Ch.80008 Investigation Record – Michael Husband (1)

Sitting with my father in the café, I felt like I’d returned home—not to this vile city, but to a place better suited for elves… a home I’d once wanted to escape from.

Everything was so comfortable back home. Until I was fifteen, I didn’t understand what it meant for the sheriff to come over for dinner every week, or to recognize all the politicians whose photos appeared in the newspapers.

It wasn’t necessarily bad. Everyone wants to associate with people of their own level. And this level was something inherited.

If I had stayed home, I would have inherited my father’s status without doing anything… starting the race not just at the starting line but at the finish line that others aspired to reach.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to run with my own legs, and if I couldn’t, I at least wanted to take steps by my own will. That’s why I didn’t refuse the sources my father introduced me to, even though I knew they were important people.

So what did I gain from all that running? In the end, all I’d accomplished was… making the detective recall cursed memories he’d rather forget. I’m getting depressed again.

Seeing my expression, my father took my hand as if encouraging me to speak. I had too much to say, but not much I could actually voice. After a quiet sigh, I barely managed to open my mouth.

“While reporting, thinking I was searching for the truth, I ended up stirring up memories that shouldn’t have been disturbed. It’s obvious that just because you have a shovel doesn’t mean you should dig beneath gravestones, but I rushed in without thinking, wanting to help. Ugh, haa… it’s my fault. And now I don’t know what to do next…”

A warm smile appeared on my father’s face. It might be rude to think this, but I didn’t want to hear that everyone makes mistakes.

For ordinary mistakes, such words might suffice, but when a mistake grows too large, I didn’t know what to do.

But his response was so characteristic of him. And it gave me a sense of déjà vu.

“Ah, Rose. You shouldn’t forget the cards in your hand today while only looking at tomorrow’s stakes. What do you mean, what to do next? You know your old man doesn’t believe in words like ‘tomorrow’ or ‘later’ or ‘next.'”

I’d heard this often as a child because of my indecisiveness. And… it was exactly what the Cowboy had said. Was it just a common saying from back home? His gentle voice continued.

“First, have you apologized? Meeting in person to convey your apology should be your priority. People try to be rational, but at their core, they can’t help being emotional. Showing proper courtesy is the first step. What comes second will naturally become clear after you complete the first step. You’ve always been fragile, but equally intelligent. Right?”

Only now did I realize I hadn’t even apologized. I’d just shut myself in my house, feeling numb in my head. Now I finally felt like I knew what to do next.

First, I needed to find the detective. I would apologize for trying to dig into something I didn’t even understand. And then… no, that’s not right. I can think about what comes next when the time comes.

Still, I couldn’t just get up immediately while sitting next to my father who had traveled a week by train to see me, so I hesitated. But that settled it.

His now somewhat weakened hand gave my back a light tap. It contained a playful static charge from magic he often used, making me sit up straight.

“Really, you’re too kind for your own good. This old man will be fine, so go on. You left home to become a reporter, so you shouldn’t give up everything because of one mistake.”

At those words, Paulina and I immediately stood up, leaving payment for my coffee on the bar as I nodded. If I was going to do it, I should do it right now. If I was going to go, I should go right now.

My father chuckled as if in disbelief when he saw me paying for the coffee. I suppose I am a bit of an absurd person.

“Who do you think your father is, really…”

But he didn’t look upset. After saying goodbye to him, and seeing the warm smile on the café owner’s face, I walked out of the café.

I always kept the detective’s business card in my pocket. Not because I thought I might need him, but because I’d been debating whether to call and apologize. Thanks to that, I hadn’t forgotten to bring it.

“Paulina, can you drive me right away? We visited before…”

“Unlike you, Rose, I don’t have a bad memory. I remember where it is. But… isn’t it a bit funny?”

Paulina spoke only after we got in the car. She tried to brush off her “isn’t it funny” comment as if it were a mistake, then continued.

“No, I mean… sigh, you’ll want me to explain. You haven’t forgotten that you almost died because of that detective, right? No one in the world apologizes to someone who tried to kill them, Rose.”

“Still, the detective who tried to kill me also saved me. It was probably just business, nothing more, nothing less. And if he doesn’t want to apologize, there’s no point in me forcing him to.”

What I felt was more like pity. What kind of person could confidently take someone’s life under the pretext of just doing their job? That must surely be a sad portrait of humanity.

Still, I tried not to pity him. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. We all live in different worlds. Living in the same city doesn’t mean we live in the same era or the same world.

As someone who had never lived in his world, I didn’t want to judge him. Legal judgment… part of me hoped he would face it, and part of me hoped he would remain available for hire.

It didn’t take long to get from Cafe Two Face to the detective agency. We took the elevator up to the apartment without hesitation, and fortunately knocked on the detective agency door, which didn’t have an “absent” sign.

Footsteps approached from inside. After what felt like a scrutinizing gaze, the door opened. The detective stood there in light outerwear, as if he had just returned from somewhere or was about to go out.

I spoke before he could ask about my business. I didn’t want to speak only after being prompted, as if reluctantly.

“Um, I have something to tell you! I was hoping we could talk for a moment…”

Though he responded with a cynical sneer, instead of blocking the doorway, he stepped aside to let us in.

“I hope it’s not something like ‘I want to help you.’ Those kinds of words make me want to draw my gun these days.”

As we entered the office portion of the divided apartment, the door closed behind us. I had boldly stepped into his world. I wondered if he too had regiment insignias and medals cut in half.

The detective pulled out chairs for us to sit in, then settled into his office chair. Until now, we had seen each other as client and contractor, but now it felt like we could talk as person to person.

“I want to apologize for buying your past for three dollars. I’m truly sorry. You were right… just because I had a shovel doesn’t mean I should have dug all the way to the grave.”

