And after five long days, Neuvillette stepped out of the hospital doors. The outside air was cold and sharp, but he didn't seem to feel it. His eyes were tired, weighed down by everything he had seen and endured.
People slowly gathered around him—at first, just a small group, then growing into a massive crowd. They all looked at him with the same expression… a mixture of gratitude and doubt.
They saw him as a savior, the one who had faced the darkness with courage. But there was something else in their eyes… something deeper. Was it fear? Or suspicion?
Neuvillette could feel the weight of those gazes upon him—silent questions hidden within them. Was he truly the hero they had been waiting for, or was there a darker side to him that had yet to be revealed?
A phrase echoed in the crimson depths of Neuvillette's shadow as he gazed upon the crowd. A voice from the terrifying abyss within him spoke:
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
But before the moment could stretch further, the police began pushing the crowd back. Neuvillette paid them no heed—why should the crimson care for the common man? He walked through them, indifferent to their presence, as though something else was beginning to take control of him.
One person reached out, attempting to embrace Neuvillette—but without hesitation, Neuvillette struck him across the face, sending him crashing to the ground.
He reached the carriage, stepping up with swift, deliberate movements. Inside, he found Captain Royce sitting across from him. Neuvillette glanced at him, eyes filled with curiosity.
The carriage began its journey, rolling down the dimly lit streets, while some people still chased after it. Captain Royce smirked, breaking the suffocating silence.
"How are you, Detective Neuvillette? You seem to be in great shape. It looks like you've gained quite the reputation."
Neuvillette spoke inwardly, his thoughts laced with disdain:
"Disgusting popularity. At first, they want to tear the accused apart, and now they kneel at his feet. A foolish, fickle crowd."
A crimson smile curled on Neuvillette's lips—a smile so false, yet dripping with something sinister, as if his very mouth bled scarlet.
"I'm doing well, Captain. And yes, it's good that the people have changed their perception of me. It allows them to grasp the truth more clearly."
He sighed, turning his gaze to the towering Victorian buildings outside.
"I will put an end to this brutal massacre—the chaos that has left London in ruins because of a few madmen."
Captain Royce reached into the left pocket of his coat and pulled out a document, handing it to Neuvillette.
Neuvillette accepted it, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
"This document… what is it, Captain Royce?"
Royce gestured toward the paper, slipping his hand back into his pocket.
"It's your authorization to conduct investigations. Show it to any officer, and they will recognize your authority."
Neuvillette stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"So, during this era, they don't use identification cards? Just papers proving one's status as a detective or officer? Strange."
He tucked the document inside his coat, glancing out the window again. The surroundings were different now—far removed from the city center.
He spoke up. "Captain Royce, where are we headed?"
Royce smiled, crossing one leg over the other.
"To your private quarters, Detective."
Neuvillette understood immediately. He leaned forward slightly, a crimson smirk curling his lips.
"If my guess is correct… we're going to the investigation office, aren't we, Captain Royce?"
"Yes, to your very own office, Detective." Royce nodded in confirmation.
After twenty minutes of navigating through the city's narrow and shadowed streets, they arrived at the investigation office.
The building stood tall, flanked by two imposing structures. Its Victorian design loomed over them, exuding an eerie presence. The darkened edifice at the center was reserved for Neuvillette alone.
A single window faced the street—like a crimson eye staring into the void.
Neuvillette and Captain Royce stepped through the rusted door, which groaned under the weight of time. The interior was abandoned, as if forgotten by the ages. A thick layer of dust coated everything, and the furniture seemed to sag beneath the burden of the years. No staff. No signs of life. Only the heavy spirit of the place surrounded them, whispering that they were alone in this forsaken space.
Royce gestured toward the desk.
"You can manage this place as you see fit—without interference from the police or even the nobility. You are under the protection of Mayor Ivan Collins."
The captain turned slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets, and cast a sidelong glance at Neuvillette.
"You were the only one who could capture a criminal that even the greatest minds failed to apprehend. That's why you, and only you, are capable of handling all future cases, Detective. You are… an enigma."
