One thing about him was clear—he love's mystery.
Not the kind in novels or puzzles, but the raw, bleeding kind that lived in real people.
Mystery is his drug, his obsession. That was why becoming a detective wasn't a choice.
It was inevitable.
His Code name Solved.
He strolled down the neon-soaked streets of Tokyo, rolling the cigar between weathered fingers before bringing it to his lips.
The old wound on his knuckle—a memento from his first case, a rookie mistake—gleamed under flickering streetlights.
Rain misted the air, mingling with smoke as he exhaled, the ritual grounding him, narrowing his world to the case at hand.
Six bodies. Six locations. Identical scars.
The simplicity gnawed at him. Cases this clean were rarely what they seemed.
He stopped before a old apartment building, its walls scarred with grime and time.
Drawing a slow breath, he muttered, "Same scar, same killer. Too neat." His eyes glinted with a familiar hunger—not for answers, but for the moment a lie cracked open.
He climbed the stairs to apartment 32, steps deliberate, boots echoing in the dim hall. Two sharp knocks.
"Who's there?" A voice, young and unsteady, came through the door.
Solved stayed silent, letting the pause stretch.
The door creaked open, revealing a hooded figure with sharp, wary eyes.
"How may I help—" the man started.
"Got the stuff?" Solved cut in, voice low, gaze piercing.
The man stiffened, pupils dilating.
Fear, Solved noted.
Not surprise.
Reading people was second nature. The academy taught him micro-expressions, but Shibuya's alleys honed it—where missing a twitch meant a blade in the gut.
Three years hunting killers had taught him everyone broke. You just needed the right lever.
"Who the hell are you?" the man snapped, voice pitching high.
"Keep calm, Jason," Solved said, as if the name were casual gossip.
Jason's breath hitched. His hand jerked toward his pocket.
"How do you know my name?"
Solved stepped forward, his frame filling the doorway, brushing past without invitation.
He didn't ask permission—he didn't need to. The room was his now.
It reeked of bleach, undercut by stale cigarette smoke. Shoes cluttered the entry, one pair darker—stained, despite scrubbing.
A heavy jacket hung alone, its bulk hiding something in the lining.
Solved's eyes cataloged it all in seconds, then locked on Jason. "Put the knife away.
Stainless steel, eight inches. Sharp enough to cut, dull enough to tear scars."
Jason paled, hand frozen mid-reach. "What—what knife?"
"Six bodies. Same scar, same angle." Solved's voice was calm, relentless. "You strike left-handed, but your right shoulder twitches—a tell from an old injury.
That's why the cuts are ragged. That's why it's you."
Jason backed up, sweat beading. "You're insane—I didn't—"
"Bleach doesn't erase memory, Jason." Solved nodded at the scrubbed tiles. "The cleanest spot in this dump is where she died.
You see her face every night, don't you? That's why you smoke—to blur her out."
Jason's knees buckled. His eyes darted, hunting escape.
"You don't know—"
"I know you didn't mean to start," Solved cut in, voice dropping to a hypnotic whisper.
"But you couldn't stop. One kill became six. Guilt's heavy, but relief is heavier, isn't it? Knowing someone would catch you."
Jason's lips quivered, tears welling. He shook his head, but the fight was draining.
"Say it," Solved pressed, voice sharp now, unyielding.
"I—I did it," Jason whispered, collapsing to his knees. "I killed them."
Solved's smile was thin, cold. He tapped ash onto the floor. "Case closed."
Sirens wailed faintly outside, summoned by Solved's earlier call. Always two steps ahead.
He turned to the window, rain streaking the glass, city lights blurring through smoke. Justice felt hollow tonight.
Why does it feel like I'm missing something?
The stairwell was dark as Solved descended, the weight of the case settling like damp rot.
Then a glint—eyes in the shadows. Not one pair, but two.
He froze, hand hovering near his coat. He'd known this day would come. A detective who solved every case, who dug too deep, made enemies. Not just criminals, but the corrupt who thrived on buried truths.
Two figures stepped forward: Alfredo, lean and sharp in an Italian suit, and Takashi, hand resting inside his jacket. "Problem solvers," they called themselves.
Solved knew them from grainy surveillance—fixers for those who paid to keep cases cold.
"Detective Solved," Alfredo said, voice smooth with a faint accent. "You're too good at your job."
"Too good," Takashi echoed, eyes hard.
"Morrison case. Yamamoto's disappearance. The warehouse murders. All tied to names that don't like light."
Solved took a drag, smoke curling between them. "You're saying I got too close."
"You got too close to everything," Alfredo said, stepping forward. "Some mysteries stay buried, Detective."
"Not my style."
Takashi's pistol glinted, silenced and steady.
"Then your story ends here."
The first bullet tore into Solved's chest, slamming him against the wall. The second grazed his shoulder. He slid down, cigar falling, its ember glowing in the dark.
"Nothing personal," Alfredo said, crouching. "Just business."
As blood pooled, Solved's thoughts sharpened. They're tying up loose ends. But whose? Darkness crept in, and his last thought was bitter clarity: truth always had a price.
Consciousness returned like a slow tide. Not pain, not panic—just warmth, pulsing, alive.
Solved opened his eyes to… nothing. No body, no ground. Just endless space, glowing with threads of light weaving like a cosmic library.
[WELCOME, DETECTIVE SOLVED
]
Words shimmered before him, elegant, impossible.
"What the hell?" His voice echoed without a throat.
[YOU ARE CHOSEN: ENIGMA SEED VESSEL]
[INVESTIGATION: EXCEPTIONAL]
[DEDUCTION: UNWAVERING]
[TRUTH-SEEKING: ABSOLUTE]
Windows bloomed—medieval cities with glowing runes, shadowed figures, mysteries pulsing like heartbeats.
[VALAMORE CALLS FOR A DETECTIVE]
[CRIMES BEYOND MORTAL LAW DEMAND JUSTICE]
[ACCEPT THE CALLING? Y/N]
Solved would've laughed if he could. Isekai systems, straight out of late-night novels. But this was real.
"New world, new cases, new rules?" he asked the void.
[ACCURATE. ENIGMA SYSTEM ABILITIES PROPORTINAL TO MYSTERIES SOLVED.]
[EACH CASE CLOSED INCREASE YOUR POWER.]
[EACH TRUTH UNCOVERED, BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO ULTIMATE UNDERSTANDING.]
"And if I say no?"
[ETERNAL REST. NO MYSTERIES. NO TRUTH.]
Silence wasn't his drug. Tokyo's unsolved cases—Yamamoto, the warehouse—gnawed at him. And Valamore promised something his world never could: a chance to chase truth without corrupt hands pulling strings.
"Hell yes," he said. "Show me what you've got, Valamore."
[CHOICE CONFIRMED]
[TRANSFER INITIATING…]
[WELCOME TO VALAMORE]
[FIRST CASE AWAITS]
Light flared, and a window appeared:
[DETECTIVE: SOLVED]
[LEVEL 1 TRUTH SEEKER : ( 0/50 EXP) ]
[INVESTIGATION: 18]
[DEDUCTION: 20]
[INTUITION: 15]
[AUTHORITY: 5]
[COMBAT: 8]
[SPECIAL ABILITY: PSYCHOLOGICAL PRESSURE]
[PASSIVE SKILL: TRUTH SIGHT]
Sensation returned—flesh, weight, breath. Solved opened his eyes to a new world, where mysteries waited like old friends.