—Someone, somewhere, would die again tonight.

At night, the town was submerged in terror.

When the bell in the clock tower struck ten, all the passersby vanished, and no light escaped the tightly locked houses.

The whole town trembled in fear. Fear of the shapeless killer who arrived with the night.

“Now, then.”

Quietly, the detective, Ivel, began to speak to the person he’d invited to his office:

“Our man is elusive, and he looks different every time he appears. Unfortunately, at this point, we have only one clue to set us on the murderer’s track.”

With a sour expression, the guest—Police Captain Darius—asked:

“What clue might that be?”

“It’s…a pair of black leather gloves.”

—FRUIT OF UNCERTAINTY, BY EVIL B.

1

It was a windy night.

A room in Pandora Headquarters. Gilbert Nightray stood by the window of his master Oz Vessalius’s bedroom, looking up at the night sky. “The clouds are moving fast,” he muttered.

There was a full moon that night, but its light kept being eclipsed by the black clouds passing in front of it. When he turned his gaze to the courtyard, he saw that the branches of the several trees planted there were tossing wildly in the wind. The pitch-black silhouettes of the trees swayed right, then left, scattering leaves.

In contrast, the room was quiet.

He could hear the window rattling softly as the wind struck it. The faint, regular sound of pages being turned also reached his ears.

Gilbert turned.

From a table in the center of the room, the light of a silver candelabra softly illuminated the interior.

Gilbert was looking at Oz, who was sitting in a chair by the table, absorbed in a book.

Oz’s legs were crossed, and he held a thick volume on his lap. He had one hand to his chin, and he seemed to be brooding as he silently followed the text.

Sometimes he’d touch his hair, but his eyes never left the book. As his hand turned the pages, the motion was so mechanical that it seemed almost unconscious.

His concentration is fantastic, as always.

Gilbert broke into a tiny smile, as if he was impressed. …But.

“Oz.”

He knew he’d be interrupting Oz’s reading, but Gilbert spoke to him anyway. Oz didn’t respond.

Gilbert glanced at the tabletop. A white ceramic teacup sat there, close enough for Oz to reach if he put out his hand. The tea Gilbert had poured half an hour ago was stone cold.

…Oz hadn’t taken a single sip.

With a brief sigh, Gilbert said, “Oz” again, raising his voice a little.

As expected, there was no response.

This time, Gilbert kept speaking without waiting for a reaction.

“It’s late. You should save the rest for tomorrow and get some sleep.”

At that, after a pause, Oz said, “Nn……” It probably counted as a reply of sorts.

However, Oz kept his eyes on the open book, and he didn’t raise his head. There was no change in the way he turned the pages, either.

Gilbert’s shoulders slumped slightly. He left the window and walked over to Oz.

“Oz.”

“Nn…”

“It’s cold at night. You should get in bed.”

“Nn.”

“You can read the rest tomorrow, you know.”

“…Nn—”

“This is going nowhere,” Gilbert sighed to himself.

Oz was responding, barely, but the responses were clearly absentminded, and his heart wasn’t in them. His mind was deep in the world of the book. Gilbert remembered how Oz had come running up to him that evening, hugging a book to his chest.

“Elliot loaned it to me.”

As he spoke, Oz’s expression had been indescribably happy.

Elliot Nightray.

He was Gilbert’s younger foster brother, one year older than Oz.

Possibly because their first meeting had gone poorly, he and Oz had been on bad terms for a while, but by now they’d warmed up to each other significantly. Oz seemed pleased to have made a friend his own age. Gilbert thought it was a good thing, too.

Oz was probably reading the book so enthusiastically not just because it was interesting, but because he wanted to finish it quickly so that he could talk about it with his friend.

Gilbert wanted to respect those feelings, but…

“Oz,” he called again, raising his voice even further, trying to drag Oz’s mind back to reality.

For his part, Gilbert wouldn’t have minded standing here beside his master as he read, waiting until he finished his book.

On the contrary, he’d consider that time very pleasant indeed.

However.

It’s going to be cold tonight. If he stays up late and makes himself sick…

Once he’d thought that, as a valet, he couldn’t just let this slide.

