Axel slid five folders onto the table, each with a name printed in neat, black letters. One by one, the group members bent down to pick up theirs. The soft rustle of paper echoed through the quiet room.
Nero took his folder and carefully opened it. Inside, everything was blank.
What is your name?
What is your job?
Those were the two simple questions on the paper.
Nero grabbed a charcoal pencil from Axel's desk.
Name: Cesar Gaspar.
Job: Detective.
He set the pencil down, placed the folder in Axel's hands, and without another word, left it there before sitting in a wooden chair.
After a few minutes, the other members of the group left the room.
"I won't be able to go with you," Axel said. "I have some 'matters' to attend to. You'll have to live like normal people until further notice."
"Their home is in Apartment Nongua, Room 28. Nongua is at 25 Len Street."
"Without further ado, you may go."
Their footsteps echoed on the pavement as they walked. People glanced at them—some with disdain, others with curiosity—but no one approached. Whispers rose in their wake, and Nero could feel the weight of those stares.
"It seems we don't belong here," Rose murmured, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Just keep walking," Kōri said, her gaze fixed on the street number Axel had indicated. "We have to find the apartment."
After several streets and turns, they finally spotted the building. Simple and unassuming, its peeling paint barely revealed the number above the door.
The group climbed the stairs in silence, the sound of their boots echoing on the metal steps.
Upon reaching the correct floor, Nero stopped in front of the door marked with a small '28'. He took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob.
The interior was modest: a small living room with basic furniture, a tiny kitchen at the back, and a window that let in the dim afternoon light.
Everything seemed normal—but for them, anything could become a mystery at any moment.
"Well… this will be our home for now," Nero said softly, letting out a sigh.
They placed their backpacks in a corner and each lay down on the floor to rest.
"These past few days have been intense, haven't they?" Rose said, stretching.
Nero stood and headed toward the bedrooms. Three main rooms and a bathroom lined the hallway.
He entered the middle bedroom and found five sets of clothes, neatly arranged in boxes.
"Incredible!" Rose's voice echoed, filled with joy.
Nero peeked out and saw Rose beaming as she looked toward the kitchen.
He approached to investigate further and found a scoop of chocolate ice cream in the refrigerator.
Nero stood still, observing the world. Industrial age technology surrounded them.
If this was Vickmolt, imagine what the capital of the empire must look like!
He smiled genuinely.
"Hey, jerk," Lux called, looking at Nero.
Nero wasn't offended; he simply returned a vengeful glare.
"Hey!" Sunday shouted. "What are your new names and jobs?"
Nero raised his hand casually.
"Cesar Gaspar. I work as a detective."
Sunday nodded. "Lancelot Arashi. I work as a guard and bodyguard."
Rose nodded shyly. "Roseus. I'm a student at a school downtown."
Rose… Roseus… my sister is so creative!
Lux looked up, confused. "Did we have to change our names?"
Lux… you're an idiot.
He continued, "I work as a mechanic."
Since when do you know about machinery? Nero thought, placing a hand on the bed.
Everyone turned toward Kōri.
"Lumi Winter. I'm a private investigator."
"Listen," Nero said, gently removing her hand from her face, "there's clean laundry in the central room."
As the group headed there, Nero's mind raced. If Axel wasn't present, who had created their records, given them the apartment, and provided the new clothes?
He couldn't find any clues.
Each member of the group picked a set of clothes and entered the bathroom, one by one.
Nero waited, leaning against the wall for his turn.
When Kōri finally went in, she removed her clothes and examined the bathroom.
Nero elegantly donned his new clothes, leaving his old ones aside.
He hadn't forgotten his style—he kept his hat and monocle.
"That's my style!" he thought enthusiastically.
He noticed that his new clothes included a red cape with black details. Without much thought, he put it on and realized that it reached halfway down his back.
As Nero was about to leave the bathroom, he accidentally stepped hard on the floor.
Oof! Panic surged.
Did I break it?
"Guys!"
Sunday arrived first.
"What happened?"
"This part of the floor…" Nero said, pointing below.
"It's fake…"
Sunday raised an eyebrow.
The two men crouched, listening as the others approached.
Sunday realized the wooden panel could be removed. Carefully, he lifted it.
Beneath the wooden structure, nestled among the stones, lay a notebook.
The floor was wooden, but the support structure was stone… interesting.
"What happened?" Kōri asked as she entered the bathroom.
Nero said nothing, simply pointing to the hole.
Kōri crouched with them and picked up the notebook.
Curiosity drove her to open it to the first page.
"Today, September 11, 1426."
"I consider myself a dead man… the Fillius Dei created a monster."
"As a journalist, I got involved where I shouldn't have, and now I'm being persecuted."
"Whoever is reading this, I want you to know that…"
"The monarchs created a gray demon."
"They plan to use it to completely destroy the gangs in the North."
That was the only page with legible writing; the rest were mere scribbles.
The words "gray demon" reminded Nero of a Daemon's description.
Being written a year ago suggested it either had already happened or was still occurring.
Kōri closed the notebook, replaced it in the hole, and restored the wooden panel.
"That's not our business," she said after a minute of silence.
Lux, leaning against the frame, nodded in agreement.
They left the bathroom, leaving the discovery behind.
They walked to the kitchen and sat down.
Nero noticed Rose cooking, humming a gentle tune.
Knock. Knock.
Two firm knocks shattered the calm.
Nero rose and opened the door.
An old man with gray hair, dressed in black, revealed a paralyzed left side of his face. His left eye was a cloudy white.
He held a cigarette delicately in his hand.
"Cesar Gaspar?" he asked, his voice hoarse from years of smoking.
"Yes?"
"I have a task for you."