The man and the woman felt a shiver run through their bodies as their ears absorbed the weight of the jester's words. His voice carried a gravity that seemed to announce him as the sole bearer of knowledge, capable of grasping all the hidden truths.
Seated in his chair, the jester tapped his finger twice on the table, his voice laced with a deadly calm.
"Are there any questions, or not? I am ready to answer them all."
The woman looked at him with arrogance, flicking a poker card toward him with her right hand. She pointed at the card and spoke with unwavering confidence.
"Are you browsing knowledge or browsing a card? Or are you merely following the game? Some believe mystery lies in the cards, but it can be destroyed and replaced by another."
Behind his mask, the jester smiled. Rising from his seat, he began pacing slowly, as if contemplating the infinite cosmos. His tone mixed mockery with wisdom.
"Browse knowledge, for it exists in every corner of this place. I will not exhaust myself chasing an empty card that seems to point to nothing known. Not everything written is mysterious, and not everyone who speaks is a bearer of knowledge. It seems someone here seeks money to escape hunger or the descent into crime."
The woman let out a light chuckle and asked:
"If you were surrounded by four planets forming a perfect circle, and before you lay a tunnel of escape—a sun—what would you do?"
The jester paused for a moment, then stepped toward her, gripping the chair she sat on. His voice was as calm as a silent current.
"I would wager on the sun. And then, I would pass through it. And if you ask, 'What if the sun sends the planets against you?' The answer is simple—I would kill them all and move toward safety."
Then, he tossed the poker card onto the nearby table. The woman, in turn, traced patterns on the table's surface in reverse before continuing in a challenging tone.
"And what if the entire solar system conspired against you? Then, you would have no escape, nor the ability to fight back."
The jester smirked and replied:
"When does a falling system conspire against its leader? Would a dog bite the hand that fed it? Only a swine does that."
The woman stammered, unable to find words. A storm of disbelief raged across her features. She had assumed her question would dismantle the wisdom of the enigmatic master.
Before she could respond, the jester interrupted.
"I know what you want to say. You thought your question would undo me, but it won't. Your next question would be: 'What if a planet destroys another without any material evidence, no trace of the killer, no atom or core?' The answer is simple—not every planet that hides its caution evades capture forever. It will be caught, destroyed, and reduced to an explosion of scattered atoms. And then you'd ask, 'What about the intelligent planets that have never been caught?' That is laughable. Did I not capture a planet that had killed for thirty years? I crushed it underfoot before an audience, despite its perfect crime leaving no trace."
The woman remained speechless. Every question she had planned to ask had been shattered by the jester in the crimson mask. He had unveiled the truth effortlessly.
She lowered her head in shame, unable to match the Master of Mysteries.
At that moment, the mysterious man moved a chess piece—a pawn advancing toward the king, trapping it. He spoke in a questioning tone.
"Do you think the king will die, Jester?"
The jester approached the man's chair, moving his knight to leap over the pawn, completely shielding the king. The man's hand trembled from the force of the move.
The jester's voice was calm but charged with certainty.
"The king will not die unless he is betrayed."
The man and the woman smiled upon hearing these words, as if they had finally grasped the deeper meaning behind them.
The jester returned to his seat and gazed upward, toward the galaxies. Then, the man asked:
"And what if they betrayed the king, severed his head, and displayed it before the people? Do you believe the kingdom that did this would suffer?"
The jester's voice carried an air of majesty as he answered:
"The betrayal of a king brings a curse upon the kingdom and its people—unless under certain conditions. A people may curse a king if he was a filthy narcissistic butcher. But there are kings who despise war, like the first and last king of the kingdom of (…)—his name was (…). He always said: 'I despise blood, the stench of smoke rising from catapults, the whistle of arrows, and the pounding of war drums. But the bastards forced me to become a monstrous butcher who slaughters everything that moves on this earth.'"
The mysterious man's hand trembled as his chess piece slipped from his grasp. He had expected to defeat the jester, but instead, the jester moved his queen, trapping the mysterious man's king.
