The Sunset Inn, a cozy establishment tucked away in the quieter residential mid-level of Azul Spira, should have been a haven of calm amidst the city’s rising festive energy. Its warm, wooden facade, painted in hues that mimicked the gentle gradient of a Spican sunset, usually promised weary travelers a moment of peaceful respite. But today, that promise was utterly broken.
The inn’s normally quiet courtyard was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Bob’s booming voice, usually a sound of infectious cheer, now held the sharp, urgent edge of a commander marshalling his troops for battle.
“Men! Check the wares and goods! Make sure they are properly counted!” he shouted, his massive frame a whirlwind of motion as he directed his crew. Crates stamped with the familiar yak insignia were being rapidly loaded onto handcarts, their contents—rare spices, fine silks, and exotic fruits—checked and double-checked against long parchment lists. “We need to be ready today! Anymore delay and we will lose the window!”
“Oughhhh!” The crew responded with a unified, determined roar, their movements quickening under the weight of their leader’s urgency. The air buzzed not just with the usual pre-departure bustle, but with a new, palpable tension.
Into this scene of frantic preparation walked Yukari and Raito. They had finally made their way from Fifi’s opulent, if slightly traumatizing, mansion, their steps light, their hands intertwined, a quiet, easy peace settled between them after the chaos of the previous day. But the sight that greeted them at the Sunset Inn immediately shattered that fragile tranquility.
“We took care of our lodgings…. Hmm…. What is going on, Bob?” Yukari asked, her voice cutting through the din, her brow furrowed with confusion as she navigated through the bustling crew members towards the giant merchant. Raito followed close behind, his own expression mirroring hers.
“Oh! Kids! You’re here!” Bob turned, his face breaking into a wide, relieved grin, though the stressed lines around his eyes remained. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his massive hand. “Sorry, I’m a little busy right now, so please, ask Mila.” He gestured vaguely with his head towards a figure leaning stoically against the inn’s main archway before turning back to shout orders at a group struggling with a particularly large crate.
“Okay… that’s weird,” Yukari murmured, exchanging a look with Raito. Bob, usually so eager to share a story or a booming laugh, seemed genuinely preoccupied. They turned their attention to the figure by the archway. Mila stood perfectly still amidst the surrounding chaos, her arms crossed, her expression as unreadable as ever, a silent, watchful sentinel.
“Well then,” Yukari said, taking a step towards the mercenary, Raito following close behind. “What is going on, Mila?”
“Oh, that,” Mila replied, her voice the usual flat, deadpan monotone. She didn’t even turn her head, her gaze still fixed on the chaotic ballet of Bob’s crew. “That’s just Master’s game face.”
“Game face?” Yukari echoed, confused.
“It’s how he always is when he can sense profit,” Mila explained, finally turning to face them, though her expression remained impassive. “Something about a merchant’s instinct.”
“Still don’t understand what that means,” Raito commented, scratching his head.
Mila let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, the sound barely audible over the surrounding bustle. “Basically,” she began, her tone shifting slightly, becoming slower, more deliberate, as if explaining a complex equation to a particularly dense child, “Grand Play equals more tourists. More tourists equal more consumers. More consumers equal more money. More money equals more profit.” She looked from Raito’s still-confused face to Yukari’s, a silent question in her eyes.
“Ah,” Raito said, a slow dawning of comprehension spreading across his face. “Make sense.”
“So, anything we can help with?” Yukari asked, turning her gaze back towards the whirlwind of activity surrounding Bob.
“That, you’ll have to ask him,” Mila replied, gesturing with her chin back towards the giant merchant. “I’m just here for his protection.”
“No need!” Bob’s voice boomed, cutting through their quiet conversation. He had apparently overheard them, even amidst the chaos. He walked over, effortlessly lifting multiple heavy crates of supplies as if they were filled with feathers, his earlier stressed expression now replaced by his usual, beaming grin. “We already have a temporary shop set up in the lower level market! Just come by anytime you want.” He paused, his eyes twinkling as he reached into the pocket of his vest. “And don’t misplace your VIP tickets, the play starts in less than a weeks time,” he added.
