“Oh, don’t be like that. Men are all starving beasts. Let me dangle some bait over your head while you hop around trying to sink your teeth into it. You’re far too diligent for your own good.”

“Did you say something?” he asked. The last part of her statement had been an inaudible mutter.

“No, never mind,” Velladonna said, pouting. It wasn’t a good look for her.

He pretended not to notice. Then her phone rang.

“Yes, it’s Vella… Why, helloooo,” she purred. “Oh dear. Another victim?”

She was nodding. Must be a call from her boss. Too high a rank for a mere detective to ever see in person, so this was none of Rogue’s business. He simply stood there like a statue.

“Okay, Vella out. Yes, bye-bye!” Here, she switched to a growl. “Dumping your bullshit in my lap again, asshat.”

Rogue flinched and asked, “Something wrong?”

“Nothing! At least, it’s not your problem, Rogue.”

With that, Velladonna put her chin in her hand, dejectedly playing with a pen. That call must have been very bad news. He could hear her grumbling, “Ugh, this is so annoying,” under her breath. She was clearly fleeing reality.

Rogue stood there, poker-faced…until his eye caught a light in the windowpane. The monitor on the desk was showing some investigation reports. It was only reflected for a moment, but he knew which case that was.

Ah, so it’s about the Lifetaker……

This was the most recent unsolved case, and word about it had reached his ears.

Two months prior, a strange body had been found in the commercial district, Dillo. There was an ID on the corpse, so the victim was immediately identified.

Jim Foley, twenty-five years old, businessman. No criminal record. Apparently a person of fine character—questioning those who knew him turned up no grudges against him. He had no history of serious illness; he’d been in perfect health.

Yet he’d died in a back alley…of old age.

All the moisture had been drained from his skin, mummifying him. His limbs were thin and twiggy. His face was twisted in a rictus of fear and pain. Even his family had not been able to recognize him.

No traces of mana had been found at the scene, but it was put down as a homicide anyway. Only magic could explain a twenty-five-year-old dying of such a cause.

The assailant had a spell that could rapidly age someone, so they were dubbed the Lifetaker.

But no suspects had been determined, and no progress had been made.

“If you say so, Chief.”

As of the next day, Rogue would no longer be working cases. If he did get involved, it would be through his subordinates. There was no need to worry about it now.

Then he realized Velladonna had stopped groaning. She was giving him a long look.

“…What?”

He did not like the smile that question elicited.

“Rogue, you thought you were free from this mess?”

“…Well…”

“Maybe it does have something to do with you, hmm?” Velladonna purred, unable to stop herself from giggling, “Hee-hee.”

Rogue didn’t find it amusing.

“Chief, how am I involved?”

“Oh? Do you reeeally want to know?”

“……No. Never mind.”

He wasn’t about to let her trick him into asking more. He tried to change the subject, but her head went down. Her shoulders were shaking. She was unable to disguise her glee. Rather, she was rubbing it in his face.

Clearly, she was up to no good.

And whatever sinister plan she was cooking up was already in action. This was the sort of maniacal laughter that came before she revealed how she’d pulled the rug out from under him.

No sooner had he braced himself than Velladonna dramatically swept back her hair, rising to her feet.

“You’re going to Nabaco Island! Congratulations, Detective Rogue!”

She started clapping.

“Huh?!” A rude noise slipped out of him, but she didn’t bat an eye.

“Nabaco is a lovely place. Good liquor, and the liquor’s also good. Oh, and they have great liquor!”

______Nabaco Island?

The blood drained from his face.

Nabaco was a pastoral island with only five hundred residents. It was a half hour by boat from the mainland. He wasn’t sure what crimes might happen there, but this wasn’t how he’d hoped to avoid interacting with criminals. He was clearly being relegated.

He tried imagining himself working there.

Helping old folks who’d thrown out their backs, sitting around from morning until night with only the occasional free donut to break up the monotony. Days so empty that, over time, he’d come to accept that as a good thing.

The more he thought about it, the more of a nightmare it became. When he spoke again, his voice cracked.

“Chief, I can’t accept this. What did I do—?”

“Oh, you’ll soon be right at home there. I mean, they have murders almost every night.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m kidding, of course.” Velladonna cut him off with a smile. Like a mother watching an excited child.

