Hermann felt his intuition screaming at him.
He had made a fatal miscalculation.
There were two 'Jack the Rippers.'
The recent murders in Whitechapel?
They were committed by an impostor.
A decoy.
A smokescreen to distract investigators from the real target—Marilyn.
And the man standing before him?
The real 'Jack the Ripper.'
The one who stormed into Whitechapel Station.
The one who massacred criminals.
The one who made headlines in every newspaper.
Hermann's fingers twitched.
This was no amateur who had just stepped into the extraordinary world.
The threat level?
Extreme.
Even for him.
His throat felt dry.
One wrong move, and this job wouldn't make him rich—
It would get him killed.
Hermann swallowed.
Beads of cold sweat formed at his brow.
Maybe… he should've asked the police to increase his fee tenfold.
Meanwhile—
The fake 'Ripper' trembled in Jack's grasp.
His eyes bulged.
His face drained of color.
"…You're the real 'Jack the Ripper'?
B-but then—
Who the hell am I?!"
His worldview collapsed.
Terror took its place.
He struggled—
Fingers clawing at the iron grip on his face.
Jack didn't budge.
His fingers clenched tighter.
The fake 'Ripper' gasped.
Step. Step.
Inspector Hastings entered the room.
Gun raised.
Breath steady.
Eyes locked on the massive figure by the window.
Lorien followed, playing his role.
He stood beside Hastings, revolver aimed.
But his true message was in his gaze.
(You're doing great. Keep going.)
Jack understood.
'The Devil' still had to keep his identity secret.
So, he played along.
Jack lifted his left hand.
The impostor wheezed, eyes rolling back.
His voice was low, guttural.
"…You shouldn't have used my name."
His grip tightened.
The fake 'Ripper' choked.
Hands flailing uselessly.
Jack's expression darkened.
Because of this imposter—
Innocent people had died.
Even if Marilyn had been the primary target,
The others never had to die.
Jack wasn't some saint.
But this?
This pissed him off.
The fake 'Ripper' sobbed.
"M-Mercy…!
P-Please…!"
Jack ignored him.
Instead—
He turned his gaze to Hermann.
Hermann stiffened.
His spine locked.
Jack's golden-brass eyes pinned him down.
In that moment—
Hermann knew.
He needed to leave.
Now.
This was not a good day for crime-solving.
Step by step, he backed away.
Lorien blocked his retreat.
Lorien: Where are you going?
Hermann: I just remembered something important.
Lorien's eyes narrowed.
Lorien: Didn't you say 'Jack the Ripper' was just some reckless amateur?
Lorien: Why not handle him first?
Hermann's expression twitched.
Then—
Jack spoke.
His voice was low, unreadable.
"…Are you all here to 'arrest' me?"
Silence.
Hermann broke into a cold sweat.
Before he could answer—
Lorien beat him to it.
His voice was firm.
"Of course."
He was righteous. Unwavering.
"Criminals like you, who ignore the law and morality,
belong behind bars for the rest of their lives.
You think your tricks will help you escape justice?"
His voice trembled.
(Perfect acting.)
He turned to Hermann.
His gaze said: 'Your turn.'
Hermann's face darkened.
He regretted telling Lorien about 'sorcerers.'
Jack tilted his head.
His grip on the fake 'Ripper' tightened.
Then—
He let the unconscious man drop.
And took a step forward.
Hermann's breath hitched.
Instinct screamed at him to fight or flee.
Still, he forced a grin.
"…Since you insist on resisting,"
"Let's see what you've got."
He raised his fists.
Feigning confidence.
"You two should leave.
This fight isn't for normal people."
Hastings hesitated.
"…We have guns."
Hermann snorted.
"You'd probably shoot me by accident."
The tension thickened.
Sweat dripped down Hermann's temple.
Lorien took a step back.
Casually signaling Jack.
(Alright, enough build-up. Let's get to the action.)
Jack got the message.
His movements blurred.
In an instant—
He lunged.
Hat swept off.
A black-red blade glinted.
Targeting Hermann's chest.
Hastings and Lorien barely made it to the doorway.
Jack was already upon him.
Hermann rolled.
Dodging by inches.
Firing his revolver mid-motion.
BANG.
A direct headshot.
Blood exploded.
Jack's face shredded open.
Bone visible beneath.
But—
The blood evaporated instantly.
Flesh regrew before Hermann's eyes.
Hermann's stomach dropped.
"Oh… crap."
Jack's hand blurred.
A blade carved through fabric—
And flesh.
Hermann grunted.
Blood dripped down his chest.
(This guy isn't normal.)
(He's learning. Adapting.)
Jack lunged again.
Hermann barely dodged.
Then—
Jack… stopped.
Pulled back.
Grabbed the fake 'Ripper.'
With a final glance—
Jack leapt out the window.
Glass shattered.
Shadows swirled.
His voice echoed.
"…We'll meet again."
��� TO BE CONTINUED…