“But Bob,” Raito protested, his earlier offer of help now feeling even more necessary. “You already brought us here as part of your caravan. It feels bad to just leave you while you’re so busy.”
“It’s alright, kids,” Bob insisted, his smile unwavering, though his eyes held a firm, seriousness. He gently pressed his hand on raito’s shoulder. “Just enjoy your vacation. There will be plenty of time to help me later. I insist.”
Raito and Yukari let out a simultaneous exhale, a shared sigh of weary resignation. Bob, when he got that determined look in his eye, was about as easy to argue with as a mountain. “Fine,” Raito relented, a small, grateful smile touching his lips. “Don’t overwork yourself, Bob.”
“Not with her by my side,” Bob chuckled, his booming laughter returning as he gestured with his head towards Mila, who just rolled her eyes, though the corner of her own mouth twitched slightly. “She won’t even let me overwork for a second.”
Raito and Yukari shared a smile. “Alright then,” Raito said, offering the giant merchant a wave. “We’ll just be walking around. See you later, Bob!”
“Yeah, stay safe, you two!” Bob called after them as they turned and began to walk away from the bustling courtyard, leaving the chaos of commerce behind them.
“Oh, before we go,” Raito suddenly said, stopping just before they reached the archway. He turned back, his gaze finding the small, temporary stable where Tama was patiently munching on a large bale of hay. “See you later, Tama!” he called out, giving the massive yak a cheerful wave.
Hooh.
A low, soft sound rumbled from the yak’s chest, a sound that was less a grunt and more a quiet, contented sigh. Tama lifted her head for a moment, her large, dark eyes blinking slowly as she seemed to regard Raito with a calm, almost knowing patience, before returning to her meal.
“She understands us?” Yukari asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and genuine bewilderment as she looked from the yak back to Raito.
“Considering Bob treats her like his prized possession,” Raito replied with a shrug, though a fond smile was on his face. “I think so.”
He turned back, his earlier smile returning as he offered Yukari his arm once more. She took it, a matching smile on her own face, and together, they finally stepped out of the inn’s courtyard.
The moment they stepped out of the inn’s archway and back onto the quieter, sun-drenched pathways of the mid-level, a sense of quiet, almost disorienting freedom settled over them. Yukari glanced back at the retreating sounds of the busy inn, then turned to Raito, a familiar, slightly lost expression on her face.
“So… where to?” she asked, her voice a quiet, almost whimsical thing. “We are guideless and Bobless.”
Raito followed her gaze, looking first down the winding, water-lined path that led back towards the chaotic lower level, and then upwards, towards the elegant, soaring architecture of the city’s highest tier. A slow, adventurous grin spread across his face.
“Well,” he said, his eyes glinting with a newfound, playful curiosity. “There is only one section we haven’t explored left.” He turned his head, his gaze fixed on the broad, sunlit road that spiraled upwards, leading towards the grand theaters, opulent villas, and unknown wonders of Azul Spira’s upper level. “Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm with a mock-formal bow.
Yukari nodded, a matching spark of adventure lighting up her silver eyes. She took his arm, her fingers linking through his. “Lead on, Mr. Knight,” she said, her voice laced with a teasing affection, a hint of Spica’s own dramatic flair coloring her tone.
They started walking, their steps light, their hands intertwined as they began their ascent up the spiraling canal roads towards the city’s highest peaks.
Moments later, they arrived. The upper level of Azul Spira unfolded before them, a breathtaking panorama of elegance, artistry, and a quiet, controlled grandeur that was a world away from the vibrant chaos below. The air here felt different—cleaner, quieter, carrying the faint, distant strains of orchestral music and the hushed murmurs of patrons moving between opulent venues.
