22nd Day of the Month of the Emerald Moon, Year 1238
Jin wore a brown vest over a crisp white shirt, the knot of his tie hanging loosely. His boots gleamed with a polished shine, and today, he had added gloves and a hat to match his long black coat.
He marched toward the police station with purposeful strides, signed his name in the registry, and brushed past the receptionist—who had just opened her mouth to greet him.
Jay and Luke trailed behind, struggling to keep pace. They signed in next and, unlike Jin, greeted the receptionist with polite smiles.
"Good morning, Madam Lovia," Luke said in his usual charming tone.
"It's Miss Lovia to you," she corrected, her voice clipped. "But hello."
She frowned slightly—this was the second time she had been addressed as madam by the same attractive young man. Though she was nearing the age where the term might apply, she remained unmarried and preferred not to be reminded of it.
"What's with him? He was all quiet and sluggish the last time," she muttered, eyes flicking toward Jin's back.
Hearing her, Luke and Jay exchanged awkward glances.
"He read a detective novel last night…" Jay admitted with a shrug.
"Ah. I suppose books do influence behavior," Miss Lovia replied, arching an eyebrow. "But he's hardly a child anymore."
Her sweet and composed expression faltered for a moment before softening again. "Then again, I don't really mind childish men. They have their own... charm."
"Huh…?" Jay blinked, confused.
"Oh—I meant to ask, where is he off to in such a hurry?" she deflected, regaining her composure.
"Ah, to the inspector's office," Luke replied quickly.
"My, playing at being a real detective now, is he?" she said with a half-smile.
"Seems like it," Luke said, using the opportunity to excuse himself. "We should get going as well."
As they walked away, Jay leaned toward Luke and whispered, "What's wrong with that lady?"
"Nothing's wrong with her. It's me," Luke muttered with a sigh.
"Are you not feeling well?" Jay asked, concerned.
Luke glanced at Jay's pale, sickly complexion and the dark circles that had begun to fade his eyes. He sighed again, more deeply this time.
"That's the curse of being handsome," he said dramatically. "You wouldn't understand."
'Huh? What's that supposed to mean…? Wait—do I really look that bad?'
***
Jin pushed open the door to the inspector's office. An unnatural smile played on his lips, but his emotionless crimson eyes betrayed nothing. They locked onto the scar-faced man seated beneath a mountain of paperwork.
"How have you been, Inspector?" he asked coolly.
Inspector Nana glanced up at the young man. Technically, one should knock before entering—but Nana wasn't the kind of man who cared for such formalities, despite his stern and intimidating appearance.
"Oh, it's you," he said, his gravelly voice indifferent. "Where are the other four?"
"They're on their way."
"Then let's not waste time."
He stood up from behind the cluttered desk, shrugged on his coat, grabbed his hat from the nearby stand, and took hold of his cane with a practiced hand.
***
The six recruits were once again divided into two groups.
One group consisted of Luke, Kora, and the ponytailed guy.
The other included Jin, the deaf girl, and Jay—accompanied by Inspector Nana.
They boarded a public carriage for the trip. It cost them twelve copper coins—a bit pricey, but the distance was long. Although the Military Police did own carriages, there weren't enough to go around, especially during busy hours. Still, it wasn't a problem. The department covered transportation expenses during official duty.
Nana and Jin took the forward-facing seats, while the other two sat across from them.
Soon, the carriage filled with the stale scent of cheap tobacco. Jay wrinkled his nose and cracked open the glass window.
And ofcourse, the air outside carried the pungent perfume of city gutters and dust.
He sighed. Now he wasn't sure which was worse.
The girl sitting across from Jin kept glancing at him, her gaze flicking up every few seconds.
Jin, playing the role of a detective, noticed instantly. Just yesterday, he might've ignored her outright. But today, he was donning a different mask—one borrowed from the protagonist of a detective novel he'd read the night before.
There had been a scene in the novel, too: a beautiful girl staring at the main character.
Recalling what the fictional detective had done, Jin slowly turned his crimson eyes toward her. He had already forgotten the girl's name, despite working with her just the other day. Still, he offered her a soft, charming smile.
The girl stiffened. She had experienced Jin's cold demeanor firsthand. She knew he was the kind of man who wouldn't even acknowledge her presence under normal circumstances. And yet… she couldn't help herself. He had saved her life, after all—and not just saved it, but done so in heroic fashion. Like the lead in a romantic novel.
Her cheeks flushed red. Then, just as she glanced at him again—
His hollow, emotionless crimson eyes met hers.
And then… he smiled.
A gentle, almost radiant smile.
A storm of feelings erupted inside her mind.
'What? What? What? H-He… he smiled… at… at me?'
Meanwhile, all of this unfolded in full view of Jay, who was doing everything in his power to sit as far away from the beautiful girl as possible.
"Damn it. She's sitting right next to me…"
***
Inspector Nana finished his cigarette with a sigh, then casually lit another one. He scratched the side of his nose, exhaled a puff of smoke, and lazily glanced at the new recruits seated across from him.
"You're about to see something unpleasant," he said dryly. "So, apologies in advance. But that's part of the job. Hopefully, none of you have eaten recently."
'Not eaten? What kind of investigation needs an empty stomach?' Jay frowned, the inspector's warning stirring an uneasy curiosity.
"Are we going to a crime scene?" he asked.
"Yeah," Nana replied without much enthusiasm. "Any of you ever seen one?"
No one answered.
Jay remained silent, but he knew Jin wasn't new to such things. And come to think of it, neither was he—not anymore. Twice now, he'd seen people die right in front of him. Still, the idea of facing death again made his stomach churn.
The inspector blew out another cloud of smoke and sighed, this time with something almost like weariness.
