Chapter 6: The Pattern Hunter

  [Vigo – Oweis’s Apartment / 3:00 AM]

  The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the low hum of the laptop fan and the rhythmic, hollow clicks of the mouse. The blue light bleeding from the screen reflected off Oweis’s pale face, turning his weary eyes into two points of polished glass.

  Oweis closed the fiftieth tab of his search for the "History of Magic Performances in Spain." He rubbed his face violently, muttering in a raspy voice, "Slight of hand... optical illusions... sensory deception... it’s all the same garbage."

  He returned to the digital flyer for the Barcelona show. He scrutinized the words written in a simple, almost primitive font—nothing like the flashy excess of a circus ad: "The Challenge of the Glitch: Do you trust your perception?"

  He opened a search engine again, comparing. Most famous shows thrived on dazzling the senses; this one spoke of a "glitch." That specific word made his pulse skip. It was the same word he used to describe what happened to him in the countryside, with the television, and with the erratic flicker of the traffic lights.

  "Why this word?" he asked himself. "Why now? And on top of that, an anonymous show with no history of previous organizers, offering a cash prize so large it was practically a confession of suspicion."

  He leaned forward, cradling his head in his palms. The truth he had been dodging wasn’t about greed. Going to Barcelona was a "calibration." He wasn't sure if it was the right decision or just a desperate escape from an apartment that had begun to shrink around him until he could barely breathe. Yet, he preferred to give it a comfortable name: a "rational cause." Confronting the truth was far heavier than the journey itself.

  For a few seconds, he considered closing the laptop and sleeping. Ignoring the ad. Ignoring everything. It was a simple, comforting thought. But his hand didn't move.

  [One Hour Later – Phone Calls]

  Oweis picked up his phone and dialed Adrian.

  "Adrian... are you awake?"

  "Oweis?" a drowsy voice answered. "Is 4:00 AM your favorite time for a chat?"

  "The show in Barcelona... I’m going. The prize is ten thousand dollars."

  The voice suddenly sharpened. "Ten thousand? Are you serious? But how? Matthias’s car barely survives the commute to campus, and Barcelona is on the other side of the country!"

  "I’ll convince Matthias. Just tell me you’re in."

  "Of course I’m in! For ten thousand dollars, I’d walk there."

  Oweis hung up and called Matthias.

  "Matthias, I’m going to Barcelona tomorrow. I need your car, and I need you."

  Matthias’s voice was sober. "Oweis, you know my car is a 2015 model; she doesn't like long hauls these days. Besides, the show sounds shady. Stay here and study."

  "I have to go, Matthias. I need to see something there."

  Silence hung for a few seconds before Matthias hung up with a single word: "Good luck."

  [One Hour Before the Journey – Outside the Building]

  Oweis and Adrian stood on the curb. Adrian was scrolling through bus tickets on his phone with a scowl. "Ten hours on a bus, Oweis. Our backs will be done before we even see Barcelona. I wish Matthias hadn't been so stubborn about the car."

  "He wouldn't risk his car for a trip like this," Oweis replied, watching the road. "He’s right... the whole thing sounds insane."

  At that moment, Matthias’s car appeared in the distance. The engine groaned to a halt beside them. Matthias stepped out, his face pale from lack of sleep. He didn't smile; he walked straight to the trunk and popped it open.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "Put your bags in. Quickly."

  Matthias stood still, staring at the road for a moment too long. "The idea is stupid," he finally said. "And the show is suspicious. But letting you go alone is even stupider. I thought about it... ten hours on a bus is a nightmare. And frankly, it doesn't seem right for you to travel all that way for a mysterious show just because Adrian is excited. If you're both hell-bent on going, I’m driving. At least I can guarantee we get there and back in one piece."

  Adrian grinned. "I knew you had a heart of gold, man!"

  "Shut up and get in the back," Matthias snapped coldly. "And don't touch the radio."

  [Barcelona – Maver Holmer’s Office / Evening]

  Amidst mountains of paper files and screens displaying heat maps of the "Traviesas" district, Maver Holmer sat in total silence. He wasn't a conventional investigator chasing fingerprints; he was a Pattern Hunter.

  For the past 48 hours, Maver had been drowning in anomalies: simultaneous suicides, sudden resignations, and the unexplained social withdrawal of the district’s residents. The patterns were blurry—each indicator seemed isolated.

