At midnight, a harsh, grating noise jolted Phantom awake.
She found Sarla beside her, sleeping deeply, undisturbed by the noise.
She sat up on the bed and glanced at Arthur's bed, only to find Wilson there, sleeping soundly.
She climbed down from the bed and moved cautiously, determined to find the source of the sound.
A chill ran down her spine as she realized the sound was coming from the storeroom right beside their room. The dimly lit hallway felt colder, the air thick with an unsettling presence. Every creak of the wooden floor beneath her feet echoed eerily, amplifying the dreadful silence that followed.
She pushed open their room's door, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. A shiver ran through her as she saw the storeroom light flickering through its slightly open door. The faint glow cast eerie shadows along the hallway. Her gaze shifted to the Chief's room—it was locked from the inside. The unsettling realization sent a wave of unease through her.
{"Should I check?"}— the question echoed in her mind, but her body had already decided. Holding her breath, she stepped forward, her movements cautious and deliberate. Each footstep felt heavier as she crossed the threshold into the dimly lit storeroom, the air thick with an unshakable tension.
She moved deeper into the storeroom, her breath slow and steady. The dim light flickered above, casting eerie shadows against the cluttered shelves. But as she looked around, she found—nothing. No one was there. Just the faint hum of the light, left on, perhaps by mistake. Her tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but an uneasy feeling still lingered in her chest.
Suddenly, the door behind her slammed shut with a loud BANG! The sharp sound echoed through the storeroom, making her heart jolt. She spun around, her breath hitching—was it the wind? Or… something else? The air felt heavier now, the dim light above flickering as if the room itself was holding its breath.
She whipped around, her breath shallow, heart hammering against her ribs. The dim light above flickered, casting shifting shadows across the room. Her eyes darted toward the door, but there was no one there—just the suffocating silence pressing in around her.
The light suddenly went out, plunging the room into pitch-black darkness. For a single, suffocating second, everything was silent—too silent. Then, with a sharp flicker, the light returned.
Nothing had changed.
Except—
A figure stood right behind her.
The air turned ice-cold. A sickening dread crawled up her spine as a faint, raspy breath brushed against her ear. The room, once just unsettling, now felt utterly wrong, as if reality itself had shifted. A deep, heavy presence loomed over her, pressing against her skin like unseen hands. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
And then… it moved.
Phantom exhaled sharply, her breath shaky but determined. Without hesitation, she spun around and swung her fist with all her strength—aiming straight for its face.
But—CLANG!
Her knuckles didn't meet flesh. Instead, they crashed against something solid and unyielding. A rip hammer. Cold steel. The figure had anticipated her move, raising its weapon just in time.
Her eyes widened. What the hell…?
Before she could react, a fist slammed into her gut.
The force was brutal—like getting hit by a freight train. Air ripped from her lungs as her body folded, crashing onto the cold, hard floor. A sharp ringing filled her ears, her vision blurring as pain surged through her ribs.
"Gh…aah…" She gasped, trying to push herself up.
Then—she saw it.
The mask. Creepy. Unnatural. But the worst part—the thing that made her blood turn ice-cold—was how it melted away, erasing like smoke. And beneath it…
A single, glowing red eye.
It pulsed with a menacing, inhuman gleam—watching her. Studying her.
"W-Who… the hell… are you…?" she croaked, but the darkness was already swallowing her.
The last thing she saw was that eye—blazing like a dying ember in an abyss—before everything faded to black.
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
The shrill sound of the alarm pierced the air at 5:30 AM. Phantom's eyes fluttered open, her body aching, her mind hazy.
"What… happened…? Chief… did you catch him…?" she mumbled in a sleepy, dazed tone.
"YOU'RE 10 MINUTES LATE!!"
The Chief's sudden scream blasted through her ears like a gunshot.
"Huh—Wha—?!"
Startled, Phantom jerked upright—only for her balance to betray her. In a flurry of tangled sheets, she tumbled off the bed, crashing onto the floor with a dull THUD.
"Huh?!" Phantom exclaimed, still groggy from the abrupt wake-up call.
"Go brush your teeth, Sherry!! We're already late for our 10 km run!" Chief barked, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.
Phantom blinked.
Before she could process the name, a voice came from behind. "So… his name is Sherry? And she's your elder daughter?"
She turned to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, an amused smirk on his face.
"Oh, Arthur!" Chief said, turning to him with a smirk. "So you heard me, huh? You know, sneaking around isn't exactly polite… but I can't hate that kind of detective instinct from someone as well-known as you."
Arthur simply shrugged, his smirk deepening.
"Anyway," Chief continued, folding his arms. "Now you know—Phantom's true identity. Yes she is a girl."
Phantom's breath hitched. Her body stiffened.
"U-Umm…" she stammered, her mind racing.
Before she could respond, Chief shot her a sharp look, his expression unreadable. Then, with a deadpan voice, he said—
"Mind washing your face first?"
That was all it took.
A shiver ran down Phantom's spine. She didn't need to be told twice. Without another word, she bolted toward the washroom, her heart pounding faster than her feet.
RRRING!...
The sudden ring of the phone echoed through the room. Chief sighed and walked over to pick it up.
But before answering, he turned to Arthur and Wilson, his sharp gaze locking onto them.
