Ch.292The Ninth Entanglement – A Carol for the Ancient God (2)

The detective prepared his clothes for Christmas Eve in a rare mood of not pretending. While he was accustomed to having dinner at strangers’ homes, this time the circumstances were different.

After finishing his preparations by placing a thin, long box on top of a wrapped book, the detective went to bed early. He made a point to remember when he fell asleep: 1:17 AM. He woke up at 6:11 AM.

He was someone who had confidence in his plans and preparations, but Rose Clichy was not. She spent the entire night staring at the snow globe she had purchased.

It was an ordinary design. A very ordinary snow globe with a simple Christmas tree and a cabin in the middle of a snowy field, where snow would fall when gently shaken.

When she first bought it, she thought it wasn’t much. Rose figured that what Michael wanted was a very ordinary Christmas, so this clichéd design would appeal to him more.

But, true to her anxious nature, that confidence disappeared the moment she brought the snow globe home. She worried about the same thing she always did: gifts resemble the giver.

Isn’t it too ordinary? The detective would surely bring something impressive, while she would be bringing something not even worthy of being a side gift. Would it seem like she hadn’t… tried hard enough? The worries continued.

Rose eventually shook her head at these concerns. She was still an anxious person, but she had also become someone who could shake her head at that anxiety.

It would be enough. Or at least she believed it would be. Rose carefully injected mana into the small quartz fragment she had received when she went to get the God-President’s re-election vote analysis.

Mana flowed over the intricate magic engraved on the quartz fragment. The quartz emitted light in mid-air. She had briefly considered giving this as a gift if the snow globe seemed too ordinary.

Although regifting something would be worse than giving an ordinary gift, she had the belated thought that a special person deserved a special item.

The light would surely be useful. The detective was someone who searched through darkness and hid in the shadows of night clouds to break into others’ homes. But… he was prepared for such things.

She was certain that even if she gave him this, he would coldly remark that he had no need for it, recognizing it as something Rose had brought just to give something special. That’s what she believed.

Rose hung the quartz back around her neck by its string. It was an item she wore as a good luck charm. Only after carefully wrapping the snow globe, which she shook one last time, did she finally fall asleep.

The detective had fallen asleep at 1:17 AM, while Rose, after agonizing and fretting, fell asleep at 11:07 PM. The two woke up at almost the same time.

The detective washed with cold water as usual, while Rose’s apartment, despite being in a slum, had decent hot water. The words he had spoken to the Rat-Catcher echoed in the detective’s ears. He was already accustomed to washing with cold water.

The detective, who came from the New York slums, dressed today as he always did—as if he could go to Eden or occupy a place at a wealthy social gathering without arousing suspicion. He wore a dark navy suit with a military-style fitted coat.

Rose, the daughter of a Texas landowner and influential capitalist, dressed plainly and modestly as usual. Her family wasn’t one to indulge in luxury. The image of a frugal, happy, and warm family was rather a lie.

To avoid looking pretentious, the detective wore an old French wristwatch. It was something he had used since right after the Great War, as if to record the time of his comrades.

The reporter waited for the detective to arrive at eight or nine o’clock. Even in the poorly soundproofed apartment in the slums, she could hear enough to know that neighbors were celebrating Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas. Listening to the sounds echoing due to poor soundproofing, Rose briefly wondered if she would exchange similar words with the detective. He was still a shadow.

Even Rose didn’t know exactly what was needed for him to stop being a shadow. A way to break the spell would be necessary. That meant forcibly breaking the God-President’s power. It was difficult to imagine such a thing existed.

If not that… was the God-President waiting for him to prove he deserved salvation? As Rose was extending her thoughts in contemplation, there was a knock at the door.

Identifying visitors by their knock was typically a detective’s skill, but Rose had become familiar enough to recognize just two people. One was Paulina. The other was… the detective.

She rushed to the door, dressed in a dark brown long skirt and sweater. When she turned the doorknob, which was a bit high for an elf, she found the neatly dressed detective. Rose smiled with satisfaction.

He wore a short leather coat of soft brown over his dark navy suit, reaching about mid-thigh. It somehow evoked his past as a former soldier… and Rose chuckled at how detective-like he looked.