The wide, sun-drenched canals still flowed upwards, but the banks were no longer lined with chaotic market stalls. Instead, gleaming white-stone buildings rose on either side, their facades adorned with intricate carvings, stained-glass windows, and balconies overflowing with vibrant, exotic flowers. These were the homes of Spica’s elite, the grand theaters, the exclusive art galleries, and the quiet, imposing structures of government. Guards in crisp, ceremonial uniforms stood at attention outside many doorways, their presence a subtle but constant reminder that this was a realm of order and privilege. The festive atmosphere was still palpable—banners depicting theatrical masks and musical notes fluttered from ornate lampposts—but it felt more curated, more watched, a performance in itself.
Stolen story; please report.
And at the very center of it all, dominating the skyline, stood the Sey Lanz Opera House. It was even more magnificent up close, a cathedral dedicated to the arts. Its sail-like rooftops, crafted from a material that shimmered like mother-of-pearl, seemed to catch the sunlight and scatter it in a dazzling, iridescent display. Intricate carvings of mermaids and sea serpents adorned its alabaster walls, and massive stained-glass windows depicted scenes from Spica’s most famous plays and operas. Tourists clustered near its grand, arched entrance, their cameras clicking, their faces a mixture of awe and reverence as they posed for pictures before the jewel of the city.
Hanging prominently above the main entrance, impossible to miss, was a massive, hand-painted banner. It depicted a woman with flowing blonde hair, her eyes sparkling, her smile a dazzling, captivating thing. Lily Pence. The face was instantly, undeniably recognizable.
“So,” Raito murmured, his gaze fixed on the banner, a knowing, almost weary smirk touching his lips as he nudged Yukari gently with his elbow. “There she is. Our esteemed tour guide.”
“Lily Pence, Spica’s biggest celebrity,” Yukari replied, her own voice a quiet mixture of amusement and grudging respect, playing along with his confirmation. “She really wasn’t kidding about being famous.” She shook her head, a small, incredulous smile on her face as she looked at the banner, then back at Raito. “Still, hiding in plain sight like that… it’s bold.”
“I personally don’t think she is hiding…” Raito countered, a thoughtful frown replacing his smirk. “More like… she wants us to be shocked, to flaunt.” He shrugged, the thought oddly fitting with the chaotic, confident energy of the girl they knew as Fifi. “So this is where we’ll watch the Grand Play?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the magnificent structure.
“Yes,” Yukari confirmed, her own eyes scanning the ornate facade. “Though I’m not sure myself what kind of performance we’ll see. Apparently, the contents change every year, and they keep it a closely guarded secret right up until opening night. Gives it an element of surprise. Or at least that is what the pamphlet in Fifi’s house said.”
“Any way to check inside?” Raito asked, craning his neck, trying to peek through the grand entrance.
“Let me ask someone,” Yukari said, her gaze landing on one of the guards standing rigidly by the main doors. She gave Raito’s hand a reassuring squeeze and began to walk towards him.
“Excuse me, sir,” Yukari began, her voice polite and friendly as she approached the guard, whose posture remained perfectly, almost unnaturally still. “We’re new here. Is this place not open to the public?”
The guard turned his head slowly, and a surprisingly gentle, almost warm smile broke through his stern, professional demeanor. “Oh, hello there, miss,” he said, his voice a pleasant, welcoming tenor. “Sorry, but usually you would be able to walk right inside. With the Grand Play just around the corner, though, everything inside is being kept under wraps. Top secret, you understand.” He noticed the faint look of disappointment on her face and his smile widened. “However,” he continued, leaning in slightly as if sharing a valuable piece of intel, “if you want to catch a glimpse, and perhaps meet someone rather special…” He winked, a quick, conspiratorial gesture, and nodded towards a large, ornately framed sign posted on an easel next to the main entrance.
Yukari and Raito followed his gaze. The sign was written in elegant, flowing script:
'Lily Pence Fan Meetup - Open to All Admirers! This Evening!'
“Ohh…” Raito murmured, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face as he exchanged a glance with Yukari. So, their esteemed tour guide had other performances scheduled.
