Bam!
The trapdoor burst open in urgency, knocking over the chair to one side. "Oh my, what's all this about?" one of the three asked as he grabbed the rim of the reception desk for support. "No idea," another said, emerging from the same door built inside the reception ground.
Facade, who was squeezed inside the cupboard of the display desk, grimaced at his weird decisions.
Wh—What exactly am I doing here!?
He had never planned to hide; instead, was almost ready to act as if he were under assault. But when the trapdoor was on the brink of opening, his hands unconsciously flung open the cupboard and he impulsively wedged himself into a tight space.
"Jane, something doesn't seem right," a man with blonde hair remarked as he exited the interior of the counter, crouching through the narrowed corridor to stroke the smashed ceramics.
"Don't know. But hey, Mike, don'tcha think Facade is late?" Jane contracted his black-pitched eyes at Mike.
I'm somehow...right here.
Though vanished from the scene, Facade was still listening to the murmurs echoing inside the bakery. "B-But what about our escort? The Forces will find this route in no time!" a faltered voice bounced in Facade's ear.
"I know, you dimwit! Just get out of there already!" Mike snapped as he sprung up from duck-down stance. Watson, on the other hand, struggled to leap out of the small exit due to his obesity. "I'm trying..."
"And what the hell do we do if Facade isn't here yet?" Mike deliberated in frustration, completely ignoring Watson from page.
"Probably wait~" Jack retorted, puffing in a playful manner as he swirled halfway. However, his minute reaction set Mike on wildfire. "What are you smiling about, huh!?" He growled.
"G-Guys" Watson forced himself into the brewing clash, trying his best to avoid a commotion. "This isn't the time to fight, you know?"
Man, they're nuts alright.
Facade commented his junior's reaction, breaths still heavy from recent measures. He was already baffled by what he did to overcome the worst possibility, the same that he had never considered in the first place.
What if the Forces invade the house of the Patriarch instead of the mining area?
The thought had flashed at the tipping point when Facade was left with couple of seconds, just before the emergence of the three minions. Lack of time pressured him to act absentmindedly earlier, cornering him into many loopholes as he withdrew from his own setting.
But how did Facade assume that the Patriarch's house would be invaded unannounced?
The opinion would have passed before his intellect if given some deliberation on the possible outcomes.
The head of the Mundand Family was involved in black marketing, which ultimately labeled him as a suspicious fellow in the Mansion's record. However, to erase the chance of the Patriarch being just a prestigious figure in the Forces' log, wasn't all assured.
Facade knew that the competition between the Forces and the Mansion was on scale. The more they evolved, the more the Forces passed orders. Even though the institution built to regulate principles was supposed to tag Mansion as the root of all corruption, they still remained silent, fearing their voices could perish if they announced the fact in public.
The reason behind the diplomacy was already carved in stone, the very factor that made the Forces prevent declaring a war against the Mansion.
King Forter Laurae.
He, the ruler of the vast kingdom, backed the Mansion for years, stating that if it were to be annihilated, the state would lose its defensive assets rich in both intel and physical capabilities. But supporting the tainted system didn't mean that he disregard the Forces in any sense, granting their rights to eliminate any threat to the kingdom's land. To sum up, direct conflict with the Mansion only meant opposing the King himself.
While the motives behind King Forter's decision stayed concealed behind curtains, Facade could tell Hood had his own margin of schemes with the King.
The Forces sure took a turnabout, though.
He elaborated on his final analysis, certain that the Forces had intel about the Patriarch which, somehow, intersected with the mining conflict.
Well, the thing is... that's so out of question. How the hell did the Forces know it was Mundand Family who staged an illegal mining!? I never told them that!
That's ridiculous!
Even though he tried his best to make sense of the reasoning behind the third cut-out preference, it didn't comfort his unsettled inquiries.
"Tsk... don't talk if you can't be reasonable." Mike opened his mouth at last, marking Watson's words in reluctant regard. "But really," he continued, "the chaos here is too odd. Not forgetting the fact that Facade, a punctual jerk, isn't here."
Jerk!?
The piety that blanketed Facade's uncertain thoughts was whipped back to its normal shape. He narrowed his eyes at the wooden slate opposite to him, pressing both feet upon it as he fumed with frustration.
"Well..." Jane, who had only responded with his blissful smile, dropped his cool at last. "That is concerning in many ways." He heaved a sigh as he bent his hands at his waist. "I—I s that what we should be thinking now?" Watson furrowed from the unexpected turn of topic. Mike and Jane simultaneously turned their heads to Watson's way, attentive as they waited for him to elaborate.
"Like, we should be more worried about what if the Forces find the exit route." He pointed at the toppled chair, directing his focus on the flushed trapdoor beneath its legs. "Even worse," he retreated his trembling finger to his side, "what if they capture us? What would happen then?"
"We'll be doomed, alright." Mike concluded as he bit his upper lip in tension. "Yes, better fly off the small bakery. I don't want to die yet." Jane's remarks were off track, so neither Mike nor Watson considered them in any sense.