“You could prove your identity in that outfit, Michael. Merry Christmas!”

“Fortunately, I’m not so antisocial that I’d ruin the mood on a day that’s supposed to be happy. Yes, Merry Christmas.”

It should have been more crowded. Rose felt a slight emptiness. Normally, siblings and nieces and nephews would rush out from behind to greet the guest with Christmas wishes. That’s how it had been for her.

If the number of people gathering for Christmas had gradually decreased until she was alone, she might have had some time to prepare, but for her, this day came too suddenly.

At least I’m not alone, Rose Clichy repeated to herself. And among the possibilities of not being alone… this was quite a good one. Having everyone she knew over would have been the best option.

The detective entered the house and handed Rose a gift box. It was a small box. A bit large for an elf’s hands, but just right for a human’s. Rose grinned at the box.

“When I think of Michael preparing a gift, all that comes to mind is alcohol or cigarettes. You didn’t happen to describe what kind of person I am to someone and commission this, did you?”

“On such a nice day, I did catch a pudgy old man dressed in red from head to toe trying to break into someone’s house. I detained him and asked. He recommended this.”

“Either a redistributionist Idealist burglar or Santa Claus. Since the former is more likely to be in New York… I’m not very excited about what might be inside!”

Even so, Rose hugged the small gift box tightly. She handed over her own box, wrapped in brown paper. The detective let out a small laugh.

“We need to redefine the word ‘gift’ before exchanging them. Isn’t a gift supposed to hide what’s wrapped?”

Rose rolled her eyes once and twitched her ear tips slightly up and down. She grumbled a little.

“We already talked about it that day in Central Park anyway! Besides, even though it’s obviously a snow globe, you can’t see what’s inside because of the wrapping.”

The detective made a reasonable deduction. It was blunter than a proper deduction but less rude than one. He wasn’t someone who used his abilities for unpaid overtime.

“Well, there will obviously be a snowy field… a Christmas tree, and probably some kind of cabin. That’s the pastoral Christmas scene you remember, and that’s what you wanted to show me.”

With each word, Rose’s expression visibly deflated. She looked at the detective with an expression reminiscent of Dr. Seaton repeatedly failing to catch Robo.

“I’m going to call Mircala and ask if she really didn’t teach you that magic! That trick is over now.”

The detective responded with another smirk. Until she heard the first phrase, Rose thought it was just mockery. After that, it became ambiguous.

“I didn’t use any tricks. Why would I need to prepare tricks when there’s no need for them?”

The detective’s tone was cynical as usual, but Rose saw the glimmer again this time. It was like seeing sunlight leak through a closed window crack—a fleeting glimmer. It was very brief.

He looked at Rose’s expression for a moment, then gently tore off the paper wrapping with his fingers. He lightly shook the contents in front of Rose’s eyes, showing the scene of falling snow, and grinned.

“Just as I said.”

Rose wanted to counter this situation by brilliantly deducing the detective’s gift, unwrapping it, and saying “Just as you said!” But nothing came to mind.

The detective was a bland person. He was like barren land that couldn’t produce anything new. It was like being asked to guess what kind of sprout had suddenly grown there.

The detective was holding the box to the side. So it contained something elongated. The contents wouldn’t shift to one side… She tried to think but couldn’t come up with anything. Rose bit her lip.

If she stayed like this any longer, the detective would say something like “Don’t try to guess, just open it.” Finally, she inserted her fingers into the wrapping paper and began tearing it.

The only person in this house unaware that her ears were standing straight up, focusing to deduce the contents through the torn parts of the wrapping, was Rose herself.

She ultimately failed to guess the contents until the wrapping paper was completely torn off. Inside was a pen. She didn’t know its price. But she could tell it was an elf-sized pen.

Rose knew more names of typewriter manufacturers than pen workshops or craftsmen, but she could tell that the pen would fit perfectly in her hand.

She had always been someone who received words that could be copied from others. But this time, she received a pen that could write Rose’s own words. That’s how it felt.