However, the only responses Gilbert’s calls provoked were listless, absentminded, and vague.

He hesitated, but, deciding there was no help for it, Gilbert steeled himself:

“Oz, read the rest tomorrow.”

He stretched out an arm and took the book from Oz’s hands, giving him no chance to argue. “Ah—” A small cry escaped Oz, as if he’d come to his senses. He blinked as though he had no idea what had happened, then turned disgruntled eyes on Gilbert.

“What are you doing, Gil? I’m at a good part.”

“You can read it tomorrow. It’s not like you have to return it right away.”

“I’m the type who reads things in one sitting!”

“No. What are you going to do if you chill yourself and catch a cold?”

Speaking very plainly and carefully, Gilbert put the ribbon bookmark between the pages, then closed the book. He set it gently on the table. Oz sulked.

Generally, except for practical books on cooking and making tea, Gilbert wasn’t in the habit of reading.

As a result, he wasn’t particularly interested, but his eyes absently skimmed over the book’s leather cover. He read the letters stamped on it. The title, and the name of the author.

Fruit of Uncertainty, by Evil B.

No doubt it was a pen name, but “Evil”… That meant “harmful.” It sounded like a name that was terribly proud of its vices.

He was a bit concerned about the content, but if Elliot had recommended it, it wasn’t likely to be indecent. As he thought this, Gilbert made Oz—who still wanted to keep reading—get up from his chair and, with some difficulty, bundled him into bed.

Having burrowed under the down comforter, Oz had poked his face halfway out of the covers and was looking at the book as if he hated to be parted from it.

Watching him out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert turned to the table and blew out the candles in the candelabra.

Immediately, the room was swallowed by darkness.

The moonlight shone unsteadily into the room, broken by clouds.

In the darkness, he heard Oz stir and mutter a soft “Tch!” He turned a flat, eloquent gaze on Gilbert. Gilbert gave a small, wry smile, then left the table, walking toward the door.

In front of the door, he turned back to the bed and spoke in a calm voice:

“Good night, Oz. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Oz said, grudgingly.

With that voice in his ears, Gilbert set his hand on the knob, opened the door, and went out into the corridor. Perhaps because the hour was after midnight, it was deserted. Few of the lights in the rows of wall sconces were lit, and the corridor was submerged in the atmosphere of night.

With his back to the door to Oz’s bedroom, Gilbert tried to remember whether there was anything he needed to do before he went to bed.

He’d finished all the practical duties he had here at Pandora, and he couldn’t think of anything else that was urgent. At the rented apartment where he lived by himself in the older area of Reveil, the capital, there were lots of chores that had to be done before he slept, but while he was living at Pandora, there was nothing.

Maybe I should go back once in a while…

He hadn’t even been by to air out the room lately. Things were probably getting pretty dusty.

Next time, he thought, absently, he’d at least go back and clean the place.

Then.

“!”

Gilbert, who’d been standing and thinking with his back to the door to Oz’s room for a few moments, swiftly turned and opened the door.

Moonlight was streaming into the room.

“……?! G-Gil?”

“…………Oz.”

Oz had slipped out of bed and was standing at the table. He had a match in his hand and had been just about to light a candle.

Naturally, the book he’d borrowed from Elliot was tucked under his arm.

The abruptly opening door and the sight of Gilbert had startled Oz. He flinched, straightening up, and froze.

I knew it…

Muttering to himself, Gilbert heaved a long sigh. Oz looked uncomfortable, like a little kid caught in the act of playing a prank. He returned the book to the table and got back into bed. …Grumbling to himself as he did so.

Oz crawled back under the covers and lay there in the dark, looking up at the ceiling and muttering softly. Well…it really was a good part.

Fruit of Uncertainty. The book Elliot had loaned him. The name of the author had been a bit off-putting, but the story was fantastic.

It had been a long time since he’d read a book that had thrilled him so much. Set in the rough old town of an imaginary city, it was a story about a showdown between a detective and a mysterious killer. One man who committed a series of murders using artistic methods, and another who was tracking him down with brilliant reasoning.

Just remembering it made his heart leap, and the excitement flooded back.

