"You're in my way."

  Terse, the woman’s words cut through dissenters like a blade through silk. "I'm in a rush. Step aside."

  "Lady, please wait. I don't know who you are, but Ocarina’s Investigation Department is currently closed. Please return at a later date." The guard tried to exert some forced authority, but his body betrayed him. He and his fellow officers stationed before the building radiated equal tension as well. From the outside, it might have seemed a simple case of an unauthorized visitor seeking entry. Yet the guards stood drenched in sweat, hearts racing, eyes bloodshot with barely contained panic.

  It was because of the sheer prana radiating from the ebony woman like a tidal wave.

  "Shut up. I feel like if I hear your hideous voice any longer, I'm going to get an ear infection." She flipped silver hair from her face, casually picking at her ear before flicking away the debris. Several guards cringed at the crude display as she closed the distance between herself and the spokesman.

  And then, she shoved a card in the man’s face.

  "Y-You're an… Inquisitor?"

  “Inquisitor.” Stepping back, she’d flipped it around before putting it back in her pocket. “In return for wasting ten seconds of my life, will lead the way to the commanding officer.”

  “Y-Yes, ma’am!” Devoid of resistance, he submitted to the tall ebony woman’s will. He ran in front of her to open the door of the building while the other guards were left to their own devices, visibly shaken.

  Inside, Ocarina’s Investigation Department hummed with barely contained tension. On every surface, every person seemed frozen in bureaucratic amber—IPA officers and clerks alike glued to their assignments like automated components in some vast machine. Documents, coffee cups, and scattered pens littered desks despite it being a Sunday, everyone laboring as if weekend rest was a mere myth. Though Inquisitors and police officers served different roles in the Empire’s machinery, they shared one truth: "days off" existed only in fantasy.

  The silver-haired woman allowed herself a moment of silent empathy for that particular burden.

  "This way, miss." Her guide motioned toward the stairs. She acknowledged it with a grunt, following him upward in taut silence.

  "This is the fifth floor where we conduct advanced interrogation methods, including the 'White Room.' The Investigation Department chief, who's handling our most recent case, is currently inside with the prime suspect. He's been interrogating him for several hours, I'd imagine. He should be coming out—"

  The door swung open.

  "Now, I suppose." The guide sighed resignedly. This wouldn't end well.

  The woman’s golden eyes narrowed hawkishly as two men emerged. The first carried himself with military bearing, his face marked by a scar that ran from right eye to mouth. The second, shorter and less imposing, sported a crooked nose that suggested intimate familiarity with violence.

  "So which one of you is the head of the Investigation Department?" She cut straight to the point as the door was closed behind them.

  "Jonas," the scarred man addressed her guide, pointedly ignoring her question. "I wasn't aware we'd started opening our doors to anyone, especially during such a sensitive case. I thought I taught you better as my right-hand man. Explain yourself."

  Though he'd asked for an explanation, his eyes transmitted a clearer message which was: ‘You have excuse. Say goodbye to your job.’

  Jonas attempted speech, but his stuttering might as well have been an alien tongue. He resembled nothing so much as a rabbit caught in a hunter's crosshairs.

  "He needs no explanation. After all, I am here." The woman's perpetual expression of annoyance shifted to something more dangerous—a predator's confident sneer. The scarred man mirrored her expression with his own cocky smile.

  "Forgive my impudence, High Inquisitor Kircheisen, but what brings you to our humble headquarters? I'd sooner expect hell to freeze over than to see an Inquisitor of your status grace Ocarina."

  "Spare me the small talk. Believe me, I wouldn't step foot inside this pathetic excuse for a police department if I didn't have orders."

  “...Orders?” The scarred man’s brow furrowed, displeased with how he was supposed to interpret this.

  "Your most recent case regarding the murder of Giovanni Copernicus Narma now falls under my jurisdiction until I receive satisfactory information. Under Lex Imperium X of Tachyonia Primaria, I have no obligation to reveal and specifically requested such a mandate, provided they hold elevated status such as..."

  "A Viceroy!" He exploded in a fit of rage. "Damn vultures! You think you can simply take this case from us? This is a domestic issue that stays Ocarina! We do need Inquisitor interference!" His hands seized the creases of her uniform, knuckles white with barely contained fury.

  "Regardless of your feelings, you have no choice but to relinquish this case." Her smirk widened, daring him to maintain his grip. "Consider this a 'separation of powers.' I would loathe seeing such a beautiful station closed because of their inability to follow orders from superiors."

  Silence.

  He let go of her uniform.

  "As head of Ocarina’s Investigation Department and IPA, I will surrender the case of Giovanni Copernicus Narma."

  Jonas deadpanned.

  The scarred man paused, weighing his next words carefully. "The prime suspect awaits inside. He's awake, though rather… cantankerous."