"And you two!" he snapped, pointing a firm finger. "Don't just stand there like statues! Arthur, wipe that smug look off your face and get moving! And Wilson—if I catch you trying to sneak in another five-minute nap, I'll have you running an extra 5 km!"
Arthur, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, no need to burn the house down."
Wilson groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Ugh… why do we have to run so early? The sun isn't even awake yet."
Chief shot him a glare. "Because I said so! Now MOVE!"
Wilson muttered something under his breath but dragged himself up, while Arthur stretched lazily, grinning.
Satisfied, Chief finally picked up the phone. "Yeah? Who is this?"
Chief's face paled in an instant. His usual commanding presence stiffened as he gripped the phone tighter.
"Really…?" His voice dropped, tension creeping into his tone. "Alright. I'm heading there. Yeah."
With that, he hung up the call, his expression unreadable. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his hat and placed it firmly on his head.
"Change of plans," he said, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the room. "I have to take care of a little… problem. You three go for the run with Sherry. I'll join you later." His gaze sharpened. "Now, MOVE!"
Arthur and Wilson immediately straightened up. "Understood," Arthur said with a respectful nod, while Wilson, sensing the seriousness of the situation, simply replied, "Got it, Chief."
Without another word, Chief strode toward the door, his footsteps heavy with urgency.
As Chief left, Arthur let out a long sigh. "What an officer… seriously, who the heck does morning exercise?"
SMACK!
Arthur's head jerked forward as a sharp slap landed on the back of it. "Ouch! What the—?!" He turned, rubbing his head, only to find Sherry standing there, arms crossed.
"That's for the last night , moron. Where the hell you went last night? " She huffed.
Wilson stared in shock. "Wait... you're a girl?!"
Sherry crossed her arms with a smug look. "So what? I like disguising myself. Got a problem with that?"
Just then, Sarla, still half-asleep, rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Gooood… morniiiing…" she mumbled, stretching.
Arthur smirked and glanced at Sherry. "I was sleeping on my bed not in your dream.You, cosplaying hentai protagonist."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" Sherry's face twisted in fury.
Wilson blinked. "Well… if you're only wrapped in a towel, then technically, he has a point."
"HUH?!" Sherry shot him a glare, then finally glanced down at herself—her body wrapped in nothing but a damp bath towel.
Her face went red. "I-I always take early morning baths! This is NOT hentai, you bighead!"
Arthur grinned. "You sayin' that just makes it worse!"
In a second, the room turned into a battlefield. Sherry lunged at Arthur, grabbing his collar, while Arthur pulled her hair in retaliation. "Take that back, idiot!" Sherry growled.
"Never! You started it!" Arthur shot back, tugging harder.
Sherry elbowed his stomach, making him cough. Arthur countered by ruffling her wet hair aggressively. "How do you like that, towel princess?!"
Sherry screeched and kicked his shin. "You little—!!"
Wilson, watching the chaos unfold, sighed and shook his head. "Wanna hear a joke?" he asked casually.
"HUH?!" Arthur and Sherry snapped, still pulling at each other's faces. "Why would we—"
"Chief." Wilson said.
The single word hit them like a brick. Their bodies stiffened. Their hands instantly released each other. Their eyes widened in horror.
"CH-CHIEF?!" they blurted out, whirling around in panic.
Realizing the risk of getting caught, Sherry and Arthur sprinted toward their rooms, nearly tripping over themselves. Within seconds, they were scrambling to put on their walking outfits like their lives depended on it.
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
Chief arrived at the house, his mind racing. "So, Arthur and Sherry were right. That man was hiding something." The thought gnawed at him as he took a deep breath and stepped inside.
But the moment his eyes landed on the scene—his breath hitched.
"What the…!" His thoughts screamed.
Just then, Phinson stepped forward, snapping into a sharp salute. "Sir!"
Chief's voice was firm. "What happened here?"
Phinson's expression was grim as he recounted the scene.
"A couple was found dead. One body in the basement, the other on the floor. The newspaper delivery guy discovered the man's corpse this morning." He paused before adding in a chilling tone, "Sir… you need to see this for yourself."
Chief's eyes narrowed. "Tell me."
Phinson inhaled sharply. "The man's face… is smiling. But not willingly."
A creeping unease settled in as Phinson continued.
"Three nails forced that smile into place. Two were driven into the corners of his lips, and one in the center of his lower lip—embedding deep into his jawbone. His mouth was locked in a wide, grotesque grin… like a twisted Joker's smile."
Chief's fists clenched.
"That's not all." Phinson's voice dropped lower. "Five nails were driven straight down his throat—from his ribcage to just above his diaphragm. The impact was so brutal that two or three of them lodged deep into his bones… or punctured vital organs."
A heavy silence filled the air.
Chief exhaled, his mind already piecing things together. This wasn't just murder—it was artistic brutality. A statement. And whoever did this… was clearly a psycho.
Chief's jaw tightened. "What about the girl?"
Phinson exhaled, his voice heavy. "She was tortured, sir."
Chief's gaze darkened. "How bad?"
Phinson's face twitched slightly as he continued. "Her clothes were ripped. Her chest and hands… burned badly—melted wax from a candle did it."
