Chapter 14

The phantom flower gathered the rest of her strength in that moment. She’d mocked the police four times, and in the end, it was a jewel of the same stripe whose life she would take, using her ability to phase through and steal anything. But— “It’s useless.” “H-how…?” “Elementary, my dear phantom.” To Filzy, it was just a bandage, but to Lonsday, it had a deeper meaning—a token of kindness the great detective had received from her assistant. “A thief might steal treasure, but the truth always belongs to a detective.” Lonsday spun around while pulling Filzy close with her right hand. Her right foot, marked with red designs, drew a circle. Using her ability to make only her toes heavy and the rest of her foot light, combined with her own physical strength and centrifugal force, she reached the speed of sound in an instant. The air ruptured with a crack. She pounded home with a sweeping kick, meant to knock down, which exploded against Filzy’s side as she was pulled closer. In that moment— “Anvilcel Maiden: Burst!” Her forefoot was overloaded for a round house kick that carried several dozen tons of mass and struck faster than the speed of sound. The old woman’s body vanished, smashing through the floorboards. “…Hmm. Hey, Norman, I have two things to say to you.” “Yes, yes. What are they?” “The bandage tore just now. Get me a new one later.” “Of course, as many as you want. What else?” “We need to get the hell out of here.” “Huh?” “When I was going ham on the first floor earlier, I broke a few of the support pillars, and this just finished the job.” “…My sister’s going to blow her top over this.” “Ha, don’t worry, Norman.” Everything—from the floor to the walls to the ceiling—trembled as the collapse began. Lonsday puffed out her chest proudly, having caused all the destruction. “I’m far more valuable than some museum, right?” “…Ah.” Filzy felt no pain—or anything else. She lay gasping for breath in the rubble after being kicked by Lonsday, feeling only a strange floating sensation. “Wh…why…?” What was different between Lonsday and her? “The difference was the bandage,” Lonsday said with a smile. Filzy had no idea what she meant—probably something to do with the boy who had been standing there all along. The detective held him firmly and didn’t let him go. She was different than Filzy. Filzy’s husband had died in the war, but her daughter had a family, and she was a grandmother. Reflecting on it, her granddaughter was about the same age as that boy—yet, despite her love for her family, she’d left them behind to come to this city. “…Ha.” She couldn’t help but laugh. The answer was in the difference between them. She’d thrown away the things that should have been precious to her in the act of seeking fulfillment and had become nothing but a reckless monster as a result. “Ha-ha-ha.” How ironic that someone who’d discarded everything had the power to phase through anything. That’s why I couldn’t defeat her. Even as a monster, she held on to what was important. Lonsday had destroyed everything in an act of self-indulgence, but she hadn’t been mistaken about what mattered most to her. “Ah…really, how embarrassing.” That those should be my last words. The life of the old woman, who just wanted to be fulfilled, slipped away. “The answer was perfume,” Norman heard Lonsday say in a bored tone before she muttered, “Hey, Norman, that hurts a little.” “Deal with it. You’d be dead if you were a normal person.” “Ha, now that’s a good joke.” He hadn’t meant it as one, but she burst out laughing. After the fight, Norman and Lonsday left the cleanup to Harrison and returned to the ruins. The officer’s whole body seemed to scream in wordless protest and rage over the damage to the crime scene, but that was his job, so they’d left him to it. Norman was treating Lonsday’s wounds. She wore only her underwear, and the contrast between the purple lingerie and her brown skin was enticing—but this wasn’t the time for that. She had a deep gouge in her side and bruises all over her body. The arms she’d defended herself with were covered in cuts and bruises as well. Norman carefully treated her wounds while she lay sprawled on the sofa. He disinfected them, applied ointment, covered them with compresses and gauze, and wrapped each one with bandages. He also neatly stitched the gash on her side. “You’re as skillful as ever.” “Out of all the things I learned on the battlefield, this was the most useful… So perfume?” “It’s pretty simple.” She snorted dismissively. “There was residual perfume on the warning letter. That’s how I knew her identity just from shaking her hand. Got my hand crushed for it, though.” “…Oh.” Norman cut the bandage with a snip of his scissors, and Lonsday let the sound echo in her mind while flipping a mental switch. “Phantom Thief Thistle.” “Exactly. Thistle, the flower. That was her perfume. It’s one of our national flowers. Only someone older and fairly patriotic would wear it. The stationery was to commemorate the princess’s birthday, too. Sure, anyone could wear thistle perfume, but for someone in her line of work to wear the perfume that was the thief’s namesake? Besides…” She snorted again. “In the language of flowers, thistle means ‘touch me not.’” “…Well, that’s something.” “After the museum collapsed, I snuck into the underground employee office and rummaged through the old hag’s desk. She had a photo of Portquarry, plus envelopes and