The detective, his expression somewhat less cynical, answered in a dry tone. Unlike his reflexive response to my thanks before, this was a conscious statement.

“I never expected to receive an apology.”

A moment of silence followed. And just when I couldn’t bear the silence any longer, he spoke.

“I think I understand why the Professor allowed you into the hall. You have an honest face. You really didn’t write an article, and you never intended to, did you?”

“Ah, do you… believe me?”

Instead of answering, he pulled out a week’s worth of Golden Age Press newspapers from his filing cabinet—all except for the day the Hanger of New York was caught—and placed them heavily in front of me. He smirked.

“We’re not exactly on trusting terms. I merely observed. And you said you wanted to apologize? Well, there’s something I want in return.”

“Anything I can offer. Though I’m not sure what I could possibly…”

The detective interrupted me again. He didn’t seem to be trying to take control of the conversation. He just seemed impatient with my indecisiveness.

“You mentioned a warlock-soldier who told you about the ritual cast on us. I want to meet him. I don’t care whether he wants to meet me or not. If you want to apologize, just take me to him and sit me down in front of him. Oh, and I won’t bring any weapons, of course.”

I sighed but looked him straight in the eyes. His expression wasn’t emotionless now. It was a little… just a little more human.

“He seemed confused too, so if he could actually meet a member of the Argonne Invincibles, he might change his mind. But can I ask why you want to meet him? It might help me convince him. You seem to want me to succeed.”

Normally I wouldn’t have presumed so much, but I made an assumption like the detective does, as if I knew everything. It might have been clumsy, but it worked.

“Since you already know the whole story, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you. We’re all looking for a way to break the curse, the ritual. The Poet succeeded. Hexenbane really was a curse-breaking sword.”

It seemed the sword thief had known the sword would be stolen. I was struck by the thought that breaking the curse and freeing their comrades bound as sacrifices might be more important to them than life itself.

“Even suicide doesn’t break the ritual. So many have tried, so many have failed. Anyway, many sorcerers have vaguely figured out what we did, but as far as we know, that warlock-soldier is the only one who knows to that extent. So he must have something different that allows him to know what we did. Does that make sense?”

I now understood what the sword thief meant about a will to live that couldn’t be suppressed even with two bottles of whiskey. Hexenbane was his hope. Once he had hope, that’s why he moved so blindly.

“It seems… to make sense. But if you break the curse…”

I was about to ask if he would live or die, but the detective clicked his tongue briefly and shook his head. It seemed like he was saying this wasn’t the time for such questions.

“We can think about that after breaking the ritual. I could lend you the phone, and if you haven’t forgotten the number, you could call him right now to convince him… I hope you succeed.”

With those words, the detective pushed the phone on his desk toward me. Unable to recall the warlock-soldier’s number, I searched my bag for the note, then dialed the number.

After several rings, the call connected. With no sound coming from the other end, I spoke first.

“Ah, this is Rose Leafman, reporter from Golden Age Press who interviewed you last time… can you talk right now?”

Only then did a voice filled with hysteria burst out. As he spoke, he gradually began to calm down.

“I wondered who it was. Yes, I can talk. Didn’t I tell you I spend most of my time at home writing books? Have you found out anything more about those monstrosities from the Argonne Invincibles?”

Monstrosities… I looked up at the detective. Though he possessed inhuman strength and vitality, he was clearly human.

“Ah, that’s actually why I’m calling. One of the Argonne Invincibles wants to meet you…”

Before I could finish, his voice immediately returned to hysteria. He was terrified of the Argonne Invincibles. Looking at the detective, I could somewhat understand why.

“No! It’s obvious what they’ll do when they find me here knowing the truth! Those, those things will kill me and then you too…”

He was spewing words in terror, almost sobbing. His voice was so loud that the detective could hear it, and he reached out as if asking for the phone, but I shook my head and continued trying to persuade him calmly.

“Wait, just wait. You were right. Those people are ashamed of agreeing to that ritual. But unlike what you think, they’re trying to break the ritual. The person who first agreed to the ritual bears the most responsibility, and everyone, while living their own lives, wants to return to their original lives.”

“How can you be sure? Do you think it’s difficult for someone who agreed to a human sacrifice ritual to wear a human mask? So, no, absolutely not…”

The detective was still reaching for the phone, but I didn’t hand it over. Still, I did use a bit of his approach.

“Because I heard the truth from them. Forgetting journalistic integrity and everything else, driven by childish curiosity, I asked them to tell me, and I bought their past for just three dollars. Yet the Argonne Invincible standing in front of me didn’t try to kill me. He just accepted my apology. Does that sound like someone who would kill you?”

I boldly exposed my flaws to him. A mind steeped in hysteria and fear could only be penetrated with honesty. Only then did the detective withdraw his outstretched hand.

“It must have been… a terrible story. And you still want to help after hearing it?”

“No, we’re not close enough for me to help yet. The condition for my apology was to arrange a meeting with you. That’s all.”

I deliberately used somewhat emotionless language to convince him it was a necessary process. It wasn’t my usual method, but it was clearly effective.

His voice continued, now somewhat more rational. He was opening up, little by little.

“Then, can you bring him tied up? Rope or anything will do. As long as he’s… tied up.”

Seeing the detective’s double strength and vitality, ropes or handcuffs would be useless, and I couldn’t obtain anything stronger. So I refused.

“I think he’s someone who could break handcuffs or ropes. All we have to rely on is our trust that this person isn’t lying, and our hope that he won’t attack you. Without that, arranging a meeting would be meaningless… what do you want to do?”

A long silence followed. The sound of teeth chattering anxiously echoed, as if phantoms created by painful trembling and delusions were circling around him. Then his answer came.

“Alright, I’ll… meet him. I’m trusting you on this.”