Chief's fists clenched, the horror sinking in. "Cause of death?"
Phinson swallowed hard. "Choking. The marks on her throat say so. Someone strangled her… and that took her life."
A cold silence stretched between them.
Chief's eyes scanned the crime scene, a storm raging in his mind. {" This wasn't just murder… this was a performance. And the killer? They wanted their work to be seen.}
Chief took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Send the bodies for postmortem. I want every detail—cause of death, time, and anything else the killer might have left behind."
Phinson nodded sharply. "Understood, sir. I'll have the forensic team handle it immediately."
As officers moved in to secure the crime scene, Chief's gaze lingered on the grotesque display before him.
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
Sarla walked ahead with Wilson, while Arthur and Sherry followed behind.
Arthur had both hands resting casually behind his head, strolling with his usual carefree attitude. His eyes lazily scanned the surroundings, as if the morning exercise was just an unnecessary chore.
Meanwhile, Sherry walked silently, her gaze fixed on the ground, lost in thought. Her brows were slightly furrowed, as if something was weighing on her mind.
Arthur glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Oi, towel princess. Why the long face?"
Sherry didn't respond, still deep in thought.
Wilson chuckled. "Looks like something's bothering her."
Arthur smirked. "Or maybe she's just too tired to keep up."
Still, Sherry didn't react. Something was clearly off.
Sherry suddenly broke the silence. "Hey, hentai!"
Arthur's eyebrow twitched. "Shut the hell up, towel maid!"
Sherry clenched her fists but didn't attack this time. Instead, she huffed. "Maid?! You jerk!"
Arthur smirked, sensing victory. "Well, you do look like one when you make a fun of yourself in towel."
Sherry glared at him but didn't bother retaliating physically. Her mind was elsewhere.
Wilson sighed. "You two never stop, do you?"
Sherry kept her voice low, her tone unusually serious. "Hey… what do you think? Where did Chief go?"
Arthur, sensing the shift in mood, dropped his usual playful tone and responded just as quietly. "I don't know… but did you see his face? He looked pale while talking on the phone."
Wilson, walking beside them, furrowed his brows. His voice held curiosity and concern. "What could possibly make Chief go pale?"
Before either of them could answer, Sarla suddenly piped up in a playful, innocent tone. "Maybe his tummy was aching!"
For a second, silence. Then—
Arthur and Sherry couldn't hold back their laughter.
Arthur clutched his stomach. "Pfft—Sarla, what kind of logic is that?!"
Sherry wiped a tear from her eye. "Yeah, imagine Chief running off because of a stomachache!"
Sarla pouted. "It could happen!"
Wilson sighed, shaking his head. "You guys are impossible…" But even he couldn't help the small smile forming on his lips.
"Whose stomach is aching?"
A voice came from behind, playful yet oddly familiar.
Arthur, still laughing, casually answered, "Who else? Chief's, of course!"
Sherry smirked. "For the first time, I actually don't disagree with that joke."
Wilson, sensing something, turned back toward the voice. His expression suddenly shifted, his tone tense. "Hey… just sto—"
He couldn't even finish his sentence before his voice dropped into a near whisper, filled with alarm. "I think… you shouldn't turn around."
Arthur and Sherry froze. Then, almost mechanically, they turned around.
And there he was.
Chief.
A stiff smile was forced onto his face, but a single clenched fist resting on his head spoke volumes about his mood. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I think you didn't hear me." His voice remained eerily calm.
Then—he hardened his tone, making it sound like a command from the depths of hell.
"RUN!!"
Without hesitation—Arthur and Sherry took off like their lives depended on it.
"Y-Yeah!!" They yelped in unison, their voices laced with sheer panic.
Without wasting another second, they bolted. Their feet stumbled over each other, nearly tripping as they scrambled to get away.
Arthur barely regained balance mid-run, his heart pounding. "We're so dead!!"
Sherry, running beside him, hissed through gritted teeth. "Just shut up and RUN!!"
Wilson sighed, watching them flee like scared rabbits. "They brought this on themselves…"
Meanwhile, Chief cracked his knuckles, his eyes gleaming. "Hmph. Faster than I thought… but not fast enough."
"Uh… Wilson."
Chief's voice rang out, calm yet heavy, like a predator cornering its prey.
Wilson tensed. Slowly… very slowly, he turned around—half expecting to see a monster standing there instead of his commanding officer.
And what he saw was worse.
Chief stood with an eerie, deathly serious expression, but his lips curled into a tremendous, fearsome smile. The kind that could make even the bravest man's soul shiver.
Then came the words, deep and final.
"Bring Sarla home. Her training is about to start. And… I have something for you."
The weight of that last sentence sent a cold chill down Wilson's spine.
He swallowed hard, his voice almost failing him. "Ye…s, sir."
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
10 AM
Two figures stumbled toward the doorstep, their legs barely holding up.
Arthur and Sherry—completely exhausted—collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. Sweat dripped down their faces as they heaved, their chests rising and falling rapidly.
Chief stood there, arms crossed, watching them with an unimpressed look.
"So, you completed your run." His voice was calm but carried authority. "Now, go take a bath."
Arthur and Sherry, still struggling to breathe, barely registered his words.
