?Graham pushed a glass door open and entered the control room.
The enormous, metallic football-lookalike machine was humming softly in the center of the room. Its lights beeped normally, as if they were working as they should.
"What is wrong with you…"
Graham muttered to himself, trying to figure out why the machine was feeling so rebellious.
It was like a mother who got incredibly angry after he tried removing one of her "children" from the game.
"Why did you think spawning Kitsune right in the middle of the tournament was a good idea?"
Graham walked circles around the machine with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face while simultaneously asking the questions that had been occupying his mind.
"Also, where did you send it?"
He then stopped and faced the machine with two red beeping lights in front of him, as if they were the machine's eyes.
He looked straight at the two red lights and asked, "What's your plan…"
The machine's lights continued to beep normally without any response. It was, after all, only a machine and couldn't answer his question.
"Sigh…"
Graham shook his head, opened the glass door, and walked out, as he had to finish the final preparations for the tournament's third round.
As soon as the glass door closed again, the machine's lights flickered at greater intensity, and the lights started to make the shape of a finger.
It was as if the machine was trying to communicate something.
And finally, the lights took the shape of a middle finger, pointing straight at Graham, who was walking away from the control room, completely oblivious to the eerie display.
…
Black-as-night crows perched on the roofs, cawing and watching down at the night streets of the Great City.
On the street below, a group of homeless people huddled together, seeking warmth and shelter from the bitter cold, while horse-drawn carriages passed by on the cobblestone roads.
A gentlemanly-looking man walked slowly past them while taking out a cigarette and lighting it with a silver lighter.
He then let out a cloud of smoke and looked at the homeless people with a side-eye and a hint of disdain. He then found some crumbled bread in his pocket and tossed it towards them, as if it were a gesture of charity.
The homeless people snatched the bread from the air, grateful for any morsel of food they could get their hands on. They then started fighting for the bread and almost knocked down the barrel of fire that was keeping them warm.
As the gentlemanly-looking man walked away with his hands in his pocket, a person with a tattered cloak bumped shoulders with him.
"Hey, watch it, Dirtling!" The gentlemanly-looking man responded with a glare. "This coat costs more than your life!"
"Ah, my bad…" The cloak-wearing man humbly apologized and then crouched in front of the barrel of fire to warm his hands.
"Hmph." The gentlemanly-looking man scoffed and walked away while using a handkerchief to wipe away any imaginary dirt from his shoulder.
The homeless people glanced at him briefly before returning to their fight over the bread.
A pair of purple eyes stared at them under a hood and then reached out to his back pocket to grab a moldy piece of bread.
As soon as the homeless people saw it, their eyes turned greedy, even though it looked far from appetizing.
"You can have this if you answer some of my questions."
Ambrose spoke with a deeper voice than normal.
They looked at him with a raised eyebrow; curiosity piqued.
"Falco Arundell, does this name ring a bell?"
At first, most of them shook their heads, but then a few exchanged glances, recognizing the name.
Ambrose narrowed his eyes and pointed at the two dirty-faced beggars. "You two. If you tell me what you know, I'll give you this bread."
"A simple moldy bread isn't enough for that information." A thick-bearded beggar said and scoffed.
"Very well." Ambrose smiled and took out a silver lighter. "What about this?"
"That…" The thick-bearded man paused and stared at the silver lighter in awe. "That's the lighter that guy used before. You pickpocketed it…"
"Yeah, is this enough for all the information you know?" Ambrose asked.
"Give them to me first, then I'll tell." The thick-bearded man said with a sly smile behind his eyes.
"Haha, you think I am that foolish?"
Ambrose grinned and shook his head.
Then he pocketed the silver lighter and stood up while patting off the dirt from his trousers.
"I suppose I'll go ask someone else."
"Wait!" The thick-bearded man stood up with the help of a cane and said, "Fine, I'll tell you. Give me the bread first, at least."
"Fine." Ambrose tossed the moldy bread over the barrel of fire, and the man caught it with a grateful smile.
"Now, tell me."
"All right." The thick-bearded man pocketed the moldy bread.
The homeless people around them listened curiously while huddling near the barrel of fire.
