London Bridge is falling down, London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady…
Neuvillette turned around in shock because the person standing before him was—Don't forget the name.
"Don't forget the name" approached the detective, leaning against the bridge railing while gazing at the moon. The rain had stopped with his arrival. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it while staring at the clear sky. Then, in a voice that matched the eerie stillness of the night, he spoke.
"The weather is wonderful tonight. Smoking under an umbrella in the rain is quite the experience. Don't you think so, detective? Or should I say—clown?"
Neuvillette took out another cigarette, lighting it as he leaned against the railing beside Don't forget the name.
"Strange and mysterious. I don't know what to say. Who are you? And where did you come from?"
The man removed his hat, placing it on the railing. With an enigmatic smile, he looked at Neuvillette and replied:
"I was just taking a stroll nearby when I saw you by chance. I thought I'd stop by and greet the lovely clown."
Neuvillette smiled—that kind of smile, the one that let crimson seep into the eyes of those who saw it. He looked at the man and said:
"Cut the tricks, Don't forget the name. Get to the point. I don't believe you came here for nothing."
The man laughed.
"Oh my, how terrifying you are, dear clown. Very well, I'll be straightforward. I'll be your partner in this investigation."
Neuvillette raised a brow.
"Partner in what? No, thank you. I don't need anyone to—"
Don't forget the name placed a single finger against his lips, his crimson smile unsettling.
Neuvillette felt a sharp, imminent danger—like the man was about to draw a razor-sharp blade and sever his head in an instant.
The man continued speaking while gazing at the river below.
"Clown, when I speak, don't interrupt me. I won't be assisting you with any of your cases. I'll simply be an ordinary employee under you. I have my own affairs to handle, and you have your own pursuits. Is that clear, dear clown?"
Neuvillette crushed his cigarette underfoot, staring at Don't forget the name, as if a question was burning in his mind.
"It seems I have no other choice. Fine. But I have a question—who are you? I saw you in that strange place, and now you're here before me. What is your true identity?"
The man sighed with that same crimson smile.
"Didn't I tell you? No questions. You're a genius, detective. Your crimson intellect will lay all the cards bare before your crimson eyes. Also, I'll drop by occasionally to see how that sharp mind of yours is holding up. I wouldn't be surprised if you lose your sanity in this world, detective."
A brief silence. Then, turning his back on Neuvillette, he said:
"I won't take long to appear again. Stay in good health. Until next time, dear clown."
A swirl of crimson stardust erupted on the bridge, swiftly whisking the man away—so fast that Neuvillette barely had time to register what had happened.
As soon as Don't forget the name vanished, the sky broke into a torrential downpour. Neuvillette looked up, watching the clouds drift across the heavens—but none dared to approach the moon.
He lit another cigarette, resting his hand on the bridge railing as he stared into the river, speaking to himself in a quiet murmur.
"There are many things I regret. Leaving my previous job to become a detective. Taking on this case out of arrogance. If only time could rewind. But nothing ever returns to how it once was. I don't know if I'm in the past or in another world. Something about this… feels off."
As he wrestled with his thoughts, a chilling voice echoed from the shadows.
"Neuvillette, you think too much. You should rest. Or better yet—let the world drag you into the abyss so you can rest forever."
Neuvillette chuckled, lowering his umbrella, letting the rain wash over his face. Then, with unwavering defiance, he spoke to the unseen entity.
"I will not lower my head. I will not kneel.
I will not live with my head bowed."
His words were deep—an unshakable resolve bleeding from the very core of his crimson soul, as though he were declaring war on the unknown.
"I will uncover the mystery of this world, just as I have solved all the other cases before."
His voice echoed through the rain, carried by the silver light of the moon—an oath and a challenge in one.
The unseen figure let out a distorted, eerie laugh, repeating itself twice.
"Brilliant. Fearless. Bold. Neuvillette, the genius… I look forward to seeing how you unravel this world's enigma, dear clown."
The voice faded into the ruins of the dead.
Neuvillette lit another cigarette—his ninth of the day, as though he sought death in any possible way. Stepping off the bridge, he muttered to himself.