stationery from that specialty store. Also, her desk had pen caddies on both the left and right. She wanted someone to catch on.” Norman knelt next to the sofa and pressed a compress to her thigh. “…So why did she become a phantom thief in the first place?” He supported her leg on his own thigh, running his fingers over it to check for injury. “I understand wanting to use abilities after becoming an Unlaw, but why a phantom thief, of all things?” “Who knows?” Lonsday’s toes brushed his thigh. It tickled. “Even I don’t know that much. All she said was that her husband had died and her children had left the nest. It was obvious she had pent-up frustration after going so wild once she became an Unlaw. An academic who worked at a museum turning into a thief… We might be able to figure it out if we search her bookshelf.” “…I see. I’ll have the detective look into it.” If her bookshelf was lined with novels about phantom thieves—or maybe she’d written one herself… It was difficult to say, but Filzy Mule might have been enjoying her youth to the fullest. Aged, weak, and with no family, she might have used her awakened ability to fulfill a long-held dream. The theory was a bit out there, but so were phantom thieves. “Hey, Norman… Was I right to kill that woman?” Lonsday looked at the man caring for her. Even though the injuries all over her body would heal completely in a day or two thanks to her Deviation Type ability to regenerate, he treated her with care. He was a loyal man. This was the man she chose to ask. Ultimately, Lonsday Enhancedia had killed Filzy Mule—blow after blow, ending with an ultra-heavy roundhouse kick for good measure. She died after taking damage beyond the endurance of a Deviation Type. To kill an Unlaw, especially a physically powerful Deviation or Shapeshifter Type, required power of that caliber. The hole in her floor was made by the same method she used to kill Filzy Mule—overwhelming, crushing force. The man she’d killed then was an Unlaw who’d abused his abilities. So she killed him. Lonsday Enhancedia was a detective—a champion of justice who uncovered crimes through deduction, found the hidden truth in mysteries, and handed criminals over to the law. Before she became an Unlaw, she was already a detective who put criminals behind bars with a reliable sense of justice and morals. She wanted to do what was right and was born with an uncommonly sharp mind, able to discern what other people couldn’t. Her eyes were those of a great detective who missed nothing. It was inevitable that she became a detective since she believed it was her life’s work. But a year and a half ago, she became an Unlaw who deviated from everyone else—she wanted to use her powers for fun, just like the old woman who became a phantom detective, and began living by no rules but her own. Though she meant to do the right thing, enjoyment began to come first for her. She stopped protecting the innocent and began to find pleasure in using her abilities freely to hunt down criminals. She was a paradox. The detective had become something far different than a detective. And still… “Yes, I think you were right to do it,” Norman Hamish affirmed to Lonsday Enhancedia. He swapped out the leg that was resting on his thigh. “Mmm…” He traced the sole of her foot, arch, ankle, and thigh, his slow movement pulling a sigh from Lonsday. He was gentle yet persistent, like someone examining a jewel for flaws. “That lady did whatever she wanted, and when she found out that you were an Unlaw, Miss Lonsday, she tried to kill you right away. If she had managed to kill you, she would have started hunting Unlaw. It’s a miracle she hadn’t harmed anyone before now.” “…” “Besides, with that ability, capturing her would’ve been no easy feat. You know it’s very difficult to deal with a Category Three without killing them, right? You did what you had to do.” “…” “Besides…” Norman looked up and stared straight ahead at her, smiling slightly. “I told you to.” “…Right.” She sighed and relaxed. Lonsday couldn’t tell anymore if what he said was right. She’d lost that ability. A broken sense of ethics. A lack of guilt. Her common sense gone. Her judgment no longer reliable. She could reason between right and wrong and think logically, but Lonsday could no longer be sure about it. She didn’t have conviction in her own deductions anymore. It had been like this ever since she became an Unlaw. She was a detective with supreme deductive reasoning but a broken understanding of justice. That was Lonsday. “Thank you.” “Of course.” So she let Norman guide her on what to do and tell her what she should do. He was her moral compass who allowed her to remain a detective when she could no longer be one. That was why he was her partner—rather than rejecting Lonsday as an Unlaw, he embraced her as one. “Heh… Hey, Norman.” “Yes?” “Am I a detective?” “Of course. You’re the finest detective I know,” he said. Those were the words that made her happiest. He’d said them a year and a half ago when they met during a case—first as enemies, then working with each other—before she lost herself. “Heh-heh-heh, I see.” She was almost certainly no longer the detective called “Jewel,” but there was someone who cherished her as if she were one. The red pattern that appeared on the toes he touched was proof enough. That alone made her an unbreakable diamond. “As long as you keep saying that, I’ll keep being a detective.”