"Falco Arundell was known for being philanthropic and generous towards the less fortunate in the city.
"He wasn't a wealthy man by any means, but he always found a way to help those in need.
"He spent most of his time in the slums of the Great City alongside us 'Dirtlings' as we are called. He even built his own school there and helped hundreds of us learn to read.
"Then his life came to an abrupt end a week ago. After a cold night, he was found lifeless on the front steps of his school.
"His pouch was stolen, and he had been hit by some kind of blunt object to the back of his head. It was a shocking and devastating tragedy for everyone who knew him.
"The public truth about the incident was that one of the 'Dirtlings' robbed him and ended up killing him. It was a sad ending for someone who believed they were good people."
"The public truth?" Ambrose smiled and intertwined his fingers. "Is there something else to it, then?"
The thick-bearded man shrugged his shoulders.
"It is an assumption, but there was a nobleman who wanted to get rid of the school. Falco refused and made enemies out of him, and it is easy to know what happens when you make powerful enemies."
"Why would this nobleman want to get rid of the school?" Ambrose asked. "Isn't it good that the less fortunate can have a chance at turning their lives around?"
"Not everyone sees it that way." The thick-bearded man said, "Some noblemen think that reading and education are only for the privileged few. It separates them from common filth."
"I see. Well, thank you." Ambrose pulled out the silver lighter and tossed it over to him.
The thick-bearded man caught it, and he nodded in appreciation.
"If I may ask, why are you asking about the dead man?" He asked, "What is your connection to him?"
"There is no connection." Ambrose said, and stood up. "I'm simply too curious for my own good."
"…" The thick-bearded man didn't quite believe that explanation, but then nodded.
Ambrose headed away from the homeless people and slipped his hands inside his trousers' pockets.
'Time to go investigate the crime scene. I now know there is some nobleman who is now my first suspect. I doubt some homeless men would know his name, but I'll be able to find that out easily.'
At that moment, his feet came to an instant stop as a head-
pounding headache suddenly engulfed him.
"Argh…"
Ambrose gritted his teeth in agony, and then flashes of memories surfaced from deep within.
?Graham pushed a glass door open and entered the control room.
The enormous, metallic football-lookalike machine was humming softly in the center of the room. Its lights beeped normally, as if they were working as they should.
"What is wrong with you…"
Graham muttered to himself, trying to figure out why the machine was feeling so rebellious.
It was like a mother who got incredibly angry after he tried removing one of her "children" from the game.
"Why did you think spawning Kitsune right in the middle of the tournament was a good idea?"
Graham walked circles around the machine with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face while simultaneously asking the questions that had been occupying his mind.
"Also, where did you send it?"
He then stopped and faced the machine with two red beeping lights in front of him, as if they were the machine's eyes.
He looked straight at the two red lights and asked, "What's your plan…"
The machine's lights continued to beep normally without any response. It was, after all, only a machine and couldn't answer his question.
"Sigh…"
Graham shook his head, opened the glass door, and walked out, as he had to finish the final preparations for the tournament's third round.
As soon as the glass door closed again, the machine's lights flickered at greater intensity, and the lights started to make the shape of a finger.
It was as if the machine was trying to communicate something.
And finally, the lights took the shape of a middle finger, pointing straight at Graham, who was walking away from the control room, completely oblivious to the eerie display.
…
Black-as-night crows perched on the roofs, cawing and watching down at the night streets of the Great City.
On the street below, a group of homeless people huddled together, seeking warmth and shelter from the bitter cold, while horse-drawn carriages passed by on the cobblestone roads.
A gentlemanly-looking man walked slowly past them while taking out a cigarette and lighting it with a silver lighter.
He then let out a cloud of smoke and looked at the homeless people with a side-eye and a hint of disdain. He then found some crumbled bread in his pocket and tossed it towards them, as if it were a gesture of charity.
The homeless people snatched the bread from the air, grateful for any morsel of food they could get their hands on. They then started fighting for the bread and almost knocked down the barrel of fire that was keeping them warm.
As the gentlemanly-looking man walked away with his hands in his pocket, a person with a tattered cloak bumped shoulders with him.