"What a strange and terrifying day. I need some rest. Looks like I'll be sleeping in my new home. Returning to the old one seems impossible now."
He hailed a carriage. After a twenty-minute ride, he arrived at his office—his new home—located in the grim, mysterious district of Hellionaire.
Stepping inside, the guards saluted him. Neuvillette entered his office, hung up his coat, set his umbrella aside, poured himself a glass of water, and drifted into deep sleep.
The next morning, Neuvillette woke up, took a shower, had breakfast, changed his clothes, and set out on a new journey—to solve the case of the Chessboard Killer.
Leaving his office, he scanned the morning newspaper. As he stepped outside, a guard stood before him, holding the reins of a horse. The guard saluted.
"Good morning, Detective Neuvillette. This horse is a gift for you from Mayor Ivan Collins."
Neuvillette approached, placing a hand on the horse's head. His eyes widened as a wave of unease washed over him.
A fate unknown… and mysterious.
Mounting the horse, he rode a short distance before turning back to the guard.
"When you see Mayor Ivan Collins, send him my regards."
With that, Neuvillette rode toward the police headquarters in Hollow Heads.
On the way, he pondered an appropriate name for his new steed. Its jet-black coat, crimson mane, and piercing red eyes made it look like a creature from the abyss.
He finally decided.
Patting the horse's head, he whispered its new name.
"Orxiro—Cloud of Mystery. A fitting name for you, my ominous companion."
The horse let out a deep, resonant sound, like the crashing of storm clouds in the sky. Neuvillette smirked.
"Seems like you approve."
Minutes later, he arrived at the London Police Headquarters. As he dismounted and tied up Orxiro, a bystander recognized him, shouting his name. A crowd quickly gathered.
"Damn it. In a crowd like this, there's no guarantee someone won't pull a gun on me." Neuvillette exhaled in irritation.
He entered the building, pushing through the commotion, as officers tried to maintain order.
Neuvillette made his way to Captain Royce's office. Knocking on the door, he waited for permission to enter. Upon seeing him, Royce smiled, stood up respectfully, shook his hand, and gestured for him to sit.
Pouring a cup of tea, Royce handed it to Neuvillette, who accepted it with a faint, artificial smile.
"What a pleasant surprise, Detective Neuvillette. I wasn't expecting you at headquarters today."
Neuvillette chuckled lightly.
"I'm here for the next case. Time is short. I need to visit the last two crime scenes."
The Captain placed his cup of tea aside and said:
"I can give you the locations, but there are no bodies there. The corpses were buried a long time ago."
Neuvillette raised his hand and replied,
"I only need to visit the locations. The bodies are of no concern to me—I just need two places, nothing more."
Royce stood up from his chair, walked to a drawer in the far-left corner, and pulled out a map. He spread it across the table and marked two spots.
"The first victim was murdered four years ago in Covent Garden, in a hotel called 'Hotel of Optimism.
' The crime took place in room four. The second victim was also killed four years ago, in a house near the main street. It's strange that the killer took the lives of his victims in the same year. It seems like he wanted to finish something specific."
Neuvillette smiled, pointing toward his next destination.
"I'll go to Covent Garden first and see the situation there."
"I will send a group of officers to accompany you," Captain Royce offered as he rose from his seat. But Neuvillette simply raised his hand in refusal.
"That won't be necessary at all. I prefer to explore alone."
The captain leaned back in his chair with an amused smile.
"As you wish."
Neuvillette stood, placing his hat over his chest before exiting the police station.
Mounting his horse on the other side of the street, he set off toward Covent Garden. Along the way, he spoke to himself.
'This case is nearly four years old, meaning the bodies have long since been buried. Any bloodstains or body fragments that remained at the scene are likely gone by now. That will make solving this case difficult, but I'll try nonetheless.'
Upon arriving in Covent Garden, Neuvillette made his way to the hotel known as the 'Hotel of Optimism,' which had been shut down four years ago following the incident.
Stepping inside, he was met with chaos. The abandoned building had become a shelter for vagrants—some lay sleeping on the floor, while others drank in dark corners. Neuvillette ignored them, climbing the staircase to the second floor. His eyes locked onto a particular door—room number four.