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
Arthur stood under the shower, letting the cool water wash away the hellish morning. "What the heck was that?! Five kilometers?! Chief is a demon, I swear!" He muttered, scrubbing his hair aggressively.
BANG! BANG!
A knock rattled the bathroom door.
"Hey, Meathead! Hurry up! I need to take a bath too!" Sherry's impatient voice rang from outside.
Arthur smirked. "Like I care! Wait your turn, Towel Maid!"
There was a brief pause. Then—CLICK.
The door swung open.
Sherry stomped inside, ready to yell—only for her words to die in her throat.
Arthur stood there, completely naked.
For a full second, neither moved.
Arthur blinked. "Huh?"
Sherry blinked. "HUUUH?!?!"
Her face turned beet red in an instant. "YOU—YOU IDIOT!!!" She slammed the door shut with enough force to shake the walls.
Outside, she clutched her head, steam practically pouring from her ears. "WHY THE HELL WASN'T IT LOCKED?!"
Inside, Arthur snickered, continuing his bath. "Maybe next time, knock like a normal person, genius!"
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
2 PM – After Lunch
Chief stretched his arms. "Alright, now rest for the day."
Arthur collapsed onto his bed, exhaling dramatically. "At last… freedom."
Sherry, hugging her pillow tightly, let out a satisfied sigh. "Finally… sleep…"
The exhaustion from the morning run, the chaotic bath incident, and the heavy lunch weighed them down, dragging them into much-needed rest.
Then—
KNOCK. KNOCK.
The sudden knocking shattered the peaceful moment. Arthur groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me…"
Sherry grumbled into her pillow. "If it's Chief with another training session, I swear I'll scream…"
The knocking continued. This time… louder.
Arthur swung the door open only to find Wilson standing there—face pale, eyes wide with terror, and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Help me…!" Wilson gasped out—then collapsed right onto Arthur.
Arthur staggered back under the sudden weight. "Whoa! Hey, pull yourself together!" He exclaimed, trying to keep Wilson from hitting the floor.
Sherry, jolted awake by the commotion, shot up from her bed. "Wilson?! What happened?!"
Wilson shivered violently, gripping Arthur's shirt with weak fingers. "T-The thing… the face… I… I saw it…!" His voice cracked, filled with raw fear.
Arthur and Sherry exchanged alarmed looks—whatever happened to Wilson, it wasn't something normal.
Wilson screamed in horror, "IT WAS CHIEF!! HE MADE ME FOLLOW A HIGH-INTENSITY GYM ROUTINE!!" clutching Arthur's shirt like his life depended on it, he trembled while trying to catch his breath. Arthur and Sherry blinked, their concern turning into disbelief.
"Wait… what?" Wilson gasped, "It was hell… pure hell… He made me jog, do jumping jacks, and burpees for warm-up, then destroyed me with push-ups, pull-ups, bench presses, and planks until my arms turned to jelly. Then came the sprints, stair runs, battle ropes, and kettlebell swings—my legs gave out, but he just screamed, 'Criminals won't wait for you!' And the worst part? The combat drills! I had to punch a bag like my life depended on it while dodging tennis balls that he THREW AT MY FACE! And when I collapsed, he said, 'You're just getting started!'" Wilson gripped Arthur harder, "MY MUSCLES ARE GONE! I CAN'T MOVE! I CAN'T EVEN FEEL MY LEGS!!" Arthur and Sherry exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.
Sherry smirked, "Wow, so Chief just turned you into a puddle of pain? That's priceless."
Arthur grinned, patting Wilson's back. "Congrats, you're one step closer to being a real officer." Wilson groaned, "I didn't sign up for this…" before passing out on the floor.
Wilson weakly grabbed Arthur's collar, his eyes filled with desperation. "Let me to the bed… I don't wanna die on the floor…" he groaned.
Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. "You drama king… Fine, fine, here you go." He half-lifted, half-dragged Wilson to the bed, dropping him onto the mattress with a plop. Wilson let out a satisfied sigh. "Ah… soft… finally…" Arthur smirked. "Yeah, yeah, just don't start snoring like a bear."
Wilson didn't even respond—he was already half-asleep. Sherry chuckled, "Looks like Chief really turned him into a corpse." Arthur grinned, "Nah, corpses don't complain this much."
Later at night, at 2 AM, Sherry's eyes fluttered open. A strange uneasiness settled in her chest as she stared at the dark ceiling. The room was silent—too silent. The usual soft breathing of Arthur and Wilson felt distant, almost nonexistent. A chill ran down her spine.
Something felt… off.
She slowly sat up, her ears straining to catch any sound. That's when she noticed it—a faint creaking noise. It wasn't coming from their room. It was outside… in the hallway.
Her heartbeat quickened. "Just the wind… right?" she whispered to herself. But deep down, she knew—that wasn't the wind.
Sherry turned her gaze toward Arthur's bed—it was empty. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead. "It's okay… that meathead probably just went to the toilet," she muttered under her breath, trying to convince herself. "Never mind… nothing to worry about." But the uneasy feeling in her chest refused to fade.
The creaking sound outside continued—slow, deliberate, unnerving.
Sherry swallowed hard. "If it's Arthur, why does it feel so… wrong?"
Sherry's gaze locked onto the door. The lock was open. The soft creaking was nothing but the wind pushing against it. But why was it open?