"Hey, watch it, Dirtling!" The gentlemanly-looking man responded with a glare. "This coat costs more than your life!"
"Ah, my bad…" The cloak-wearing man humbly apologized and then crouched in front of the barrel of fire to warm his hands.
"Hmph." The gentlemanly-looking man scoffed and walked away while using a handkerchief to wipe away any imaginary dirt from his shoulder.
The homeless people glanced at him briefly before returning to their fight over the bread.
A pair of purple eyes stared at them under a hood and then reached out to his back pocket to grab a moldy piece of bread.
As soon as the homeless people saw it, their eyes turned greedy, even though it looked far from appetizing.
"You can have this if you answer some of my questions."
Ambrose spoke with a deeper voice than normal.
They looked at him with a raised eyebrow; curiosity piqued.
"Falco Arundell, does this name ring a bell?"
At first, most of them shook their heads, but then a few exchanged glances, recognizing the name.
Ambrose narrowed his eyes and pointed at the two dirty-faced beggars. "You two. If you tell me what you know, I'll give you this bread."
"A simple moldy bread isn't enough for that information." A thick-bearded beggar said and scoffed.
"Very well." Ambrose smiled and took out a silver lighter. "What about this?"
"That…" The thick-bearded man paused and stared at the silver lighter in awe. "That's the lighter that guy used before. You pickpocketed it…"
"Yeah, is this enough for all the information you know?" Ambrose asked.
"Give them to me first, then I'll tell." The thick-bearded man said with a sly smile behind his eyes.
"Haha, you think I am that foolish?"
Ambrose grinned and shook his head.
Then he pocketed the silver lighter and stood up while patting off the dirt from his trousers.
"I suppose I'll go ask someone else."
"Wait!" The thick-bearded man stood up with the help of a cane and said, "Fine, I'll tell you. Give me the bread first, at least."
"Fine." Ambrose tossed the moldy bread over the barrel of fire, and the man caught it with a grateful smile.
"Now, tell me."
"All right." The thick-bearded man pocketed the moldy bread.
The homeless people around them listened curiously while huddling near the barrel of fire.
"Falco Arundell was known for being philanthropic and generous towards the less fortunate in the city.
"He wasn't a wealthy man by any means, but he always found a way to help those in need.
"He spent most of his time in the slums of the Great City alongside us 'Dirtlings' as we are called. He even built his own school there and helped hundreds of us learn to read.
"Then his life came to an abrupt end a week ago. After a cold night, he was found lifeless on the front steps of his school.
"His pouch was stolen, and he had been hit by some kind of blunt object to the back of his head. It was a shocking and devastating tragedy for everyone who knew him.
"The public truth about the incident was that one of the 'Dirtlings' robbed him and ended up killing him. It was a sad ending for someone who believed they were good people."
"The public truth?" Ambrose smiled and intertwined his fingers. "Is there something else to it, then?"
The thick-bearded man shrugged his shoulders.
"It is an assumption, but there was a nobleman who wanted to get rid of the school. Falco refused and made enemies out of him, and it is easy to know what happens when you make powerful enemies."
"Why would this nobleman want to get rid of the school?" Ambrose asked. "Isn't it good that the less fortunate can have a chance at turning their lives around?"
"Not everyone sees it that way." The thick-bearded man said, "Some noblemen think that reading and education are only for the privileged few. It separates them from common filth."
"I see. Well, thank you." Ambrose pulled out the silver lighter and tossed it over to him.
The thick-bearded man caught it, and he nodded in appreciation.
"If I may ask, why are you asking about the dead man?" He asked, "What is your connection to him?"
"There is no connection." Ambrose said, and stood up. "I'm simply too curious for my own good."
"…" The thick-bearded man didn't quite believe that explanation, but then nodded.
Ambrose headed away from the homeless people and slipped his hands inside his trousers' pockets.
'Time to go investigate the crime scene. I now know there is some nobleman who is now my first suspect. I doubt some homeless men would know his name, but I'll be able to find that out easily.'
At that moment, his feet came to an instant stop as a head-
pounding headache suddenly engulfed him.
"Argh…"
Ambrose gritted his teeth in agony, and then flashes of memories surfaced from deep within.
