His mind went blank.

What is she doing while we’re at the scene of a murder?!

“What’s wrong, Rogue? Do you have a problem with that?”

“S-several!” It was such a wild request he stumbled over his words. “A-are you insane? This is a crime scene! What even for?!”

“Rogue,” Miseria said, taking a step forward. He took a step back. “People need motivation. Even the simplest task is just such a chore without a reason to act.”

“Y-your point being?”

She took another step forward, and Rogue took another step back.

“I’ll be honest with you. I don’t actually care if this case gets solved or not. All I want from an investigation is entertainment. If you supply that, then I won’t hesitate to assist you.”

Her eyes narrowed, taking measure of him. Her hand was still extended ostentatiously.

“……Entertainment?”

He took a third step back but hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. His eyes met Miseria’s and found a gleam within.

“Exactly. Do you understand?”

“……How could I?”

“Are we at an impasse?”

“……I didn’t say that.”

“Hmm. Yet you don’t seem enthusiastic. Perhaps we should call the whole thing off.”

Her grin was approaching shit-eating.

“……Hold on. Give me some other options. I’ll do one of them.”

“Let me see…” Miseria’s gaze turned skyward, considering this. After a moment, she tapped her cheek. “How about here? It’s softer than the back of my hand!”

“……S-softness wasn’t the issue…”

“Oh? Then you want somewhere harder? My forehead, perhaps? I think you should be capable of that.”

“_____________________”

Rogue was left dumbfounded but also certain of one thing. All Miseria wanted was to make a detective submit to her. She reveled in seeing him falter and writhe. That was her idea of fun.

“Shit…”

Even though he knew what she was playing at, he realized he couldn’t put up further resistance. No matter how hard he tried, it would always end in his humiliation. And if this went on any longer, one of the officers nearby was likely to come nose around.

Groaning, Rogue went down on one knee.

I’ve gotta kiss her hand? Here?

Seen up close, the back of her hand was very pale but had a hint of pink to it, the only sign of life. It was downright bewitching.

……For the sake of the case!

He told himself this was a necessity.

But it didn’t seem like he’d convinced himself.

*

Rage burned within him. He wondered why he should have to kneel in front of a witch. He questioned what he had done to deserve this. Then he glared up at the root cause.

“Oh, that’s a good look for you, Rogue. The agony of the young is like nectar from heaven.”

Miseria was laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes. And she was slapping his shoulders like she was congratulating him on a job well done—which only infuriated him.

“I’ll make you regret this…”

“Looking forward to it!”

“Dammit…and you’re plenty young yourself! ‘Agony of the young,’ my ass.”

“Well, I look young at least.”

That reminded him.

Right…witches don’t age.

“But that’s beside the point. I’d better keep my word. This way!”

Miseria dropped her smile like she’d flipped a switch, turning to the wall.

“Dead flesh lingering in the eternal night, become as dust, and begone.”

With this incantation, she cast the spell; a reaction occurred and the phenomenon took effect. The wall in front of Miseria began to glow, and when the light died down, something dark and dirty was flowing away from the wall. When this flow subsided, the wall remained—with no paint left.

“There you have it.”

“……I thought you could only muster a child’s amount of mana?”

The relationship between mana and spells was like a puppet show. One needed multiple hands if they wanted multiple puppets to perform. Likewise, to cast a complex spell, one needed a lot of mana. Yet Miseria had done just that, supposedly with what amounted to the mana level of a child.

“Well, I’m very good at using mana. Feel free to shower me with praise.”

“……”

Ignoring her prattling, he inspected the wall.

The scrawl on it was definitely a Jump sigil. A geometric pattern of red lines—he couldn’t decipher all of it. It was a very detailed sigil, but a part of it was clearly missing. The killer had likely done that on purpose, preventing the sigil from functioning.

“……They’re careful,” Rogue muttered, shaking his head, “……but we don’t have to use the gate. If we analyze it, we can learn where it goes.”

“Wait. Rogue, are you forgetting something? I’m a witch. I can repair a sigil,” Miseria said, raising an eyebrow. And smiling.

“You can?”

“Would I lie to you? Here, let me demonstrate. ‘Blood tide rise from the gaps of the leylines!’”

Her words took effect. The sigil turned red and moved like it was alive.

A restoration spell? She made it look easy.

“Now we can make the jump. Shall we find out what our killer looks like?”

“Hang on, I’ll call for backup.”

Miseria grabbed his wrist. Why?

“Don’t be a dull boy, Rogue. Let’s capture them together! That’s far more fun.”

That sounded ominous.

Miseria’s smile broadened.

“You mean—”

Before he could finish, Miseria lunged toward the wall. Rogue was yanked after her, and when he next opened his eyes, he was indoors. The area was poorly lit. A dying fluorescent light was flickering. There was a chair, a gray desk, and a pile of cardboard boxes. The shelves around them were lined with bottles of an all too familiar illegal drug, and a distinctive stench filled the air.

