Perry handed the case file across the desk without a word.
The clerk didn't even glance at it before sliding over a slip of parchment and stamping it. "Another noble-class case closed, huh?"
Perry didn't answer. He had already turned to leave.
Behind him, the clerk whistled. "That's Senior now, you know."
The parchment glowed faintly before fading to Bureau beige. A seal shimmered over it briefly—approval encoded directly into the document.
A small pouch landed on the counter.
He didn't reach for it.
System: Case resolved. Two silver coins disbursed. Senior Detective status unlocked. Promotion registered with the Central Bureau.
The clerk picked up a new tag from the drawer — brushed metal with engraved edges — and slotted it into the identity crystal on Perry's case file.
A faint hum pulsed through it, followed by a soft green glow.
Senior Detective.
The Bureau didn't use numbers like the military. They used titles. They liked things that sounded important.
He remembered the structure:
Trainees filed complaints about missing goats.
Juniors were finally trusted to write reports that weren't jokes.
Seniors could take on noble-class cases, receive hazard pay, and politely reject petty requests without reprimand.
Elites got private offices and more enemies than friends.
Masters were the ones they named buildings after.
And above even that, there were the ones like Alveth—High Detectives, rarely seen, rarely questioned, and so far above the rest that even their failures got praised as innovations.
Perry stared at his new tag.
Great. I get a badge upgrade, two silver coins, and a longer rope to hang myself with.
He pocketed the tag but didn't move. He looked down at the glowing seal again.
I don't trust rewards I didn't ask for. Especially ones that come with expectations.
—
The lounge was louder than usual. A few detectives clustered near the fireplace, swapping stories about the recent tomb case. Perry ignored them and drifted toward the water basin.
A faint ripple in the mug told him someone had just whispered his name.
"…he's not even that high-ranked. How's he getting these cases?"
"…maybe it's true he's got a bloodline skill. Some kind of passive compulsion magic."
"…no aura, no chant. He just looks at people."
"…like a shadow mage, but worse."
A bowl of soup clunked onto the table beside him. A junior detective with a messy braid plopped down across from him.
"You have a scary face," she said cheerfully.
Perry blinked.
"You look like you're thinking about the meaning of death while chewing dry root biscuits," she added. "It's unsettling."
He stirred his soup once. It was cold.
"You need warmer soup," she decided, and stood up again to fetch more.
He didn't stop her.
—
Back in his dormitory, Perry stared at the chalk marks on the wall. Sigils. Timelines. A question scribbled across the top:
Where is the missing ingredient?
He hadn't found the potion. No instructions. No residue. Just a crying girl and a broken lie.
He picked up the chalk. Circled the last mark. Then erased it slowly.
System: Case closure confirmed. Satisfaction rating above average. Would you like to view ranking placement among Senior Detectives?
No.
System: Optional mission available. Description hidden until accepted.
He turned toward the window. A cold wind was rattling the shutters.
You're chatty today.
Silence.
He lowered himself into the chair, tugging the wool blanket tighter around his shoulders.
Rena had confessed halfway through the second contradiction. She hadn't even hesitated. Her voice cracked. Her hands shook. Her story poured out like bad wine in a cracked bottle.
She confessed before I finished proving she was lying.
His fingers tapped the armrest.
That kind of collapse doesn't come from guilt alone. Either she's weak—or someone made her weaker.
He let the silence stretch.
I didn't want her to cry. I wanted her to lie better.
A light knock interrupted his thoughts. The same junior detective from the lounge stuck her head in.
"Hey. Captain's calling for a full team briefing."
He didn't ask why.
—
The Bureau's central hall was already half-filled. A few higher-ranked detectives leaned against the back walls with folded arms. Most of the lower ranks sat at the benches, straight-backed, whispering nervously.
Perry took a seat in the third row. No one joined him.
A few feet to his left, someone muttered, "He solved a noble corpse case in under three days. He's cursed, I'm telling you."
Captain Rourke walked in like a drawn blade—tall, silver-bearded, and half his weight in medals. He stopped beside the announcement slate.
"This'll be brief," he said.
No one moved.
"High Detective Alveth will be visiting this outpost next week."
A beat passed. Then another.
Then the entire room shifted. Whispers broke like cracks in stone.
"He's coming here?"
"What for?"
"Did someone mess up a noble case again?"
Even among the higher ranks, the reaction wasn't silence—it was stillness. One Elite Detective adjusted his collar. Another exhaled too slowly. Near the back, a Senior's hand trembled as he scratched at his sleeve.
Captain Rourke continued. "He will observe three ongoing case reports. Senior level and above may be called to present. That is all."
He stepped down. And just like that, the room burst into speculation.
Perry stood and exited before anyone tried to corner him.
Outside, the sky was bruised with cloud. He walked past the training grounds, past the archives, past the wall where old wanted posters had curled at the edges.
He reached the far edge of the dorm compound and leaned against a wooden railing.
Above, a courier hawk sliced through the clouds—its legs bearing a sealed scroll. The crest was unmistakable: three arrows piercing a blank shield. Alveth's mark.
Perry watched it disappear behind the clouds.
I've solved three cases now.
Two of them involved nobles.
One ended with a crying girl and a missing bottle. The other with a man who tried to boil his uncle alive and got away with just exile.
I'm not satisfied. The Bureau is.
He closed his eyes.
That means someone up there is watching. And not the kind that uses hawks.
System: Bureau interest level: elevated. Observation protocols engaged. No current threats identified.
I didn't ask.
The wind tugged at his collar.
He didn't move.
Alveth, huh?
He remembered a phrase someone muttered in the hall.
No one knows his power. Just that people vanish or get reassigned when he visits.
Then maybe he's the kind of detective who finishes puzzles before they begin. And maybe I'm the idiot still scribbling in chalk.
He stood up. Brushed the railing dust off his sleeves.
One week.