With one final challenge, the man said:
"Everything has limits. You, too, have limits, do you not?"
The jester removed his mask. A black mist veiled his face, concealing his features. Placing a hand on his cheek, he spoke in an enigmatic voice.
"And what if I told you that I am the one who invented limits? I am…"
He paused for a moment, then continued.
"The Writer."
The man and the woman were stunned. They never expected that a simple six-letter word would reveal the identity of the enigma before them.
The jester moved his piece, delivering the final blow.
"Checkmate."
And does the ink in a pen ever run dry? Yes.
But does the ink of a writer ever run out? Never.
The world trembled, and everything vanished.
Neuvillette's Awakening
Neuvillette found himself in his office, staring at the ceiling with pitch-black eyes.
The detective looked out the window and saw that the sun had broken through the dark night once more. He adjusted his posture, running all ten fingers through his hair.
"Mysteries seem to close in on me from all directions. Damn it… is all of this deep talk coming from me? Or is someone else controlling my mind and motives? As if… the one controlling me is myself?"
He rose from the couch and stepped toward the bathroom. But before he could wash his face, he froze at the sight before him in the mirror.
His appearance had completely changed.
His hair was now long, wavy, and jet black. His eyes gleamed a striking red, his features had sharpened significantly, and faint freckles adorned his right and left cheeks.
He stumbled backward, touching every inch of his face, pinching himself in disbelief.
"What? Even in this world, my form has changed? Damn it… what is happening to me?"
As he struggled to comprehend his situation, the enigmatic voice spoke with amused mockery.
"Oh, my dear child. You've changed completely. It seems that when you accepted yourself by uttering the words 'The Writer,' your transformation took place. Self-acceptance leads to many paths, including overcoming what is to come."
Neuvillette's gaze darkened.
"So, what you're saying is… this is my true form in this world? But when I accepted myself as 'The Writer,' I transformed into this?"
The voice chuckled—half scorn, half indifference.
"That's right, my dear Neuvillette. That's why you're my favorite child—you understand how I turn mysteries into structured, beautiful clarity. And as a reward, I shall grant you a wonderful ability fitting for someone as beautiful as you."
Neuvillette smirked.
"Your favorite child? And why is that? Are you my father? And what ability do you wish to bestow upon me, oh mysterious one?"
The voice responded with eerie amusement.
"Neuvillette… you are truly beautiful. Hahaha. But let's set that aside. Your new ability is called 'No Death.' It allows you to take the form of a killer—but under one condition: you must first have a reference to their form."
Neuvillette was astonished.
"An ability that lets me turn into a murderer… terrifying and magnificent. But what is the true purpose of such a transformation?"
As he delved deeper into his own mind, the enigmatic voice cut through his thoughts.
"Do not burden your mind with excessive thoughts. This is a brutal ability, fitting for a beast like you. It will be of great use in finding a killer. If you kill a single human, you will absorb 20% of the original killer's memory. Once you reach 100%, you will be able to track the murderer down to their very lair."
Neophyte swayed slightly, his mind racing with the implications.
"So this ability will allow me to throw away conventional investigation, is that correct?"
The mysterious voice chuckled mockingly once again.
"Neophyte… oh, Neophyte. Not all the abilities I have given you will work. Sometimes, they will be utterly useless. Tell me, did your foresight help you in solving the Chessboard Ripper case? No. The day will come when you will have to rely solely on your primitive mind."
Then, the voice that had echoed through the room abruptly vanished.
Neophyte cursed loudly, frustration boiling over. He had so many questions left unanswered.
"You bastard, where did you go? What do you mean by using only my primitive mind? Answer me, you son of the void!"
In a burst of anger, he struck the laundry basket with force.
After ten minutes, he emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over his head. He heated a cup of tea and gazed toward the breathtaking sunrise.
As he sipped the scalding liquid, his voice dropped into a terrifying calm.
"It seems that mysteries never bother knocking. Is that a habit of yours, Captain Royce… or should I say, the Mysterious Captain?"