One day before, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last fiery rays across the sprawling estate of the Narma Family. As dusk settled over Ocarina, the port city basking in the embrace of the Tachyon Empire, the Narma Family Estate stood as a testament to opulence and power. Nestled amid lush gardens and manicured lawns, the estate exuded an aura of aristocracy and control that stretched back centuries. At the heart of the estate, within the grand walls of their lavish mansion, Cagliostro Narma, the formidable patriarch, and Marcella Narma, his resolute wife, held court in the resplendent living room.

  Bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, their faces etched with grief and vengeance, they commanded the room with an air of authority that only the privileged elite fully recognized as the founders of their residence could possess.

  Servants moved through the room like well-choreographed shadows, efficiency born from years of anticipating their masters' whims. Young and old alike, they performed their duties with the silent grace of those who understood their role in this carefully ordered world. The power emanating from the Narma couple was almost tangible, their every word carrying weight that reached far beyond these gilded walls. For they were not merely nobles, but the true architects of Ocarina's destiny—puppeteers who danced justice and order to their preferred tune.

  The Narma family's influence ran as deep as the ocean beyond Ocarina's shores, their tentacles of control wrapped firmly around the city's police force, media outlets, and local governance. Their coffers overflowed with corruption's spoils, their reach extending into every facet of society. They ruled not through merit but through the accident of birth, twisting law into whatever shape best served their interests. Justice, in their hands, became a cruel dance of privilege and power, punctuated by occasional moments of sheer boredom with their own dominance.

  Amid the living room's opulent décor, anticipation hung thick as incense. Cagliostro and Marcella contemplated tomorrow's execution with barely contained satisfaction, savoring the thought of their son's accused murderer facing public justice. Yet in the couple's estimation, the Imperial Police Association moved with the speed of cooling honey. Cagliostro realized that perhaps his city's law enforcement needed proper motivation—a special incentive to ensure swift justice for his beloved Giovanni.

  And so…

  "Gambino Russo and Jonas Lucius, welcome to the Narma Estate."

  Cagliostro's words carried his trademark smile, the one his daily visitors had learned to recognize. But while his lips curved upward, his eyes remained freezing-cold, harboring bloodlust that sent shivers down his guests' spines. The two men from Ocarina's IPA—Gambino, the Head Chief and lead investigator of Gio's murder, alongside his right-hand man Jonas—exchanged wary glances before taking their seats opposite the nobles. Between them stood an embroidered table bearing empty crystal and unopened wine, like a crystalline barrier between power and its servants.

  Gambino, his scarred face betraying him, swallowed hard enough for Marcella to note with quiet amusement. She watched him fidget, this man who had survived countless battles before donning a police uniform, now reduced to nervous gestures by mere presence. The atmosphere pressed down like a physical weight, tension thick enough to slice with a blade.

  Silence stretched until Marcella Narma deigned to break it.

  "Well, well, well. What have we here?" She slyly said, a soft smile playing across her features and auburn. She wore a dark purple dress with a striking golden corset wrapped tightly around her waist, its ostentatious nature complimenting her stately looks.

  "What do you mean, my dear Marcella? We have guests—politeness demands we greet them properly," Cagliostro answered, his tone carrying careful measure.

  The matriarch scoffed in response.

  "Really?" Marcella tilted her head, feigning innocent concern. "Our dear Gambino seems rather... unsettled. And you, my husband, wear anxiety poorly. Has something occurred that I should know about?" A calculated smirk played at her lips. "Have we given offense somehow?"

  Gambino's expression twisted as he processed her aggressive undertones.

  "Lord Cagliostro, forgive me, but have you not informed Madam Marcella that we continue investigating the young lord's murder? This delicate matter requires thorough examination. I conveyed this earlier through our communion—"

  "No such communication occurred." Cagliostro's interruption fell like a guillotine blade, his previous smile vanishing entirely.

  Jonas bit back the urge to shout 'liar' at the nobleman, knowing such outburst would earn him swift cremation. The truth burned in his throat—Gambino had indeed established Ley Line contact, but Cagliostro chose to withhold this from his wife. It was a calculated move to frame their incompetence: if Gambino was gathering storm clouds, Marcella was an active volcano. News that they'd found a suspect but still gathered evidence would only trigger an eruption.

  After all, Cagliostro knew three true fears in life: his trade partners, the Emperor himself, and his beloved wife's wrath.

  "My darling," Marcella's voice softened, though her smile remained razor-sharp. "Such expressions ill suit you. Perhaps there was simply... miscommunication? can prove fickle when attention wavers."

  "I suppose." Cagliostro cleared his throat as a servant filled his wine glass. "Forgive my dismissiveness, Gambino. Our son's passing weighs heavily. What progress does the investigation yield?"

