wall.
“O flesh abandoned in eternal night, crumble to dust and fade away.”
A spell chant. The air twisted in response. The wall before her shimmered, glowing fiercely before the light receded—leaving behind a black, sludge-like substance that oozed down the surface. When the sludge finished dripping, the graffiti-covered wall was now clean.
“That should do it.”
“…You. I thought you could only use child-level magic?”
The relationship between magical energy and spellcraft was like puppetry: to manipulate multiple puppets, you needed multiple hands. Complex spells demanded vast reserves of energy—yet Miseria had just performed one with the magical capacity of a child.
“Oh, that’s just because my control is exceptional. Feel free to praise me.”
“……”
Ignoring her nonsense, Rogue studied the wall.
Carved into it was a spatial translocation sigil. Geometric patterns woven from crimson lines, some unfamiliar even to him. An intricately crafted mark—except for one missing segment. Likely removed deliberately. Without it, the sigil wouldn’t function.
“…Cautious bastard.”
Rogue shook his head.
“Well, even if this gate’s unusable, analyzing it should reveal the destination.”
“Hold on, Rogue-kun. Have you forgotten what I am? I’m a witch. Restoring a sigil is trivial.”
Miseria arched a brow, smirking.
“You serious?”
“Why would I lie? Let’s proceed. O blood-tide, surge through the veins of the earth’s cleft!”
Her words took effect. The sigil flushed red, pulsing like a living thing.
(Restoration magic now? She makes it look effortless…)
“Now we can jump. Shall we go greet our culprit?”
“Wait. I’ll call backup.”
The moment he spoke, Miseria seized his wrist. Why?
“Don’t be dull, Rogue-kun. Let’s catch them together—just the two of us. Far more fun, no?”
A bad feeling crept up his spine.
Miseria’s grin deepened.
“You—”
Before Rogue could protest, she lunged at the wall—dragging him with her. His vision blurred. When his eyes snapped open, they stood in a dim room. A chair, a gray desk. Cardboard boxes littering the floor. A flickering fluorescent light. Shelves crammed with all-too-familiar illicit drug bottles, their acrid stench thick in the air.
“Wha—?! How the hell did you—?!”
A man stood frozen: overweight, clad in coveralls, a bottle clutched in his left hand.
Their eyes locked.
Then—as if shaking off shock—the man’s gaze hardened. Still gripping the bottle, he shoved his right hand into his pocket and yanked out a glinting pistol.
The barrel leveled at Rogue’s forehead.
He swallowed his curses at Miseria and clenched his fists.
BANG.
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The gunshot cracked the air. Rogue jerked his head left—a bottle behind him shattered. He lunged forward. Point-blank range. A fist to the liver. The man folded like paper, a choked gasp escaping him as his body trembled violently. His eyes rolled back before he slumped against Rogue, dead weight.
“Hea—vy—!”
The unconscious man’s full bulk threatened to crush him. The awkward angle made it impossible to hold, but even for a criminal, slamming him into the ground wasn’t an option. Teeth gritted, Rogue strained to keep him upright—until Miseria’s voice cut in.
“Oho~! Impressive, Rogue-kun! Felling a giant in one strike? You deserve praise.”
“Shut up and help me put him down!”
“Ah, my apologies. I’m frightfully weak. Doubt I’d be of use.”
Her tone was painfully insincere.
“The hell you are!”
“I really am sorry. I’ll cheer you on, so please forgive me. Keep going, Rogue-kun.”
“Damn it!”
His arms and thighs screamed as he fought to heave the man against the wall. The moment the body slid into place, Rogue collapsed to the floor.
“Hah… hah…”
“No time to rest, Rogue-kun. We’ve got a fresh source of intel—time for an interview.”
“You’ve got nerve after refusing to help…!”
Rogue forced himself up. After securing the gun, he slapped the man’s cheek.
“Hey. Wake up.”
“…Ugh.”
The man’s eyelids fluttered.
“You’re heading to prison. But first—did you kill Crime?”
The man looked away.
“…I’ll stay silent.”
“Stalling’s pointless. The sigil trail leads straight here.”
“……”
Rogue sighed, scanning the room.
“With all the drugs here, how many years do you think you’ll get? Talk, and I might ease the charges.”
“…I don’t know.”
Rogue stood. No guilt flickered in the man’s eyes, no matter how he pressed. —So it’s not him.
“Covering for someone?”
“Tch!”
The man’s reaction shifted instantly. Sweat beaded on his brow. Rogue pointed to the desk chair.
“That seat’s too low for you. You have visitors?”
“…I said I don’t know.”
“How many accomplices? A woman?”
“……”
The man lowered his gaze, sealing his lips.
Waste of time.
Pleasure-driven criminals broke easily under pressure. But crimes committed to protect someone? Different story. They required methodical dismantling—cornering them until resistance was futile.
“Help me this time. We’re taking him in. Interrogation happens at the station.”
Rogue hauled the man up, steering him toward the sigil—but Miseria didn’t follow.
“Hey. I said help.”
“Hmm. How dreadfully boring.”
“Boring?”
“There are far more dramatic ways to extract information. Torture, for instance.”
Her casual tone made his eyebrows shoot up.
“Don’t be stupid. That’s illegal.”
“Ah, laws. So precious. But, Rogue-kun—”
She wagged a finger, smiling.
“I’ve no obligation to follow them. I’m a witch, after all.”
Her face was so cheerful that it made him want to laugh along with her, without any sense of hostility. It was completely out of place in this dimly lit room. However, he could feel the atmosphere change, and his spine began to tremble. It was a clear difference. It felt like the place where he was standing had suddenly changed to the front of an execution platform.
Miseria raised a slender arm skyward.
Then, with a flourish—
“Now, Rogue-kun. Let the puppet show begin.”
Snap.
“W-what the—?! What’s happening?!”
A shriek erupted beside Rogue. He whirled around.
The man’s left arm was rising—slow, unnatural, as if dangling from invisible strings. It swayed limply, a marionette’s jerky dance.
“M-my arm! What did you do?!”
The man clawed at his left arm with his right, but it wouldn’t stop. Worse—
“Calm down. This won’t take long. Well, unless you drag it out.”
At Miseria’s words, the right arm spasmed too.
It lifted—until the man’s right fingers pinched the tip of his left index fingernail. No way.
“S-stop! You can’t—!”
Miseria grinned at the pale-faced man.
“We’ll start with the nails. You’ll peel them off yourself. Understood?”
“N-no—!”
“Buchin.”
A sound was clearly heard.
“───────────────”
A voiceless scream.
The man’s eyes flew open, his face drenched in sweat. It wasn’t just that his nails had been ripped off—he had torn them off himself. The pain was something he couldn’t even bear to imagine. Before he knew it, Rouge was glaring at the witch.
“……Stop this. I’ll send you back to prison.”
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