“What’s wrong?” the guard asked, misinterpreting their subtle reaction for disinterest. “Not a big fan of Miss Lily? The Jewel of the Sea?” His voice was full of a genuine, almost wounded disbelief, as if questioning her very existence was a personal affront.
“Well…” Yukari began, choosing her words carefully, a familiar, exasperated fondness in her voice as she tapped a thoughtful finger against her chin. “Considering how she… squeaks… when she gets flustered, I don’t know.” The memory of Fifi's general tendency towards high-pitched panic under pressure was still quite vivid.
The guard just blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. The description didn't match the serene icon he knew. “Hmm… you two are pretty unique,” he commented, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear it. “Usually, people who come here are instantly captivated by her charm and charisma. She walks by us guards every morning, greets us, always has time for a kind word. She’s precious.” He puffed out his chest slightly, a proud, almost proprietary air about him. “I even have an autograph collection of hers.”
Yukari and Raito exchanged another silent, shared look, this time barely suppressing their amusement. The memory of Fifi’s chaotic energy, her dramatic pronouncements, her frantic search through trash cans, and her surprising vulnerability flashed through their minds. They tried their best to reconcile the image the guard was painting—this serene, beloved icon—with the whirlwind of a girl they had spent the last two days with. A small, shared giggle escaped Yukari’s lips before she quickly suppressed it, turning it into a polite cough.
“Well then,” she said, her voice regaining its polite, neutral tone, “we’ll just come back here later this evening. Perhaps,” she added, a subtle, teasing glint in her silver eyes that was lost on the earnest guard, “we’ll change our minds about her.”
“Also,” Raito interjected smoothly, his own expression now a mask of polite, touristy curiosity, “any recommendations for food around here, Mr. Guard?”
The guard laughed, a hearty, genuine sound that seemed to momentarily break his rigid posture. “Of course!” he said warmly. “If you two just turn right at the end of this plaza,” he gestured with a gloved hand towards a wide, sunlit avenue lined with smaller, elegant buildings, “there’s a food court just over there. The pasta… Chef Lorenzo’s special… it’s my personal recommendation.”
“Thanks, Mr. Guard,” Raito said, offering a grateful smile.
“Thank you,” Yukari added with a polite nod.
With a final, shared wave, the two runaways turned and began to walk away from the grand opera house, leaving the earnest, star-struck guard to his post, their own minds already buzzing with the promise of pasta and the impending, and undoubtedly chaotic, fan meetup.
As they began to walk again, heading down the wide avenue the guard had indicated, Raito suddenly stopped. His abrupt halt pulled Yukari up short, her hand, still intertwined with his, caught in his grip. “Hey!” she yelped, stumbling slightly. “Why did you suddenly stop?”
Raito didn’t answer. His mouth was slightly agape, his gaze fixed on a large, brightly colored sign hanging outside one of the elegant venues they were passing. Yukari followed his gaze, her own eyes widening slightly as she read the bold, dramatic script.
'Detective Shilook Huang and the Courageous Rubuudoo - Author Signing Today!'
Oh no, Yukari thought, her mind racing, a familiar sense of exasperated fondness washing over her. She knew exactly what was coming next.
Raito turned to her, his earlier casual demeanor completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated, and almost religious fervor. He dropped to his knees on the polished white stone of the avenue, ignoring the curious glances of the passersby.
“Please, please, please, please,” he pleaded, his voice a low, desperate, and utterly shameless whine. He clasped his hands together, his eyes wide and shining with the hopeful light of a true believer. “Can we? Can we, can we, can we?”
Yukari let out a long, slow sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Idiot, we’re in public,” she hissed, her voice a low murmur meant only for him. “Is it really worth dropping everything, including your dignity, for the author of that… that bumbling detective?”
“Excuse you!” Raito’s voice rose, the insult to his literary hero momentarily overriding his pleading. He scrambled back to his feet, his own eyes now blazing with a fierce, protective loyalty. “Shilook Huang is not a bumbling detective! He is an icon! He is sharp, smart, kind, charismatic, and always knows how to solve any problem! With his trusty canine companion Rubuudoo, he travels the globe solving mysteries! Not like that… that damsel in distress Lady Huanli or whatever her name is!” He punctuated the final insult with a pointed glare, conveniently forgetting that his own fiancée was the chairwoman of said damsel's fan club. “A fan like you would never understand!”