  Gambino glanced at Jonas, who produced a thick folder from his coat. Taking the cue, the young man spread documents across the embroidered table.

  "If I may," Jonas began, careful to meet both nobles' eyes. "We've identified our primary suspect: Acacia." He presented the boy's detailed dossier, complete with status reports, known associations, and a photograph that seemed to stare back at them from the page.

  "A surname does not accompany this file?" Marcella's questioned.

  "No, madam." Jonas maintained his professional demeanor despite mounting tension. "He bears no traceable lineage, noble or otherwise. No known blood relatives, parents, or siblings exist in our records. His past before arriving in Ocarina three years ago remains a blank slate. He survives on meager wages in tenement housing, though remarkably, he attends Heinemann Academy despite his circumstances."

  "Then he must possess considerable thaumaturgical talent to merit such placement."

  "Well..." Jonas glanced at his superior, wordlessly passing this particular burden.

  Gambino drew a steadying breath. "Acacia is classified as an Irregular."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The words fell into silence deep as a drowning pool.

  "What did you say?" Cagliostro's voice trembled with wrathful spleen.

  "The prime suspect in your son's murder is an Irregular." Each word seemed to pain Gambino as he spoke it.

  "What nonsense do you speak?" Marcella's voice took on an odd, probing quality. "You mean a lawbreaker? Someone mentally unstable or with prior heinous offenses?"

  "No, madam. We speak of those born without the ability to manipulate prana—those who differ fundamentally from—"

  "Silence!"

  Marcella's smile shattered. In its place bloomed an expression that transformed her refined features into something terrible—disgust and shock giving way to hatred's pure flame. Her previous elegance crumbled, revealing something closer to primordial fury.

  "You dare suggest a cripple murdered son?" Her voice rose to a shriek. "You present such obscenity as fact?" Gone was the sophisticated noblewoman, replaced by something raw and primal.

  "The evidence exists, madam!" Jonas lifted Acacia's file, desperation edging his voice. "His registration clearly states—"

  "Don’t wave papers at me as if they matter!" Marcella's fists clenched until knuckles went white. "This changes nothing! My son lies dead while this... this hermaphrodite draws breath! These vermin infest our city, these untalented, subhuman dregs who dare walk among their betters!"

  "You know, we could have him killed at a moment's notice if we just wanted to. I'm certain we have more than enough of the underworld's finest killers within our connections to dispose of this little brat and parade him to the public." Cagliostro suggested, slowly processing the information at hand.

  “Please wait, Lord Cagliostro! This case is very important for the IPA! We’re close to a breaking point in finding conclusive evidence that Acacia murdered Young Lord Giovanni; just bear with us! Please give us a few more days! It is the procedure that the IPA has acted according to for over centuries!” Gambino pleaded, hoping that the family could give them a chance for Ocarina’s IPA to prove themselves in solving such an illustrious case.

  "Wait?!" Marcella's laugh held no humor. "The evidence glares at us like a rotting horse under the son! My precious boy spent his final days celebrating his term's end with his friends when that abomination struck him down in darkness! What more requires examination?"

  Her voice built like a gathering storm.

  "A mother's love defies replacement. Perhaps as men you cannot grasp it—nine months I carried him, bled for him, suffered for his entry into this world. Each day since, I cherished him. My pride, my joy, living proof of the Narma legacy."

  Bitter tears welled in her eyes, but rage burned them away before they could fall. "Every day, I witness mothers and children in the streets, blind to how precious their time together truly is—until fate steals it away. Each hour you shelter that creature is another hour you mock my son's memory! You become accomplices to his murder!" Her finger jabbed accusingly. "Shame taints your badges, your institution, your—"

  "How dare you!" Gambino surged to his feet, fury overtaking caution.

  "Dare?" Marcella's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "I dare anything. You harbor my son's killer behind laws and claim virtue in it!"

  "Enough."

  Cagliostro's quiet command cut through the chaos. "My dear, your passion overwhelms reason."

  "No!" Marcella whirled on her husband. "How can you remain so cold? An Irregular murdered our son! Our angel, our future! The heir meant to elevate our family name! Now only emptiness awaits our legacy..." Her shoulders trembled as grief finally overtook rage.

  Cagliostro gathered her close, murmuring soothing nonsense until consciousness fled and she slumped against him.

  “I have made my decision, Gambino.”

  His voice was iron, resolute, and steadfast in what he was going to say next.

  "What decision might that be?" The police chief's words emerged cautious—measured even.

  "500,000 Stella Domina. That sum transfers to your accounts by dawn, and in exchange, you execute the boy this Friday. Two days from now. No exceptions."