"Not gonna lie. It's a shitty job. You'll have to get used to being around death. In the coming months, you'll see the true face of the Awakened world. And all I can say is… good luck. I hope you all live long, peaceful lives. Far from the madness of this cursed world."
The carriage came to a halt.
Outside stood a building unlike any they had passed—its ivory façade glowing beneath the golden touch of morning light. The scent of incense drifted through the air, and a sacred stillness blanketed the area.
It was unmistakably a church. A Church of the Nine.
"It's the Church of the Merciful Mother," Jay said softly. "Why are we here?"
"To investigate," Nana replied simply, stepping out of the carriage and heading toward the main hall.
"…Someone died here?" Jay asked, voice uncertain.
At that moment, a soft, delicate hand rested gently on his shoulder.
"Ah! Who—?"
He turned quickly, startled—only to find himself face-to-face with the pink-haired girl. She was so close that he caught the faint, floral sweetness of her scent.
'So… beautiful.'
She looked up at him with her wide, bright eyes, then offered a kind smile.
"Ah… do you need something?" Jay asked, flustered.
The girl moved her hands in fluent sign language, but Jay couldn't understand a word of it.
Then, without warning, she reached up and placed a hand lightly on his head. Though Jay was small for his age, the girl was just a bit shorter. When she leaned in, her face came dangerously close to his.
His shyness kicked in at full force. Blushing furiously, he stumbled backward, eyes darting away in embarrassment.
'Too close…'
The girl blinked, surprised by his reaction. Tilting her head slightly, she gazed at him with a look of quiet curiosity… then smiled again. That smile made his heart pound even harder.
She turned and ran ahead, but after a few steps, paused and looked back. Then she motioned for him to follow.
Jay understood. She had noticed his nervousness and was trying to comfort him.
But she had no idea that her kindness—and her presence—was making it worse.
"I-It's alright. I'm fine now," he muttered.
Though she couldn't hear his words, she read his lips easily—she had gotten good at that over time. Ever since awakening, her ability to read emotions had only grown sharper. It helped her understand people, even when they said nothing at all.
That's why she knew Jay was nervous.
And also why she knew he'd be fine.
But Jin… Jin was different.
She could read everyone now. Their expressions, their hearts. But Jin—Jin wore a mask even she couldn't see through. Even though he had smiled in the carriage, she knew it was an act. Yet that mystery didn't bother her. In fact, it fascinated her.
In a world where people's feelings were now open books to her… Jin remained a closed one.
And in a strange way, she was glad to have met him.
***
Jin stepped into the church.
Light streamed through stained glass high above, casting fractured hues across the floor—scenes of sanctity, of divine grace. There, immortalized in painted glass, was the Merciful Mother: her benevolent gaze pouring warmth and comfort upon the world, her arms extended in eternal embrace.
'A lie.'
That word echoed in Jin's mind like a whisper inside a tomb.
He drifted silently toward the inspector, toward the heart of the scene. Of horror. Of blasphemy.
It was a tableau of death so vile, so carefully orchestrated, that even the sacred air of the church recoiled from it. The scent of incense barely masked the coppery stench of blood. For others, it would have been unbearable.
But Jin had seen worse. Far worse.
So he stood still, unflinching—his crimson eyes cold and analytical.
There were two corpses. Women. Or what remained of them.
Their skin had been flayed with clinical precision—peeled away without damaging the muscle beneath. Naked, raw, and yet disturbingly intact. Their breasts, buttocks, and faces had been left untouched—preserved. Their faces had even been painted, adorned with makeup to invoke a divine aesthetic. A grotesque parody of holiness.
'They looked like mothers.'
No—new mothers. The tender curve of their bellies had been bloated, swollen unnaturally, suggesting pregnancy. Their cheeks were gently rouged, lips painted in maternal softness, yet it was all a mockery.
Their eyes had been gouged out, blood crusted around the hollow sockets.
Jewelry glinted on their fingers, around their necks, and on their bellies. And each wore a golden crown.
They were posed together in a twisted embrace—limbs entangled, mouths parted in expressions that mimicked ecstasy. A desecration masked in beauty. It wasn't just murder.
It was a statement.
Jin's gaze lingered, thoughtful, detached. He was beginning to understand.
'They tried to recreate the Merciful Mother,' he thought. 'But not to honor her—to insult her. To reduce her divinity to flesh and impulse.'
The symbolism was unmistakable.
The Merciful Mother, a figure of divine femininity, was always portrayed as nurturing, fertile, and holy. Her teachings upheld the sanctity of the bond between man and woman. Motherhood was sacred. Pregnancy, revered.
The killer had taken those elements and twisted them into an abomination.
Flaying the skin suggested the transcendence of the divine—stripping away the human shell to expose the sanctified flesh beneath. Leaving the breasts and hips intact preserved the femininity—the symbols of fertility.
The makeup, the crowns… it was worship in the form of mockery.
And then—their positioning. Entwined as lovers. Two women.
A direct violation of the Church's strict doctrine on carnal purity. A deliberate profanation.
Jin narrowed his eyes.
"But why blind them?"
That detail disturbed him most.
The eyes—the windows of the soul—ripped out.
It wasn't just violence. It was philosophical.
'Perhaps… to suggest that faith is blind.'
He clenched his jaw slightly.
'Or that the Merciful Mother herself… sees nothing. That she allows this world to rot beneath her gaze, and turns away. Merciful? No. Indifferent.'
He stepped closer, the faint echo of his footfall swallowed by the heavy silence.
The truth was forming, thick and terrible in the air. This wasn't just a crime scene.
It was a message. A sermon.
Delivered not in scripture, but in suffering.
But the most unsettling part was this—there were no shadows cast by the victims.