Oh… Yukari’s earlier exasperation ignited into a familiar, competitive fire. Her hand shot out, her fingers finding his cheek in a sharp, punishing pinch. “Well, unlike that bumbling detective,” she retorted, her voice a low, dangerous growl, “Lady Huanli is very much capable! She has uncovered more than a hundred ancient relics in her expeditions, with only her wit to accompany her! She adapts to various situations, takes down entire organizations that threaten to use those relics for evil! She is strong, and she escapes from any situation on her own, thank you very much!”
Raito yelped, his own hand immediately flying up to pinch her cheek in retaliation. “Nerd!” he accused, his voice muffled by her grip.
“Idiot!” she shot back, her own voice equally distorted.
Their small, private spat had, once again, unknowingly become a public spectacle. A small crowd of elegantly dressed Spicans had gathered, watching the two well-dressed tourists pinching each other’s cheeks in the middle of the grand avenue with a mixture of polite confusion and quiet amusement. This was, after all, Spica. A little drama was always welcome.
Suddenly, Yukari let go. Her hand dropped from his cheek, not with a sigh of defeat, but with a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Her expression, which had been a mask of fierce, competitive irritation, shifted instantly, her silver eyes widening with a dawning, incredulous light.
“You know what?” she said, her voice a low, almost stunned murmur. “I’ve changed my mind. We can go to that venue.”
Raito, still nursing his pinched cheek, lowered his own hand, his expression mirroring her earlier confusion. “Why the sudden change?” he asked, bewildered. Had his impassioned defense of Shilook Huang actually swayed her?
Yukari didn’t answer. She simply pointed, her finger trembling slightly, not with anger, but with a pure, unadulterated excitement that was a world away from her usual composed demeanor. Raito followed her gaze, his eyes landing on a second sign, smaller and slightly overshadowed by the first, but just as elegantly lettered, hanging right beside it.
'Lady Huanli and the Jewel of Youth - Author Signing Today!'
Oh… The single thought echoed in Raito’s mind, a quiet, profound understanding washing over him. Of course.
They looked at each other then, their earlier argument completely forgotten, replaced by a shared, silent, and utterly fervent agreement.
“After food,” they said in unison, the words a solemn vow.
And with that, their leisurely pace forgotten, they turned and began to march towards the food court with a new, fierce determination, their steps quick and purposeful, their minds now united by a single, sacred goal: pasta first, then autographs. They would not miss this signing for anything in the world. The blonde celebrity is nothing but an afterthought.
In another part of the city, however, far removed from the sunlit avenues and festive preparations, a different kind of story was unfolding, one steeped in shadow and the cold, metallic tang of fear. The air in the abandoned warehouse was thick with the smell of dust, decay, and something else… something sharp and coppery. Weak shafts of afternoon light pierced the grime-coated windows, illuminating a scene of quiet, brutal finality.
Mary, the kind-faced woman from the cafe, was bound tightly to a wooden chair, a rough gag silencing her choked sobs, tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks. Her eyes, wide with terror, were fixed on the figure who stood before her.
It was Emile. But the gentle, unassuming florist was gone. In his place stood something cold, something terrifyingly calm. His usual kind smile was absent, replaced by a mask of chilling indifference. In one hand, he held a man aloft, his grip impossibly tight around the unconscious figure's throat, the man's body hanging limp like a discarded puppet.
And behind Emile, a grotesque tableau lay sprawled across the dusty concrete floor. A heaping pile of bodies—more than a dozen men, clad in the same rough attire as the thugs who had visited the cafe—lay unconscious, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, their faces bloodied, their forms a silent testament to a swift and brutal confrontation.
The only question that hung heavy in the dust-filled air, more chilling than any scream, was what. What had transpired before this.