  He held a small slip of paper between his fingers. "Nothing seems connected," he whispered to himself. "Or perhaps I just haven't seen the full picture yet." He glanced at the screen. "There is a thread tying them together... something that evades explanation."

  Maver hated the word "coincidence." To him, every file was proof that someone, somewhere, had pulled a string in an invisible place. His train of thought was broken by his phone. It was Professor Karl.

  "Maver... we’re in Barcelona. We just reached the hotel."

  "Welcome, Karl. How is Hanser?"

  "Stable, but distant. Are you ready to meet us?"

  "Of course. But before that... there’s something I want you to see. I’ll send you the location of a quiet cafe near Pla?a de Catalunya. There’s a matter I want to discuss away from the medical files."

  [The Cafe – One Hour Later]

  Outside, the city’s hustle flowed in a muted roar, while the interior of the cafe felt severed from the world by an invisible layer of glass. Maver sat opposite Karl and Hanser. He placed a local newspaper clipping on the table, then pivoted his tablet to display an ad with a stark, nearly empty white background.

  "The show is tomorrow, here in Barcelona," Maver said, his eyes tracking their reactions. "The organizers are offering a massive prize to whoever detects… the glitch… in their main act."

  He paused for a heartbeat, as if weighing the word in his own mind.

  Karl offered a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maver, we are here for Hanser’s memory. We traveled hundreds of kilometers to understand what is happening inside his head, not to watch circus acts."

  "Does memory work the same way… every time?" Maver asked, never looking away from the ad.

  Karl raised an eyebrow. "What are you implying?"

  Maver lowered his voice. "I mean… does he always remember things the same way? Or is there a—" He stopped, nudging the tablet slightly toward them. "—a glitch?"

  Karl exhaled, leaning back into his chair. "You’re overthinking it. s are always hunting for a different way to grab attention."

  "Exactly," Maver countered. "But usually, they try to convince you." He pointed a finger at the screen. "This ad doesn't convince. It doesn't explain. It promises nothing. It simply… points."

  A brief silence followed. In the background, the clink of porcelain and a distant laugh drifted through the air.

  "Maver, your curiosity is understandable, but it's dangerous," Karl said, his tone softer yet firmer. "I don't want us wasting time on the peripheral when the core—"

  "And who said this was peripheral?" Maver interrupted, looking him dead in the eye. Then he added, as if correcting himself: "Sometimes, logic fails to see the full picture. Sometimes… logic is part of the problem."

  He turned his gaze toward Hanser. The Professor was slowly stirring his coffee in circular motions—a repetitive, rhythm-less act.

  "Professor Hanser?" Maver waited. "What do you think?"

  Hanser finally lifted his eyes. He looked at the clipping, then the screen, then back at his spoon.

  "Detect the glitch in a trick…" He repeated the phrase, slower this time. "A trick…"

  A ghostly smile appeared on his face, devoid of irony. "My entire life has become a trick." He paused. "Or… perhaps the glitch isn't in the trick, but in…"

  He left the sentence hanging.

  He looked back at Maver. "I cannot determine where the glitch begins, Mr. Holmer. Sometimes I feel it starts before I even notice its presence." He shook his head slightly. "And I have no energy to sit in a hall, searching for a hidden thread… when the thread—"

  He fell silent again, letting the spoon drop into the cup.

  In a lower voice, he added: "What I truly fear… isn't finding a glitch." He took a deep breath. "It’s seeing it… and being unable to stop seeing it afterward."

  Silence returned. Karl didn't intervene this time.

  "Go, if you wish," Hanser said finally. "I’ll walk through the city. The old streets… they repeat, but they don't deceive me. Perhaps the scent of paper, or the sound of the harbor… will wake something. Or not." He shrugged. "I’ll head back to the hotel later."

  Karl looked at Maver, then at Hanser. He remained silent for two seconds longer than necessary.

  "Fine," Karl said. "I’ll accompany you, Maver." He stopped before finishing: "Not because I’m convinced… but because I want to understand why this… 'glitch'… matters so much to you."

  That night, Barcelona prepared for a simple performance. As for the three of them, they left the cafe without a clear agreement, each carrying a different interpretation of what had been said… and what had been left unspoken.

  To be continued...