In that moment, even the detective could briefly see the glimmer Rose talked about. He could momentarily feel colors, warmth, and scents becoming incredibly vivid. It was somewhat irregular. It happened without reason. Perhaps it was spasmodic.

Fitting the word “spasmodic,” the colors quickly faded. All that remained was Rose Clichy twitching the corners of her mouth trying to suppress an uncontrollable smile, and fluttering her reddened ears.

Even if that was all, the gift-giver had no complaints. Rather, as far as reactions to giving and receiving gifts go, it was exceptionally wonderful.

Rose Clichy was a woman who made one recall things that had disappeared. Words like “shame” that only Gremory remembered, or words like “humility” or “gratitude” that no one remembered.

Yet, she was a woman who showed that these words weren’t just tucked away in some corner of a dictionary but were growing little by little. It would have been nice if she had remembered to hang mistletoe decorations on the door.

Rose hesitated for a step, and the detective, standing at the door, knocked a couple of times on the inside of the door where nothing was hanging, patted her head once, and then stepped into the house.

Rose gently grabbed the hem of the detective’s coat as he moved, just as she had poured out words trying to capture the glimmer she had seen in Central Park last time.

Without relying on superstitions or folklore about kissing under mistletoe decorations at Christmas, the two kissed. It was brief. Just for a moment. The two felt different times.

The detective’s heart beat just once, while Rose’s heart seemed to beat about four times. It might have been two and a half, but to Rose, it felt like six times. Or maybe it felt like it had stopped altogether.

Perhaps it was ceremonial. Perhaps it was because it was Christmas. They could have made such excuses. But just as the detective didn’t mention Rose’s lips being dry from nervousness, neither of them mentioned any excuses.

It seemed like something they should do. Rather, they wanted to do it. They decided to conclude that. There were few times in life when the reason for something happening was more important than the fact that it happened.

Rose Clichy’s long ears usually fluttered quickly, but this time they moved up and down very slowly.

When the detective clicked his tongue twice briefly, they fluttered back to their normal pace, as if someone had retuned a radio with stretched sounds.

“If I’d left you alone, you would have been lost in the afterglow until dinner. What time did they say to come for the dinner invitation?”

“I-I’ll call and check! Just a moment!”

For a Christmas dinner invitation, it was customary to arrive in the afternoon to chat or exchange warm greetings with people meeting for the first time… and the detective had come prepared to endure that much.

No one had anticipated the kiss, but the detective was skilled at hiding his reactions, while Rose’s pockets were filled only with honesty. That was the extent of their difference.

Rose called the senior reporter who had invited them to dinner. The dry connection tone felt like returning to reality.

From the other end of the phone line came the same playful yet somewhat serious male voice.

“Merry Christmas. This is Robert Merrick of Golden Age Press. Today is a holiday, so I’m Robert Merrick, head of the Merrick household and handyman. Is that right? Anyway, who is this?”

“Merry Christma… Oh, um, it’s Rose! You know, you invited us for dinner. Christmas dinner! Since it’s a dinner invitation, it would be strange to go in the evening—no, it’s not strange to go to a dinner invitation in the evening, anyway…”

Reporter Robert could read Rose’s voice. It was more like reading than hearing. Since the message and the messenger were separate, what they contained was also different.

“Ah, Miss Rose. Was the mistletoe I hung on the door successful? Anyway, I’d like you to come around one or two after lunch. Are three of you coming? That is, with Miss Paulina…”

He paused briefly. It was as if he was pretending not to state the obvious, even though it was.

“And someone else. Someone who helped with the article, provided security when Miss Paulina wasn’t around, and is now watching Miss Rose on the phone—that is, some insignificant someone.”

Rose cried out in indignation. Both the detective and Robert laughed. It was quite a long laugh for a chuckle.

“Why, why does everyone know what happened to me after hearing just two words?! It’s unfair!”

“Well, you say quite a lot even when you’re not speaking. It’s not my fault. Or should I say, it’s not our fault? Tell that… whoever! standing next to you waiting, Miss Rose.”

It was a perfect Christmas so far, except that Rose Clichy’s lips were now pouting three feet out. Carols dedicated to the ancient god were ringing in the streets.