To be honest, I didn’t understand what Goodman actually wanted at first. He went on for five straight minutes, rattling off instructions so convoluted they bordered on the grotesque—and I caught maybe seventy percent of it, thanks to my questionable English skills.

  That definitely wouldn’t do.

  “First of all, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’ve never done anything this complex before—especially something involving so many dimensions. Second, I only understand part of it, and understanding is just the first step before I can even use my Skill, so I can’t start right away.” I spoke nervously, hoping this fragile deal wouldn’t fall apart on the spot. “I’m sorry.”

  Goodman’s expression softened instead. “It’s alright. This isn’t something small. I can go over it again—however many times you need. A Skill this complex takes a lot out of you. You need to take it slow.”

  “So you want me to spend more time and make a single ‘piece’?” I recalled the first time I ever experimented with my Skill—back when I didn’t even know it had a name. “I have a better way.”

  This was the first time I’d ever discussed my Skill with someone else—and not just anyone, but a seasoned Hunter with deep experience and insight. I had a feeling this would be incredibly rewarding.

  I pulled an A4-sized notebook from my bag and handed it to Goodman along with a pen.

  “Your idea is very specific. It doesn’t sound like something you just came up with. You must’ve been working on it for quite some time. Can you tell me where the inspiration came from?”

  Goodman straightforwardly showed me a photo. It was so grainy it looked like it came from a century ago, speckled with noise. I had to zoom in and stare for quite a while. “Is this a map?”

  “A Collection used to find something. It looks and functions a lot like a map—you can think of it that way.” Goodman quickly sketched the map’s outline in the notebook and began filling in the details. “I need to do two things: pinpoint the last place she appeared, and determine her current... condition.”

  “The first issue is this: anything described purely through an image can’t be included. I’ll have to convert that part into something I can actually interpret—like Chinese, English, or binary. I’ve tried it. Emojis don’t work. Kaomoji aren’t accurate enough, though they can be used for reference.”

  My words made the two seasoned Hunters in the room simultaneously pause what they were doing and exchange a glance.

  “When exactly did you try that? How much have you done?”

  When I showed them the album on my tablet labeled “Experiments,” Rafe’s expression shifted to one of disbelief and horror.

  “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” His fingertips turned white as he swiped through thirty-one photos and two videos. “How the hell are you still alive?”

  “Thanks for your concern.” I tried twice to snatch the tablet back but failed, so I had no choice but to show Goodman the same photos from my phone gallery. “If you want to know what each slip of paper did, I can tell you—there’s no written documentation. The videos are just for my personal enjoyment. They record the ink-making process and how different pens perform. I got the inspiration from cult documentaries. Turns out the rituals themselves are useless—it's the blood that matters.”

  Goodman picked one photo and handed it to me, his expression dead serious. “Kid, be honest—how well does this one work?”

  Rafe immediately tossed aside the tablet and leaned over to see.

  “Good eye. That one’s my favorite.” I tore a piece of paper into the shape of a tetrahedron and used a glass pen dipped in blood to write the numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4. Then I typed out a block of text into my phone’s memo app and showed it to Goodman.

  In this system, a standard four-sided die (D4) is used to simulate the face-up side of a coin falling on a flat surface, using the bottom-facing number. After rolling the die, record the number that lands face-down. If the number is odd (1 or 3), the result is interpreted as the coin’s “heads” (numeric side) facing up; if even (2 or 4), it’s interpreted as “tails” (emblem side) facing up.

  “This is the simplest model. It only takes one coin to test, and twenty trials should be enough to verify the result’s stability.” I pulled a 20-cent coin out of a plastic film canister I used as a coin box.

  Goodman nodded and paused the video, eyes fixed on me as I wrote the rule on the back of the paper in small characters and secured it with tape.

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  “Be precise. The order of the throws affects the artifact’s lifespan. If you toss the coin first and then the die, you’ll get about thirty accurate results. Twenty if you throw them at the same time. But if you roll the die first and then toss the coin, you’ll only get four to five uses. It seems like influencing the result is a touchy business.” I pushed the die and coin over to Goodman. “Also, if the game you’re using it for has too high of a stake, it just won’t work—I tried using it to predict sports results, and it failed before it even hit the table.”

  “You’re overusing your Skill,” Rafe said, dragging me over to the couch. His hands hovered, unsure where to place them. I decided to save him the trouble by pressing his hands down onto his knees myself. Getting to experiment with my Skill alongside people with actual experience was such a novel and delightful feeling, I found myself being shockingly patient and even a little kind.

  “Relax. ‘Sample’ means it doesn’t place any extra burden on me—it’s like breathing or a heartbeat. And that threshold can be raised with practice, can’t it?”

  Rafe and Goodman exchanged the same serious, unreadable expression again, as if something absurd had just happened and I was the only one unaware of it. I hated that feeling.

  “Of course not,” Goodman said, placing the items on the table and looking at me gravely. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not feeling any side effects?”

  “I’m sure. Honestly, ever since I discovered my Skill, my mental state’s been better than ever—I feel happier every day, more productive, more motivated. It’s like I’m constantly riding a dopamine high.”

  I thought about my morning walks with Otto under the blue sky and was surprised to realize that I now managed to wake up and be fully alert before ten a.m.—something that used to be impossible for me.

  “Right. Increased action drive, huh…” Rafe narrowed his eyes. “So basically, you can do whatever you want now, can’t you?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t expect it to work so easily. You were just too weak.” I didn’t feel any guilt about what I’d done—only that Rafe was wasting valuable energy dwelling on the past instead of doing something useful.

  “This isn’t over.” Rafe wasn’t smiling at all, just curled his lips with a gloomy look. “Anyway, how are you planning to complete the whole design?”

  “If you think you’re going to embarrass me with this, then you’re incredibly naive.” I wasn’t getting any pleasure from emotionally tormenting Rafe—only frustration. “Polyhedral dice, academic-style references—if I can make a breakthrough with the materials and you give me enough time, I could pack an entire tabletop RPG into it.”

  But I really, really hate writing academic papers. Especially ones where a single logical misstep could lead to catastrophic consequences. Still, I didn’t think Goodman was going to hinge the whole operation on my Skill. He’d probably treat the blood-written artifact like an expired condom—stuff it into the deepest part of his luggage and never use it.

  So when Goodman started sketching diagrams and explaining the investigation sequence step-by-step, I just stood there, stunned.

  “Wait, hold on—what I meant was, I’m not confident I can actually pull something this complex off. That was just a theoretical possibility. And theory and reality are two very different things.” I finally found a chance to cut in, slowly positioning myself between Goodman and the shotgun propped in the corner.

  But that left my back facing the door, making any escape harder. I couldn’t handle both of them at once, and if things went south, my only hope was the shadow’s kiss mark on my hand—if I even had a chance to snap my fingers.

  I really didn’t want to drag Tuesday into this.

  “Kid, you have no idea what everything you’re doing right now actually means.” Goodman must’ve seen through my defensive posture. He pulled out a chair at the dining table, sat down, and tossed the crude paper die and coin onto the table.

  “Four. Tails up.”

  “And… you just used the last test.” I watched as the numbers on the paper burst into bright flames, leaving behind nothing but the tape that once held them together. “I don’t know what it means. So I’m not going to attempt something that dangerous.”

  There. I said it. I held my breath, bracing for whatever came next.

  Goodman suddenly chuckled. “What do you think this place is? No one’s allowed to start a fight here. Not even me.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’ll just let me say no, right?” I was already regretting ever dealing with Goodman. “Honestly, I don’t have the time to finish something this big. I’m sorry.”