He reached for the handle, but before he could turn it, the door suddenly collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. His expression shifted slightly.
'Seems like this place wanted to welcome me in its own peculiar way.'
As he stepped inside, his keen eyes scanned the room. Though time had faded much of the evidence, he could still make out some dried bloodstains on the floor and even remnants of decayed flesh.
Neuvillette turned his gaze toward the bed—suddenly, an unbearable headache struck him. The pain was so intense that he fell to his knees, gripping his head.
A deep, mysterious voice echoed in his mind.
"Foolish jester, I have granted you a power that will aid you in solving this case and many more to come—'The Ruler's Technique'—the ability to witness the past."
The voice continued.
"You can use this ability only when there is at least one physical piece of evidence present. Without evidence, you will be powerless. What you see will appear as moving images from the past. Use this gift wisely, foolish jester."
Neuvillette called out to the mysterious voice, but it had already faded into silence.
Placing a hand against his forehead, he muttered,
"That bastard… Appears out of nowhere to ramble and then vanishes like a coward."
His eyes drifted toward the dried blood and the decayed flesh.
'So this ability allows me to see past crimes. Interesting… but how do I activate it?'
Placing his thumb and index finger on his chin, he pondered for a moment before an idea came to him.
'Maybe… I just need to move my hand in a straight motion over the physical evidence.'
Taking a deep breath, he stretched out his hand over the bloodstain.
"There's no other choice… Let's see what happens."
The detective moved his hand in a straight motion, and suddenly, the room began to distort—glitching as if reality itself were breaking apart. The walls trembled, collapsing and rebuilding in rapid succession, as if caught in an infinite loop of destruction and reconstruction.
Neuvillette's blue eyes darkened into an abyssal black. A series of fragmented images flashed before him.
At first, five individuals sat around a table, their ages appearing to be between twenty and thirty. They were playing poker, their hands skillfully moving across the cards, while a bottle of wine rested beside them. Minutes passed before one of them stood, bidding farewell to his companions before departing.
Their faces were completely obscured, as though black threads had been woven over them, erasing their identities. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged—a silent predator wielding four knives with deadly precision.
With a swift and calculated motion, he unleashed the blades. They struck with inhuman accuracy—some piercing through their necks, others embedding themselves into their vital points. In mere moments, the room was drowned in a pool of blood.
The killer moved methodically, retrieving strange tools and beginning his grotesque work. He did not merely kill—he sculpted. Limbs were severed, rearranged into unnatural forms. A hand replaced a head, a head was stitched where a hand should be. It was a sight that twisted the very fabric of sanity.
Hours passed as the murderer carefully positioned the bodies onto a board crafted from real human skin. The board was divided into four sections—designed to mimic a chessboard.
With deliberate movements, he began shifting the mutilated corpses as though they were chess pieces. He played alone, commanding his grotesque soldiers in a game only he could comprehend.
Minutes later, a voice echoed through the vision:
"Checkmate."
The scene vanished. Neuvillette gasped as the darkness drained from his eyes, returning them to their natural blue.
He collapsed onto a broken bed, his fingers digging into his face as he struggled to process what he had just witnessed. The horror, the sheer madness—it was beyond comprehension.
This was no ordinary killer. This was someone who thought beyond the limits of humanity.
He muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief and disgust.
"What kind of hell have I thrown myself into? Damn this case… damn this wretched world… I am not fighting a man—I am fighting madness itself. These are not the thoughts of a human being."
A presence lingered.
At the window stood a figure—his appearance unsettling, almost unreal. His eyes gleamed coldly under the dim city lights, a mixture of amusement and warning flickering within them. His expression was taut, laced with a subtle smirk that carried an unspoken threat.
His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the silence with eerie precision.
"Those who play with fire must be ready to face the consequences… isn't that right, jester?"
He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word as if engraving them into Neuvillette's mind. A faint smile played on his lips, but it never reached his eyes. They remained void of warmth, only deepening the sense of unease that now hung thick in the air.
Neuvillette had stepped into a world that belonged to madness—a world where sanity was a fleeting illusion.
A fool, standing beneath the bloodstained moon.