  "Meh, I'd be too if I were cooped up in the White Room. What is he again, a grade-schooler?" She yawned inappropriately, approaching the interrogation room as if this were no more complex than catching a common thief.

  "He attends Heinemann, yes. Though something escapes me..." the chief began. "How could a mere Irregular, possessing neither funds nor allies, possibly murder one of Ocarina's brightest prodigies?"

  “The question of the day, yeah?” Ending it with a rhetorical, the woman entered the room, leaving Jonas and the scarred man to themselves.

  Minutes stretched into silence as the two men processed the unprecedented situation. Even Jonas struggled to accept what he'd witnessed—his superior, notorious for his stubborn hatred of the central government, voluntarily surrendering a case that could have put Ocarina's Investigation Department on the map.

  "I hate her. I hate all of those damn Inquisitors. Stealing our jobs like this...!"

  Well, Jonas guessed “voluntarily” was pushing it. The scarred man merely chose the smartest option, whether he liked it or utterly despised it.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “We have to take care of the most mundane of cases, but whenever we strike gold and find one that will make people take us seriously, they always show up and steal it like the rats they are! I didn’t retire from the Legion for this!”

  Jonas could only sigh.

  “That’s just life, boss.”

  * * *

  The White Room's door slammed shut with a thunderous roar. High Inquisitor Kircheisen had perfected this entrance over countless interrogations—the violent arrival designed to provoke reaction, to reveal emotion, insecurity, even buried thoughts. A single gesture could expose everything. She'd performed this ritual hundreds of times. Every suspect had reacted.

  Until now.

  "Acacia, right? No surname is rather peculiar." She lazily skimmed his file, masking her unease at his complete non-response. "I must say, I'm impressed you're still intact after enduring the White Room. Your previous interrogators have been relieved of duty for the time being. From now on, I will ask the questions. I am Pandora Kircheisen, and I hope we can reach the truth amicably."

  Unlike her predecessors, Pandora maintained an air of cordiality. She carried no obvious malice toward the boy, regardless of his status or alleged crime. Though her changed approach earned no response, it marked a distinct shift in procedure. She settled into the chair across from him, studying his downturned face.

  "Let's start fresh. You stand accused of second degree murder for the death of Giovanni Copernicus Narma. Under Tachyonia Primaria, murdering a fellow subject—without explicit permission or sanctioned duel—ranks among our Empire’s gravest offenses. Factor in Giovanni's status as heir to the House of Narma, and frankly, your chances of execution are astronomically high even as a mere suspect. The local IPA clearly wants quick resolution, hence their… draconian methods. But as an Inquisitor of the Divine Court, I serve truth above all else."

  The boy remained silent, yet Pandora continued, her voice carrying the same measured composure.

  "I need your cooperation, Acacia. As things stand, your silence guarantees your death. If we uncover the truth together, two paths emerge: worst case, we confirm your guilt, and you face the same fate. But there exists another possibility—perhaps you're an innocent boy caught in a murderous web. In that case, you walk free, returning to normal life. I can't guarantee either outcome unless you share your story and everything you remember from that night. Without your voice today, your fate is sealed in a coffin."

  She leaned closer to him. His disheveled hair and hunched back refused her internal plight to see his eyes, but she was close.

  A twitch. The smallest tell.

  "Acacia, tell me what happened on May 31st, between eight and nine in the evening. I promise to listen without judgment, no matter how unsightly or disturbing your tale might be. I'll hear it to the very end."

  “...”

  “—!”

  The boy's body convulsed violently, like a firecracker igniting from within. But just as fireworks inevitably fade, his sudden animation ceased, leaving him more statue than human.

  “...Kill me.”

  “What?”

  “Please, kill me. I don’t want to live anymore.”

  For the first time since she entered the White Room, she saw his eyes. Marauding and ghoulish—the boy with no name, no history, and no family had died. A dead man seated, the boy had already resigned to the fact that his life was over. Truthfully, he didn’t need to be killed since his soul had left his body; an execution was only a formality at this point.

  What could she say? What words could possibly reach him? Every criminal she'd interrogated—despite vast differences in behavior and background—shared one fundamental trait: the desire to live. A suspect who'd abandoned that basic human instinct couldn't be interrogated as human. Therein lay Acacia's fatal contradiction—a living being who'd rejected life itself. He'd become a walking paradox that challenged everything Pandora Kircheisen thought she knew.

  "I'm not in a humorous mood." Pandora tried to reassert control of a conversation so far off on the deep end. "Frankly, I find it difficult to believe a few hours in the White Room could extinguish your will to live." She abandoned her earlier languor, movements sharp as she extracted a slim folder from her bag. The dossier hit the table, papers aligned with military exactness.

  "Your legal file tells an interesting story. Fifteen years old, enrolled at Heinemann Preparatory Academy as a third-year student. Average disposition, unremarkable extracurriculars, no noble pedigree recognized by imperial law. By all measures, you appear to be the quintessential Ocarina adolescent. The White Room typically requires days to break the average person—not hours. Logic dictates that you, this perfectly average boy, should retain at least a spark of inner fire."