"Tsk... we can't risk going outside without Facade. Dan won't overlook that. So the last thing we can do is wait. And that's a damn thing to do right now!" Several pages and fragments of porcelain hit the display desk when Mike kicked the mess, resenting to be a selected candidate of operation EAR.
Click, Clank!
The splinters spread with a light tinkle, bouncing back onto the flat flooring. Facade turned his head to the cupboard door, gulping at the embarrassment he would face if he were revealed somehow.
Jane, on the other hand, darted at the ire building inside Mike, letting him go berserk on the pitiful wreckage all over the ground.
Heh. He's jealous of Watson, alright.
He mocked inside, knowing well what was lurking in Mike's mind. The duo of Jane and Mike was famous as "Gutter Rats" in the Mansion, those who could reach unapproachable corners with success. Just because every other junior subordinates were grouped into three, Gutter rats had to bear a total stranger on their side to complete the mission. Jane was fine either way, but Mike's ego was brutally crushed when he was told their third companion was a member of Crimson society.
Those witty brained Crimson's...Hood could have assigned a fellow from Lilac. Or-Or maybe Teal, that would be alright too. But Watson out of all? That's crap.
Mike grumbled in his mental space, totally aware that Dan purposely dumped him into a dreadful experience. Though, he disliked the whole society of Crimsons, Watson had made a special lace in Mike's reputation, knotting it over and over alone with his presence. The difference was, Watson never realized that his spot-on corrections inflicted rage upon a random fellow of Eigengrau society.
He can't bear a third person besides us. How sweet~
In contrary to Mike's provoked thinking, Jan's private remarks were far from actual situation. He comprehended his own section of ideas, falling upon the impression that Mike wanted to retain the title alone with Jane. His deluded explanation left him with a compressed smile, taking pleasure in the calamity taking inside his companion's chest.
Tap...Top...
Steps resounded the cramped bakery when Watson approached the display desk. Facade fidgeted a bit in reflex, enough to flatten his folded back against an empty space beneath. He could have clicked his tongue if he wasn't the one hiding. Instead, he made a regretful look, fingers knotting in his grey hair. I could've done the same thing by not coming on time. That's so foolish of me. He finally began to regret his own actions.
"I don't know why, but do you guys feel like... like there's been a commotion here or something?" Watson interrupted Facade's deadpan emotions, his focus shifting once more to the conversation. "Maybe a staged setting?" Watson added, voice crystal clear to the arched Facade.
Just shut your precise conclusions, Mister Watson!
Facade never took in account that the fellow joining the Gutter Rats was an underling of Crimson society. Even now, he had failed to recall details about Watson's association.
"Staged?" Mike, who was standing an inch away from a short-statured figure, inquired.
"T-The condition of the room is before your eyes; it seems like someone had a face-to-face fight inside the bakery." Watson eyed the two fellows standing on the opposite side, swiping his gaze at both. His forehead was plastered with beads of sweat, to an extent that his black hair was clumped into sharp spikes.
"Then, could it be possible that Facade had been here and..." Jane stood behind Mike, palms clutching the rounded bridge of the counter as he spoke. "And something happened?" He shrugged his shoulders to mark a full stop.
"Could be." Watson wrapped up the entire situation in two words. Even though he was clever enough to dig the core of disturbance, insufficiency of Facade's hidden qualities held him from passing certain deductions.
"Anyways," Mike refocused on the current scenario. "Jane. Block the trapdo—" But he suddenly paused mid-sentence, his pitch gradually dropping into muteness.
"What?" Jane asked as he turned his head to Mike's frowning face. His eyes continuously contracted and dilated at the collapsed chair, engulfing smile adding more to his strange behavior.
"W-What? Why have you dropped silent?" Jane further inquired Mike's eerie attitude but got no response out of staring. He eyed Watson in confusion before whipping his gaze to the chair in perplexity, wondering why Mike was darting at the stumbled chair. Watson did the same.
"Wait a sec..." Mike faltered, his sharp eyes narrowing in ponderance. "Just spit it out already!" Jane locked his curious brows, hissing when Mike threw another layer of stress between the two, including the eavesdropping Facade.
"Shut up! I'm tryna make sense here." Mike snarled, replaying his train of thoughts back again. Jane was taken aback by his reply, almost puzzled to see Mike speculating to such magnitude. Don't tell me, he accidentally found a lead? He tossed out his guess, still unsure if it could actually happen.
"Trying to make sense?" Watson's mouth hung open in amazement when he heard the phrase. Has Mike already solved the case before me!? He examined Mike's expressions, shocked to witness someone exceeding in interpretations besides him.
He's a duffer. Can't get it whole. Facade, who was sullied by being trapped in one place, remarked with certainty.
"Facade couldn't be—"
Slam!
The main door snapped open before Mike could say anything, its transparency made the frozen clock trip on the wooden ledge attached high on the dusty wall. Fine crockeries which were arranged with measurement on the ledge, plummeted sequentially on the ground.
The shards drizzled through the air as they landed, covering the whole area in glinting bits. Watson ducked within seconds, hands shielding his round face. Jane rolled over the counter into its interior, misinterpreting the shatters as pistol fire. Mike, odd between them all, froze beneath the shards of plain glass, stunned as he opened the cupboard of the display desk.