“Wha—? How’d you get in here?”

A man, his corpulent frame stuffed in coveralls, was holding a bottle in his left hand.

Their eyes met.

The man looked surprised, but he soon made up his mind. As he clutched the bottle, his right hand went into his pocket, and he pulled out a gleaming black pistol.

Then he aimed it right at Rogue’s head.

Choking back a roar of rage (at Miseria), Rogue clenched his fist.

Bam!

At the sound, he jerked his head sideways. A bottle broke on the shelf behind him, and Rogue lunged forward. One blow to the liver at point-blank range. The man folded, not even making a sound. He shook once, his head fell back, and then he crumpled against Rogue—who tried to catch the guy, but his knees buckled.

“Damn, he’s heavy!”

The unconscious man’s full weight bore down on Rogue. He’d been off-balance and couldn’t support the sudden burden. But even if the man was a criminal, Rogue couldn’t exactly just let him drop. Rogue gritted his teeth and tried to hold his ground. Then the witch’s voice reached his ears.

“Oh, nicely done, Rogue! Instantly toppling a hulk! Most impressive.”

“Don’t just stand there! Help me set him down!”

“I’m afraid I’m a feeble little thing. I’ll be of no use.”

She wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You know that’s not true!”

“I really am sorry. I could cheer you on? Good luck, Rogue!”

“Dammit!”

His arms and thighs were screaming, but he pushed through and lowered the man to his back on the floor. Only then did Rogue let himself collapse.

“Hahh…hahh…”

“This is no time for lollygagging, Rogue. He’s our source! We must interrogate him.”

“Says the girl who didn’t lift a finger…”

Rogue picked himself up and collected the gun. With his safety assured, he got right up in the man’s face and slapped his cheek.

“Hey, wake up.”

“……Hmm?”

The man’s eyes fluttered open.

“You’re headed straight to jail, but first, we got questions,” Rogue said. “Did you kill Clyme?”

The man looked away.

“……I have the right to remain silent.”

“Buying time will do you no good. There’s a sigil leading from the crime scene to you.”

“……”

Rogue sighed and glanced around.

“With all the product you got, you’re looking at years in the slammer. But if you tell the truth, we can shave some time off that.”

“……I don’t know nothing.”

Rogue stood up. He’d tried to rattle him, but the man didn’t even show a flicker of guilt______which meant he wasn’t the killer.

“Who are you protecting?”

“…!”

The man’s reaction was dramatic. Sweat poured down his face. Rogue pointed at the desk chair.

“That chair seems a bit short for you. Did you have company?”

“……I said I don’t know nothing!”

“How many are in on it? Is it a woman?”

“……”

The man stared at the floor, his lips sealed.

Anything else was a waste of time.

Criminals in it for kicks would blab if Rogue pressed them. But not if they were trying to protect someone else. With perps like that, he had to shore up his evidence and slowly tighten the screws on them. They’d never confess until someone convinced them that the fight itself was futile.

“Gimme a hand this time. We’re taking him to the station. Gotta grill him there.”

Rogue dragged the man to his feet and moved toward the sigil…but the witch didn’t follow.

“Hey! Aren’t you gonna help?”

“Hmm…that just seems tedious.”

“Tedious?”

“There are more dramatic ways to gain information. Like torture.”

She said that so blithely, he felt his brows slam together.

“Don’t be daft. That’s illegal.”

“Oh, laws. Very important, yes. But, Rogue”—the witch waggled a finger at him—“I’m a witch. Laws don’t apply to me.”

She said this without a shred of malice, so cheerily that he almost smiled along with her. Her expression was out of place in this dingy hovel. But he could feel the air change on his skin. A chill ran down his spine. The difference was obvious. Like he’d suddenly found himself standing before the gallows.

The witch raised an arm to the heavens.

Like an entertainer drawing attention.

“Come, Rogue. Let the puppet show begin.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Wh-what…what’s going on?”

A shriek split the air beside Rogue, and he wheeled toward it.

He saw the man’s arm slowly rising, like it was dangling from an invisible string. Swaying back and forth, rising—like a marionette.

“M-my arm! What are you doing to me?!”

With his other hand, he tried to stop his involuntary movements, but not only did he fail…

“Calm yourself. This won’t take that much time. Though, that’s up to you.”

…at the sound of the witch’s voice, he lost control of his right arm, too.

Soon, the man’s left hand was held out in front of his face, the index finger pointing up. Then with his right, he grasped his own nail. Clearly, it wasn’t an act he intended, and it didn’t look like it would end well.

“S-stop! You can’t!”

The man was turning pale.

“Let’s peel that nail off. You can handle it, right?”

“N-no______”

Rip.

The sound was clearly audible.

“_____________________”

The man’s face twisted in a silent scream.