Her blood ran cold.
In fear, she turned over in bed—only to freeze completely.
Arthur was lying beside her.
Facing her.
Eyes wide open.
And most terrifyingly… his left eye was red.
"Boo~"
His whisper slithered into her ears like a venomous snake.
Sherry's breath hitched—she was at the brink of screaming. But before she could, Arthur's hand clamped over her mouth.
Her muffled cries struggled against his grip as he straddled her, pinning her down.
His tone was different—deep, unsettling, almost inhuman.
"Just shut up, Arthur's towel princess."
Tears welled in Sherry's eyes. She stared at him in pure terror. {"Was this a prank? A sick joke? Revenge? Was he a murderer? Would she even see tomorrow?"} questions appeard in her mind.
A million thoughts raced through her panicked mind.
Arthur's lips curled into a twisted smirk. His voice slithered out again—calm yet chilling.
"What kind of relationship do you have with Arthur?"
His crimson eye was widened.
"Taunting each other… smirking at each other… What is this feeling called?" He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against her skin.
"I'm feeling it for the first time."
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth.
Sherry gasped for air, her body trembling. Tears pooled in her wide, terrified eyes.
Her voice shook as she tried to speak. "I-It's too much… for a jok—"
But she couldn't finish.
Arthur's fingers wrapped around her throat.
Tight.
Her breath vanished in an instant.
A suffocating pressure.
Her hands flew to his, nails clawing at his skin, desperate for relief. Her body thrashed beneath him, but his grip only tightened.
The dim glow of his crimson eye bore into her soul. Emotionless. Unwavering.
Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred.
Arthur leaned in closer, whispering in that same chilling voice—
"Joke? Who said anything about apri"
Sherry's face had turned a deep shade of red, her vision swimming on the edge of darkness. Just before she lost consciousness, Arthur's grip loosened.
She gasped violently, her body jerking as she sucked in air. A fit of coughs racked her frame, her lungs burning like fire.
Her hands trembled as she clutched her throat, feeling the lingering imprint of his fingers. Tears streamed down her face—out of fear, out of confusion.
Arthur, still looming over her, tilted his head. His eerie crimson eye gleamed in the dim light.
"Too much for you, Right?" He smirked, his tone disturbingly casual—like he hadn't just choked the life out of her.
With tearfull eyes Sherry answered "Amity"
Arthur's expression twisted for a moment, as if processing her answer. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
His crimson eye dimmed as his eyelids fluttered shut. His body suddenly lost all tension, and he collapsed from on top of her—hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
The sound was loud enough to jolt Wilson awake.
Wilson sat up in alarm, rubbing his eyes groggily. "What the hell…?" he mumbled before his gaze fell on the scene before him.
Sherry was trembling on the bed, tears streaking her face, her breath still ragged. Arthur lay motionless on the floor, his body sprawled unnaturally.
Wilson's drowsiness vanished instantly. His stomach dropped. "What happened?!"
Wilson rushed over, his heartbeat accelerating. "Hey! What happened?!" He crouched beside Arthur, shaking his shoulder.
Arthur didn't respond. His breathing was steady but unnaturally slow, his face eerily calm despite the chaos moments ago.
Wilson turned to Sherry. She was frozen in place, her eyes wide, her whole body trembling. Tear streaks glistened on her cheeks, her lips quivering as if she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.
Wilson's stomach twisted. "Sherry…?" His voice softened, concern taking over.
She swallowed hard, still staring at Arthur's lifeless-looking body. "I… I don't know…" Her voice was barely a whisper. " He… he wasn't himself."
Wilson frowned. "What do you mean?"
Sherry clenched the bedsheet in her fists, her breath shaky. "He… he had a red eye… and his voice… it wasn't Arthur's."
A cold shiver ran down Wilson's spine. He turned back to Arthur, his gaze narrowing. "Red eye…?"
Wilson sat beside Sherry, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay… you're safe now." His voice was softer than usual, trying to calm her trembling form.
Sherry didn't respond immediately. She was still shaken, her breathing uneven. Her hands gripped the bedsheet tightly as if letting go would make her fall apart.
Wilson sighed and grabbed a glass of water from the nearby table. "Here, drink this." He held it out to her.
Sherry hesitated but eventually took it with shaky hands. She sipped, the cold water grounding her slightly.
Wilson watched her for a moment before speaking again. "Whatever just happened… we'll figure it out. But first, you need to calm down."
Sherry finally met his gaze, her eyes still filled with fear. "Wilson… what is wrong with him."
Wilson clenched his jaw. "Yeah… I think so too."
"Wake up!"
A voice shout in Arthur's mind. Breaking his dream.
The sudden voice jolted Arthur awake. His vision was blurry, his mind sluggish from sleep, but his instincts screamed danger.
A dark figure loomed over him, a glint of metal in hand—an injection, its needle aimed straight for his arm.
"Tch!" Arthur didn't think—he reacted. With a sharp kick, his foot connected with the figure's wrist, sending the syringe flying. The intruder staggered back, cursing under their breath.
Arthur rolled off the bed, heart pounding. "Who the hell—?!" He didn't get to finish as the figure lunged at him again.