Royce tipped his hat slightly, then gave a curt salute before leaving in absolute silence.
Humans have limits to what they can comprehend. But what about Neuvillette?
"An enigma?"
"What did the captain mean by that? Who exactly is Captain Royce?"
At that moment, two policemen entered the office, saluting Neuvillette.
"Sir, we have been assigned as your guards under orders from Mayor Ivan Collins. If you need anything, we will always be present."
Neuvilet looked at them and spoke calmly with a fake smile.
"Thank you for this service, and also, my great gratitude to Mayor Ivan Collins."
They saluted once again before leaving through the creaky door.
The office contained a high-backed chair, with a large desk in front of it, covered in a thick layer of dust. To the left, there was a window that resembled a crimson eye in the middle of the darkness, offering a view of the pale moon or the cold rain pouring from the sky. There were also two sofas, large enough to accommodate about eight people.
Neuvilet sat on the high-backed chair, propped his feet up on the desk, lit a cigarette, and started smoking.
As he exhaled the smoke, he began speaking to himself:
"The mayor… he seems like a difficult person to deal with. I still can't fully grasp his fate. Could he be one of those mysterious beings? Am I in a realm where creatures exist beyond human comprehension?"
Neuvilet sighed, looking down at the desk. He ran his fingers across its surface, revealing just how thick the dust was.
"This place needs a little clean—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a sudden voice interrupted him, dripping with sarcasm and amusement.
"Amazing, amazing, amazing! Oh, dazzling Neuvilet… you are a masterpiece, a true work of art. Oh, little jester, oh, little jester, have mercy on Neuvilet and embrace him in your arms. He is your genius child, Neuvilet!"
Neuvilet shot up in shock, frozen between confusion and disbelief. Words caught in his throat, and his thoughts tangled in his mind. It was as if this person—or perhaps the entire world—was toying with his sanity, pushing him toward the edge of madness. He collapsed into the nearest chair, gripping his head as if trying to keep his thoughts from slipping away. Then, after a few moments of chilling silence, he let out a wide grin and whispered,
"Indeed, indeed… I am the jester."
Six hours later, Neuvilet was still sitting on the sofa, smoking his sixth cigarette. The room was thick with the scent of tobacco. He finally stood up, grabbed his coat from the wardrobe, put on his wide-brimmed hat, and reached for his umbrella. He pushed the door open, ready to take a stroll through London.
He greeted the guards as he stepped outside, but before he could take another step, one of them called out to him.
"Sir, where are you going? Pardon my question, but it's a security precaution. We are required to know. It's an order from the mayor."
Neuvilet glanced at him with half-lidded eyes before turning around.
"I'm just going for a walk in the area, trying to get some fresh air in this cold weather."
The guard spoke again.
"I must accompany you to ensure your safety, Detective Ne—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Neuvilet patted him on the shoulder and said,
"Your duty is to guard the office when I'm inside. When I'm outside, I am responsible for myself. Is that clear, guard?"
His crimson eyes burned with intensity.
Neuvilet stepped out of his building, and as he took his second step, the sky opened up with heavy rain. He quickly opened his umbrella.
"Fortunately, I brought my umbrella, or I'd be swimming in the rain right now."
The atmosphere was dark and dreary, with the London rain and the suffocating gloom. Hardly anyone was outside—perhaps a handful of people at most. By the time it was eight in the evening, the streets were nearly empty.
Neuvilet walked through the dimly lit alleys of London. He glanced at a flickering streetlamp, crackling with electricity. Beside it was a long bench, where he sat down, placing his umbrella beside him, letting the rain touch his face from every direction.
As he sat there, his mind drifted toward his next case, despite his disdain for it. The madness of investigation always pulled him in.
"This case challenges my vast and intricate imagination… A killer who strikes every four years—what is the significance of that pattern? And what does that cryptic letter to the mayor mean? What is that fool trying to convey? Still, this case will be fascinating. No harm in indulging in a few cases before I reach my real target—the Walker family and the mystery of this strange world."