Rogue knew then his protests were futile.

“……You’re not changing your mind?” he groaned.

She put a finger to her tinted lips.

“Well, you look so sad. It does make me want to reconsider.”

Her eyes ran up and down his body, ogling every inch of him, soaking him in. She even licked her lips. Then she drew close to him, her soft breath tickling his ear.

The ashen look on his face made her grin broaden.

“We could play it that way…but I do have a second option.”

“……Which is?” he struggled to ask.

“Ever heard of the Sixth Precinct?”

“The sixth?” he parroted. Elayl only had five precincts. He’d never heard of a sixth. “Chief, are you being serious?”

“How rude! Of course I am.”

“Then where is this coming from?”

“The rank and file aren’t told about it. Only important people. Like me! But it does exist.”

This felt wrong.

His feelings must have shown on his face, but Velladonna clearly didn’t give a damn.

She tapped the desk with her fingers.

“It’s a top secret division with a very unusual jurisdiction. They handle cases that are beyond the capabilities of the other precincts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’ll be provisionally placed as the chief of it. Well? Not a bad offer, is it?”

If this was true, it was the opposite of bad. Precinct chief was a high rank, even in management. They oversaw several hundred detectives. Their role was the furthest thing from the blood-soaked streets and came with quite substantial authority.

“……I’d love that, but can I ask one thing?” Rogue said.

“Oh? What is it?”

“……What’s the case? What is it you want me doing?”

He had a hunch.

“Good instincts.” Velladonna smirked. She pointedly settled back in her chair. “Right you are. The top brass are desperate to get the Lifetaker behind bars. Naturally, you don’t have to take this offer. Nabaco Island awaits! Getting thanked by your elders is hardly unpleasant. I’m sure they’ll love to have a young man around to lift things for them.”

She elegantly crossed her legs.

If he refused this second option, his fate on Nabaco would be sealed. Velladonna wouldn’t hesitate. He’d seen any number of poor saps fall prey to her snap decisions. And he’d learned from their mistakes.

“Chief,” he growled.

“Hmm?” she said, tilting her head.

“……Where is this precinct?”

That was all Rogue could say.

*

The empire occupied half the continent of Deane, and the capital—Elayl—was shaped like a crescent moon. It sat at the edge of the land, and ocean commerce flowed through it. It was the beating heart of the empire’s economy.

It had nine wards. On the left side of the city was the ocean; at the center, high-rise office buildings; and at the upper end, hills leading inland. A twenty-minute drive from HQ into those hills, and the bustle of the city vanished without a trace, replaced with luxury homes.

Rogue was headed for a building on the outskirts of town.

It looked like an old church. Looked because it was covered in vines, the outside walls peeling off—a veritable ruin. But this was the address he’d been given. If he hadn’t been warned ahead of time, he might have driven right past it.

A disheveled exterior wouldn’t exactly interfere with its purpose. Velladonna had said the Sixth Precinct was located underground. Allegedly in the interests of informational security. He had his doubts.

Rogue stepped into the church and paused.

There was a door on the left, behind the pulpit. It was made of iron and placed awkwardly in the ruined church.

Then he heard a voice.

“Detective Rogue Macabesta, I presume?”

A girl’s voice was echoing from a speaker somewhere.

“……That’s correct,” he said.

“Wait right there,” she said, clearly able to hear him. “Verifying your identity.”

No one came out to meet him. He deduced that there must be a hidden camera.

He stood where he was until the heavy metal door slid aside—into the wall itself, without a sound—revealing an elevator a few meters in.

“Identity confirmed. Please step inside.”

He did as he was told, stepping up to the pulpit. He moved through where the steel door had been, and the elevator doors opened for him. It was a bit large to ride alone; the floor, walls, and ceiling were all white. It was nothing like the overgrown exterior.

No further instructions came.

He looked back once, then stepped into the elevator.

As the doors closed, he found himself out of breath. He’d thought himself resigned to this, but his doubts came flooding back. He questioned why it was underground. And wondered what good working there would do him. Desk work was one thing, but Rogue was a detective. Holing up indoors would get him nowhere.

The descent went on for a while. He wondered how far down the place was. After what felt like an eternity, the doors finally opened.

“You’ve arrived,” a woman said.