Arthur's breath hitched as he steadied himself, muscles tensed. His pulse pounded in his ears. The intruder—whoever they were—had nearly managed to pin him down. He could still feel the cold brush of the needle against his skin.
"Tch!" The figure clicked their tongue, frustration evident in their voice. " I wanted to take you to the confession room, but it seems you're going to make this difficult. So hurry up and move, Arthur, before I have to force you."
Arthur froze.
A female voice—cold, calculating, but strangely familiar.
The silver glow of the moon bled into the room, stretching eerie shadows against the walls. And then, as the light crept over the intruder's face… his stomach dropped.
It was Phantom.
More accurately—Sherry.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes dark and unreadable, syringe still clutched tightly in her grip.
Before Arthur could fully grasp the situation, his body jerked—cold, metallic wires coiled around him, tightening like a serpent. His arms locked against his torso, legs barely able to move.
"What the—?!" He gritted his teeth, muscles straining against the unyielding binds.
A soft chuckle filled the air. "My, my, Arthur… you fell for such a cheap trick?"
Arthur's eyes shot up to meet Sherry's gaze. She stood before him, twirling the end of the metallic strings around her fingers, a taunting smirk on her lips. The eerie moonlight highlighted the sharp glint in her eyes—this wasn't the same Sherry who had been trembling before.
"What the hell are you doing, Sherry?!" He growled, twisting his wrists, but the bindings only dug in tighter.
She tilted her head, watching his futile struggle. "Oh, don't fight it. You're not going anywhere." Her voice carried an unsettling amusement.
Arthur's pulse pounded. This isn't right. This isn't normal.
Sherry took a slow step forward. "Now then… let's have a little chat, shall we?"
Sherry's expression darkened, her grip on the metallic strings tightening mercilessly. The sharp edges bit into Arthur's skin, making him wince.
"How many did you kill, Arthur?" Her voice was laced with anger, her eyes burning with something far more dangerous than mere suspicion.
Arthur's breath hitched. "I? What the hell do you mean? I'm just a psychiatrist! I didn't kill anyone!"
The wires constricted further, digging into his flesh, cutting off his circulation. His jaw clenched as he stifled a groan of pain.
"Lies," Sherry spat, stepping closer, her face now inches from his. "You reek of blood. Even if you don't remember, your hands do."
Arthur's heart pounded against his ribs.
Arthur's breath hitched. His body stiffened as his vision locked onto something—something behind Sherry. His pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling with unease.
Sherry caught the shift in his expression and narrowed her eyes. "So, you're in on this too?" she hissed, spinning on her heel, her fist flying forward to strike—
But there was nothing.
Only the dark, empty space of the room.
Her breath faltered for a split second, a cold shiver crawling up her spine. "Where—?!" she asked in anger.
That brief moment of distraction was all Arthur needed. The metallic strings binding him loosened slightly, the grip faltering just enough to allow movement.
His muscles tensed. Now's his chance.
Arthur's instincts kicked in as he dashed toward Sherry, gripping her own metallic strings in his hands. His movements were precise, calculated—he wasn't just escaping, he was turning the tables.
Sherry's eyes sharpened, immediately recognizing his plan. "Not so fast!" she snarled, swinging her leg in a brutal kick aimed straight for his stomach.
Arthur, however, was ready. He swiftly raised the very strings she had used to bind him, blocking her strike. The impact sent a shudder up his arm, but he grinned through it. "Gotcha."
With a swift motion, he wrapped the string around her extended leg, trapping it mid-air. Before Sherry could react, Arthur pivoted, twisting her balance off-center.
"Wha—?!" Sherry yelped as her body tipped backward, momentum pulling her straight onto the bed. The mattress bounced beneath her as she landed with a soft thump.
Arthur tilted his head, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "You know… this could be a romantic scene."
Sherry's face burned with frustration. "Like I care!" she snapped.
Without hesitation, she swung her fists at him, trying to land a hit, but Arthur was faster. Dodging each attack with ease, he swiftly looped the strings around her wrists, countering her every move.
"Tsk tsk, you're the one who tied me up, and now look at you," Arthur chuckled as he tightened the bindings, rendering her movements useless.
Sherry gritted her teeth, thrashing against her restraints, but Arthur had already secured them. In one final maneuver, he straddled over her, pinning her firmly to the bed.
Their breaths were heavy. Their gazes locked.
For a fleeting moment, the tension in the air shifted.
As Arthur hovered over her, the tension reached its peak. Then, without a single warning, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.
Sherry's eyes widened in pure shock. Her breath hitched, her heart pounded violently against her ribs. She could feel the warmth of his body pressing against hers, their chests barely separated. A shiver ran down her spine as her skin crawled with an unfamiliar sensation.
Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to resist—but she couldn't move, not just because of the strings, but because… because…
Just as suddenly as it began, Arthur pulled away. A smirk curled on his lips as he took a step back, reaching under the bed.
Sherry, still breathless, barely registered what he was doing—until he retrieved something. A hidden box.
Her hazy, dazed mind cleared in an instant. "Wha—?! What is that?!" she snapped, struggling against her bindings again.
Arthur didn't answer. He simply gave her a knowing smile, his crimson eye gleaming mischievously.
With that, he turned and walked toward the door, casually slipping out of the room while leaving Sherry tied to the bed.