As Neuvilet prepared to stand up, a piercing headache struck him, sending him crashing to the ground. The pain was unbearable, and he found himself screaming.
Then—silence.
Suddenly, Neuvilet—the jester—was seated in a high-backed chair, in the very same place where he had once encountered—Don't Forget My Name.
Across from him sat two women facing each other, and two men mirroring their positions.
A mysterious man with striking blue eyes sat at the table, wearing a mask painted in red and yellow. He moved a chess piece and spoke to Neuvilet—the jester.
"Tell me, Detective Neuvilet, or should I say… the Jester. Does playing chess determine a person's intelligence?"
Neuvilet struggled to make sense of the situation but quickly regained his composure, responding with pride.
"Chess is a mysterious game. But can it truly determine someone's intelligence? A strange and terrifying thought. If anything, chess often leads to a delusion of grandeur."
A woman sitting to the left of the table spoke next. Her black eyes glowed under the dim light, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. She wore a mask painted in red and blue.
"Can chess be used for other purposes, Detective Neuvilet?"
She moved her knight and then gazed at him with enchanting eyes.
Neuvilet, aiming to extract information from them, replied with a question of his own.
"No, it's merely a competitive game. It has no other uses."
The woman suddenly let out a loud, almost eerie laugh.
"Checkmate," she declared before locking eyes with him again.
Then, she continued.
"In your opinion, how many squares are on a chessboard?"
"Sixty-four squares," Neuvilet answered instantly, without hesitation.
"And how many pawns are in a game of chess?" she shot back.
"Thirty-two pawns," he replied just as quickly.
The woman clapped her hands, smiling.
"Correct. But isn't it possible to fill all those squares completely?"
At that moment, Neuvilet still didn't fully understand their intent. He wanted them to speak clearly, to stop their cryptic games.
Then, he felt something touch his shoulder.
It was the mysterious man, who pointed his index finger toward Neuvilet's chessboard.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
The chessboard was no longer a simple game—it was filled with mutilated, slaughtered bodies, arranged grotesquely to resemble chess pieces.
Each corpse had been dismembered and rearranged to match the shapes of pawns and other pieces used in chess.
As Neuvilet stared, frozen, another masked man finally spoke.
"The idea is simple, Jester… Everything can be used for murder. Even an eraser—I could force someone to swallow one and choke them to death."
The mysterious man moved the knight, placing the king in check. Within moments, the king had fallen—defeated.
In unison, the voices in the room echoed:
"Checkmate, jester."
✦
Neuvillette awoke in a strange place. It was London Bridge. His umbrella lay nearby, damp from the rain. Slowly, he rose from the ground, picked up his umbrella, and opened it. His gaze drifted toward the river, his mind clouded with questions.
'This is strange… How did I get here? Wasn't I sitting on a bench in a public park? Did someone bring me here?'
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. The cold rain mixed with the warmth of the smoke as he exhaled.
A smirk crept onto his lips.
"This is the perfect place to think about the case—London Bridge, the beautiful rain, the quiet, melancholic atmosphere. Haunting, yet peaceful."
He started piecing together fragments of the mystery, his thoughts returning to the enigmatic figures seated at the chessboard.
'Who were those strangers? They spoke as if they possessed knowledge beyond this world—as if they understood dimensions and realities beyond human comprehension. But our conversation bore fruit. I now understand that this murderer orchestrates his killings through a chess game. The bodies I saw… were nothing but grotesque modifications of his victims. What a terrifying method. And then, there's the letter the mayor read to me. The message about soldiers, squares, and the king—it all pointed to the upcoming summit in April. The killer is making a bold statement, challenging the government itself.'
A crimson grin spread across Neuvillette's face.
"He doesn't realize… the unknown has already come to claim his worthless life."
With that, he flicked his cigarette into the river and prepared to leave.
But then—
A voice from behind him froze him in place. His eyes darkened as he heard the chilling words being sung in an eerie, almost childlike tone:
"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down… My fair lady."