  "5-500,000?!" Jonas stammered.

  Gambino however, wasn’t starstruck by the offer.

  “What if I decline this offer, Lord Cagliostro?” he questioned. He knew that there were going to be thousands of strings attached, so it was better to know now.

  "Such is your right. However, should you fail to convict this Irregular swiftly, I shall simply contract another to complete the task. And should you accept payment only to falter… I will assume theft and respond accordingly."

  "Yet the smartest action would be accepting your money while allowing your hired man to complete the deed. Surely you've considered this. What is truly going on?”

  The patriarch sighed.

  "The death of a son is a very emotional thing, and I empathize with my wife's grief. But if there's one thing I don't have, it's an abundance of frivolous emotions. I simply want to execute the Irregular brat who murdered my son in the quickest time possible. Marcella is a good woman, but her grief is too great, so I simply cannot trust her judgment."

  Cagliostro paused, allowing both Gambino and Jonas to digest this information.

  "However, the death of a child is a traumatizing event for most, and it is very likely that this event will cause many to go mad. I suppose you're thinking: this isn’t a rare occurrence in our Empire, isn't it? So you are wondering what would drive me to such extremes to eliminate a low-life Irregular?" The patriarch sipped a glass of wine before continuing. “The answer is elegantly simple. I have no use for incompetent leadership in my city's police force. I am Ocarina's true master, in both light and shadow. Remember your place in this hierarchy."

  Gambino blanched.

  "You would force my retirement through blackmail?"

  "If you prefer that interpretation."

  Gambino and Jonas exchanged glances heavy with understanding. No real choice existed here—only the illusion of one.

  "...I accept your generous terms," Gambino managed. "The Irregular shall meet his end on Friday."

  "You are a brave man, Gambino Russo, to face such a high price just for one person. That is the disposition of a man I want to be the head of my city’s police force. Very well. You are dismissed. Take your subordinate and get out. You will receive the money through your bank account via an anonymous account by tomorrow morning.”

  The two men fled the premises. They knew that if they stayed any longer, the tension in the estate would have exploded into a torrential storm. Who knew when that woman would wake up again?

  Outside the grand mansion, darkness crept across the city, casting long shadows that stretched and merged with the secrets hidden within its walls. The Narma Estate stood as a fortress of privilege, a bastion of power where the weak were crushed and the powerful thrived.

  Cagliostro simply sighed as he carried his sleeping wife to their bedroom.

  “Why did you have to get yourself killed?”

  Even the Narma patriarch was unsure of where those words were aimed at.

  “It’s almost tomorrow, boss. Are you prepared?" Jonas lingered outside Gambino's office door, the analog clock's hands stretching toward the 11th hour at night.

  "Boss, are you in there?" Jonas called out to his superior, knocking on the door.

  "Just a moment," he answered, wiping some sweat from his brow as he took off his coat. He was planning to head home early tonight, but there were too many things that needed to be taken care of.

  "What is it, Jonas? What's going on? I thought I said that we could do this tomorrow," asked Gambino, a frown plastered on his face.

  "I came to ask..." Jonas hesitated, carefully deliberating over words. "What if we're wrong about tomorrow's execution?"

  Gambino's eyes narrowed as he rose from his desk. "Explain yourself."

  "Consider the possibilities, sir. What if we've condemned the wrong youth? Two similar boys, a case of mistaken identity? We rushed past DNA analysis and ignored standard procedure. What if someone employed Interference Thaumaturgy to frame him? What if Acacia was merely unconscious, placed beside Giovanni's body to draw obvious conclusions? We abandoned proper investigation of thaumaturgical involvement. How can we execute someone when so many questions remain unanswered?!”

  Gambino pressed fingers against his temples, pain etching deeper lines in his scarred features.

  "I don't want to hear any more of this, Jonas. Just stop right there. Tomorrow morning, the execution will happen and that's that."

  "But—"

  "I said enough!" Weariness tinged his shout. "The decision stands. We have 500,000 reasons to proceed, and that boy's Irregular status marks him expendable. No family will mourn him, no lineage demands vengeance. He'll vanish like morning mist, and normalcy will return to our city."

  Jonas scoffed.

  “I thought the IPA was supposed to uphold justice, not bend for the qualms of the nobles. I honestly expected better out of you, .” Jonas addressed his superior in a tone that Gambino never thought he had the range to vocalize. “That woman would have done the right thing.”

  "Never speak of her again." Prana leaked from Gambino's rigid form, filling the air with lethal intent.

  Jonas lowered his head in resignation. His superior had chosen his path. Gambino stalked from the office toward home and whatever rest awaited him, though true peace would prove elusive.