The door clicked shut.
Sherry lay there, her breaths ragged, her mind in turmoil.
"What the hell just happened?" she thought.
While still tied to the bed, Sherry's body jerked slightly as a sharp sting pierced the back of her hand—like the prick of an injection. Her brows furrowed in confusion. "What...?" she murmured, trying to lift her head. But her limbs felt heavy, as if weighed down by invisible chains. Her vision began to blur, the edges of her sight darkening, swimming in and out like waves crashing against her mind. Panic started to rise in her chest. Her lips parted to speak, but no words came out. Within seconds, the room spun, her thoughts scattered, and then—blackness. Sherry slipped into unconsciousness.
[𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵]
Sherry's eyes fluttered open, her mind hazy from sleep. A dull ache settled in her muscles, but before she could fully register her surroundings— memories of the night before came crashing down.
Her body stiffened.
In a sudden jolt, she shot upright, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a cold sweat forming at the nape of her neck. The kiss. The struggle. The way he had tied her down.
Her wide eyes darted around the dimly lit room—only to freeze on the figure sitting calmly in the chair before her. Arthur.
He sat there, legs crossed, fingers interlaced, watching her with an unreadable expression.
Sherry's mind screamed at her to react, but then— she felt it.
A chill brushed against her bare skin.
Slowly, cautiously, she looked down— and her blood ran cold.
Her clothes were gone. All she wore was the thin bedsheet wrapped around her body.
Her breath stilled.
A wave of emotions surged inside her— panic, confusion, burning embarrassment.
Her grip tightened around the sheet, pulling it closer to her chest as her face flushed a deep crimson. Her face got mixed with anger and sheer mortification.
Arthur simply smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Good morning, Towel Princess."
Sherry's entire body trembled, her fingers clenching the bedsheet so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breath came in uneven gasps, her heart pounding like a war drum inside her chest.
"You… RAPIST!!" she shrieked, her voice laced with a mixture of rage, humiliation, and sheer terror. "You—!!"
Before she could finish, Arthur's expression darkened. His eyes sharpened, his usual smugness replaced by a cold, irritated glare.
"Shut up!" His voice boomed, cutting through her accusations like a knife.
Sherry flinched, her lips parting, but no words came out.
Arthur exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as if trying to suppress his frustration. "I didn't do anything to take advantage of you," he said, his tone firm but controlled.
He leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "I even wore a damn blindfold so that your body wouldn't be seen by my eyes. Do you think I give a damn about seeing you naked?!" His voice carried a biting edge.
Sherry's breath hitched.
His hands clenched into fists. "It was just to make sure you weren't hiding any weapons. That's all. I took no pleasure—not a single damn moment—from your damn body!"
A heavy silence filled the room.
Sherry's grip on the sheet loosened slightly, her mind whirling. Arthur's tone had no hesitation, no lecherous undertones—just pure, raw frustration.
She had expected a smug response, a teasing remark, or even a sly smirk. But instead, what she saw in his eyes was something different—offense. Like he was genuinely disgusted by the mere accusation.
Her lips trembled.
Arthur let out a tired sigh and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So," he muttered, his voice calmer now but still laced with irritation.
Arthur leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression unreadable.His voice was eerily calm, but there was an undeniable sharpness to it.
"Accusations, huh?" he murmured. "So tell me, why do you think I'm a murderer? Who exactly do you believe I killed?"
Sherry felt a shudder crawl down her spine, but she forced herself to glare at him. She tightened her grip on the bedsheet, ensuring it covered every inch of her exposed skin. Her body was still trembling, but her anger burned through the humiliation.
"You think you can play dumb now?!" she spat, her voice rising with fury. "Don't act like you don't know! I know what you did, Arthur!"
Arthur's gaze remained steady. Sherry's breaths were ragged as she finally let it all out.
"The Fisbon Family!" she screamed, her nails digging into the fabric of the sheet. "Dorcas Fisbon—age 34. A photographer." Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through.
"He was the one who clicked a photo of the person who murdered Hanso Fisbon, his brother." Her fists clenched, her knuckles turning white. "The picture was hazy, rushed, chaotic… No one else could make sense of it."
Arthur tilted his head slightly, listening.
"But I did." Her breathing quickened as she locked eyes with him. "Even in that blurred image, there was one thing that stood out. One thing that no one else noticed."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but he remained silent.
Sherry's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with something between certainty and fear.
"Your red eye."
A silence so thick settled between them that she could hear her own heartbeat hammering in her ears.
"The whole picture was a mess," she continued, her voice shaking. "It was snapped in a hurry, unclear, distorted. But your red eye—" she swallowed, her throat dry, "—it was there. Just barely. But visible enough."
She exhaled sharply. "Visible… to me."
Arthur remained motionless, his expression completely unreadable and that terrified her.
Arthur's gaze didn't waver as he slowly stood up. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and accusations that weighed heavier than anything else in the room. Without a word, he walked toward the drawer, his footsteps deliberate, calculated—each one echoing through the silent space.
Sherry clenched the sheet around her trembling body, watching him with wide, furious eyes. Her breaths came in sharp bursts, her emotions a chaotic storm inside her. The man standing before her wasn't the Arthur she knew.