  "...So it would seem." The words scraped past the mountain of resistance in his throat.

  "But that's merely surface analysis. Turn the page—" her fingers danced across crisp paper "—and we find two crucial divergences from the mean. First: your status as an Irregular. Second: your orphaned state. No living parents, no blood relatives, no traceable lineage. Your current disposition seems rooted in something deeper than mere interrogation. Whether guilt, trauma, or hatred drives this death wish, it didn't originate in the White Room."

  He twitched. She smirked.

  "Therefore, I must deny your request for an immediate execution."

  "...Why? I never asked for any of this—no, that doesn't even matter anymore. Nothing I say will change minds. You feign care like those before you. You don't seek truth; you want a convenient scapegoat. Do us all a favor and end this charade with my ." Each word was launched like a poisoned arrow, meant to pin her beneath their weight with syllabic rhythm.

  "I pursue truth above all. I simply do not look favorably upon lies." She dismissed his venom with an elegant hair twirl. "Don’t you think that carrying it to the grave is causing a disservice to other Irregulars? You’re not exactly helping their reputation if you're refusing to disclose what really happened due to misplaced doubt.”

  "...Do you honestly believe that changes anything?"

  “Answering a question with another question is the mark of a fool.”

  “Not that much different from how you guys operate.”

  Pandora clicked her tongue. The boy's psychological barriers proved more resilient than expected, but she'd cracked harder cases. In her eyes, this was merely the tantrum of a child in an adult's world.

  "So? What victory do you expect to find in death?"

  Words died in his throat, strangled by cold logic.

  "You die. Your name remains forever stained as the murderer of Ocarina's rising star. Every subject spits upon your grave. All because you couldn't endure temporary discomfort—because pride prevented you from accepting the hand extended in mercy."

  "You know nothing."

  "I know enough. What fantasy plays in your mind? That mommy and daddy watch from heaven, ready to kiss away the booboos left by these mean officers because their precious child won't speak a word of truth?"

  "You—!"

  "Just shut up!" The firecracker reignited and burst. "You think I wanted any of this?! You think I chose to be branded a murderer?! I don't know anything! I don't even know how I ended up in this room! What do you expect from me?!"

  Acacia exposed his true colors in a violent swirl.

  "Say I tell everyone the 'truth'—that I actually have no memory of killing him. What then? You think that would sway even one mind? I'm not a damn genius, but even I understand how they see me." Sweat drenched his trembling frame, composure abandoned like scattered ashes.

  "Those eyes... those looks of pure disgust... I feel them burning into me even now! I-I can't continue. What's the point of living when I can't walk home without people thirsting for my death?!" His fingers clawed at his hair as consciousness seemed to flutter at the edges of his mind. "...I give up. They win."

  “If you don’t believe that you committed murder, then how was it that Giovanni’s corpse and blood were in close proximity to yourself?”

  “That—”

  The world painted itself white.

  Bile ran up his throat, burning like the insides of his neck were on top of a gas stove. He couldn’t speak; if he opened his mouth for even a second, yesterday’s lunch would splatter on the interrogation table.

  The vomit descended.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Coldly, he finished his sentence with finality.

  Pandora rubbed her face as she contemplated the futility before her. The spark she'd ignited had guttered out quicker than she expected, and the door to Acacia's truth hadn't merely closed—it had reinforced itself against any who might attempt to pick its lock. But more significantly, she noticed something she'd overlooked until now, something that chilled her to her core.

  "Is this your final—"

  "Decision? Yes. Are you done? Can you leave?"

  She'd seen that expression before, but never on one so young. That particular hollow gaze belonged to veterans, soldiers who'd witnessed war's deepest horrors and returned carrying pieces of hell within them.

  An expression she knew all too well.

  "Very well. Your execution is hereby ordered. Let it be known that under the law of Tachyonia Primaria, you stand convicted for the murder of Giovanni Copernicus Narma. As with all death sentences not involving treason or explicit interference with government affairs as an Irregular, you are granted five days of freedom before execution. You will face death on June 6th at noon. The Narma patriarch retains jurisdiction over whether your execution shall be public or private."

  "...I see."

  Pandora finally understood the fundamental wrongness of the boy before her. His eyes held absolute resignation, embracing death's cold promise like a lover's kiss. What kind of life had he endured to reach such a conclusion?

  Had fate always intended this end for him?

  "I have nothing more to say. Use those days wisely. They will be your last.” She maintained her stern facade, hoping against hope it might spark some final resistance in him.

  “...”

  It did not.

  High Inquisitor Kircheisen, whose record of successful cases remained untarnished throughout her career, faced her first true defeat. Not against a hardened criminal or clever mastermind, but against a child who'd already died inside.