As Arthur rummaged through the drawer, her chest tightened with something between rage and despair.
Her voice cracked as she yelled, "What, Arthur?! What do you think you're doing now? Searching for a weapon? Trying to kill me now just to keep yourself safe?! Is this what you've become?"
Arthur didn't respond. His fingers kept sifting through the drawer.
Sherry's anger erupted. "Where is the Arthur I knew?! The boy who wanted to be a doctor, who talked about helping people, about public service?" Her voice rose with each sentence. "Where is that delightful idiot who swore he'd never hurt someone?!"
Arthur's hand stilled inside the drawer, but he still didn't look at her.
Sherry's voice broke. "And what am I now to you, huh?! A threat?! A loose end you have to get rid of?!" Her hands tightened around the bedsheet. "Or am I just your next victim?! First a murderer, and now a—"
Before she could finish, something flew toward her face.
Thwack!
A stack of paper smacked against her cheek and tumbled onto her lap.
Sherry flinched. What…?!
Her breathing hitched as she stared down at it, blinking in shock. It was a newspaper, slightly crumpled from Arthur's grip.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Arthur's voice cut through the air, cold and sharp.
"Read it!..."
Sherry's eyes froze on the headline.
"A merchant, Santonio Arnithen, killed by a mysterious person."
Her fingers gripped the edge of the paper as her pupils darted across the words, scanning the gruesome details.
> He was killed in his own bed.
His body was found naked—a disgraceful death.
His private parts were brutally injured, and his face… his face was clawed beyond recognition.
Deep nail scratches tore through his skin, as if a beast had tried to rip it apart.
Forensic reports suggest the wounds were inflicted by metallic claws or an unknown weapon.
The police suspect the murderer is a female.
Sherry felt her throat tighten. A strange, unnerving chill crawled down her spine. Her chest heaved, her breathing now unsteady.
"What is this…?"
She flung the newspaper away from her face. "What the hell is—"
Thwip!
Before she could even finish her sentence, something sharp pierced her chest.
Her entire body stiffened.
Sherry's eyes widened in horror. She snapped her gaze toward Arthur—only to see him standing with a small blowpipe against his lips.
His calm, dead stare met her panicked one.
Her body refused to move. A strange numbness spread from her chest, down to her fingertips, locking her in place like a frozen doll.
Her lips quivered.
{"What… did he do to me?!"} She thought.
Arthur exhaled, lowering the blowpipe from his mouth. A cold smirk tugged at his lips.
"That should keep you still for a while."
Sherry's breath hitched as Arthur took slow, deliberate steps toward her.
Her body, frozen by the dart, refused to move, but inside, her heart pounded violently.
What is he going to do?
Her face flushed red in panic and embarrassment as she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself.
Then—
A soft touch.
Her arms, which had been locked in place, suddenly fell freely to her sides.
Sherry's eyes snapped open. She realized—Arthur had loosened the metallic strings.
She blinked, confused, trying to speak, but her lips refused to move.
Her hands, now weak, lost their grip on the bedsheet covering her chest, causing it to slip slightly, exposing more of her skin.
Arthur's eyes briefly flickered down—but instead of lingering, he immediately reached out and pulled the sheet back up, placing her hands on it to secure it.
Sherry's cheeks burned.
Her gaze followed Arthur's face, expecting his usual smirk, but to her surprise—he had turned his head away.
He wasn't looking at her.
Arthur stepped back, sighing, then sat down on the chair across from her.
"Sorry for this," he said in a calm, steady voice. "This was just a self-defense measure. I've dealt with enough aggressive, psychotic patients to know when to be cautious."
Sherry, still struggling to move, stared at him in silence.
"I asked you to read that newspaper to make you understand something." His voice turned slightly colder. "Just like you're accusing me of murder because of a red eye, I could also accuse you of killing Santonio. After all, the murderer used metallic claws, and you just so happen to be skilled with metallic strings."
Arthur leaned back. "Coincidence, right?"
Sherry's chest tightened.
"You're making a mistake by assuming someone's a killer just because of a single feature. A red eye, a weapon—these aren't enough to destroy someone's life over a false belief."
His words hit her like a slap.
Her throat tightened.
Arthur's voice softened slightly. "It really… hurts, you know? The pain of falsely accused by someone close to you, hurts"
At those words, they both froze.
Their faces flushed red.
A long, heavy silence settled between them.
Then—
Arthur coughed lightly, looking away. "Don't misunderstand what happened last night." His voice had a hint of awkwardness. "I only made you take a your own injection by that act. Nothing more."
Sherry's blush deepened.
Arthur, clearly embarrassed, turned his back toward her, facing the door. "Anyway, the dart's effect will wear off in about twenty minutes. So just relax."
He reached for the doorknob, then paused.
"Your clothes, metallic strings, taser gun, recorder… and that ring." His voice held an odd weight to it.
Sherry's breath caught.
Arthur exhaled. "Anyway, don't overthink things. Your Dorsan Villa murder case isn't making progress, right?"
He turned the knob, opening the door slightly. "Some things take time, but they eventually fall into place."
Without another word, he stepped out, closing the door behind him.Sherry was left staring at the door, her mind racing, her emotions tangled.
(Next chapter on 11th April "A New Killer")