……Okay, Oz thought, under the covers.

He’d gotten out of bed too soon last time.

He’d needed to wait at least five, no, ten minutes. Yes, he should have waited until he was sure Gilbert had really gone back to his own room before he got out of bed. Oz held still, listening carefully. Was Gilbert still out in the corridor, keeping an eye on him?

Since this was the second time, Oz was particularly careful: He stayed in bed for thirty minutes without moving a muscle.

Sure that Gilbert must have gone back to his room by then, Oz quietly slipped out of bed. Being particularly wary regarding the area around the door, he approached the table, then returned to the bed, holding the book and the candelabra. He set the candelabra on the shelf by the bed, lit it with a match, and got back under the covers, hugging the book.

Pushing aside a big feather pillow, he lay down on his stomach and opened the book to where he’d left off. He gave an involuntarily huff of excitement.

In a moment, Oz was pulled into the world of the book.

By the time he turned the last page, the sky outside the window was tinged with morning light. Even after he’d finished reading, he couldn’t lift his head from the book right away.

Even as he knew he’d have to put the book and candelabra back on the table or Gilbert would scold him when he came to wake him up, Oz’s mind was drifting into a pleasant sleep. Then, as he lay on his stomach, dozing, with the closed book at his side…

Oz made a resolution.

2

MORNING, ONE WEEK LATER.

“Go shopping? Now? Right away?”

It was after breakfast. Gilbert, who’d been making tea in Oz’s room, blinked at the words he’d just heard, responding with questions.

“Right.” Oz nodded.

There were three people in the room at the moment: Oz, Gilbert, and Alice, who’d appropriated the bed and was asleep. She might have been dreaming about eating: She had a cheerful expression on her face and was gnawing at the pillow. They’d probably have to send it out later to be laundered.

Oz, who was sitting on the sofa, looked up at Gilbert. He was smiling happily.

Gilbert had been about to tilt the teapot, but he hesitated and thought a little.

“Oz. Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You don’t mean…you want to send somebody out shopping for you?”

“Of course not. I’m going, on my own.”

“I see,” Gilbert answered. Gazing into space, he mentally ran over the day’s schedule.

Fortunately, they didn’t have any pressing business just now.

As long as it didn’t take too much time, simply going shopping wouldn’t be much of a problem, Gilbert concluded. He nodded once. He resumed pouring tea into the teacup, then held it out to Oz.

“All right. Wait just a bit, Oz. I’ll go get ready.”

“……Get ready?”

Oz looked puzzled.

“I just need to grab my coat. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you won’t need that.”

“I won’t? I suppose it is pretty warm today, but…”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m going by myself.”

Oz tossed off that line lightly but firmly. Gilbert couldn’t process what he’d said.

“You don’t have to come, Gil.”

Gilbert still couldn’t understand what he’d just heard.

“And you’d better not follow me. I mean it.”

As Oz delivered that declaration with a million-watt smile, Gilbert’s mouth hung open.

The street’s official name was Dodgson Street, but practically no one called it that.

It was a wide road that ran through the old part of town, a neighborhood inhabited mostly by common folk in a corner of Reveil, the capital. It was a jumble of all sorts of shops—groceries, sundries shops, secondhand clothing stores—lined up without any rhyme or reason.

The people who lived in Old Town called the road something else:

Hodgepodge Street.

The place certainly wasn’t well-disciplined. It was overflowing with things and crowded with people, and as a result, trouble broke out many times every day.

However, the street single-handedly supplied the common folk with food, clothing, and shelter. From cheap items of good quality to expensive items of poor quality, it was safe to say there was nothing the street didn’t have. Day in and day out, it bestowed its blessings on everyone, from babes in arms to the elderly.

A place that was equally open to absolutely anyone, even to nobles— That was Hodgepodge Street.

“Wow…”

Oz stood at the entrance to Hodgepodge Street. It was just after eleven o’clock, almost lunchtime; the street bustled with people and was filled with clamor and noise. Surrounded by the dense heat and smell of the crowd, Oz breathed deeply.

Compared with the district of aristocratic residences where he spent most of his time, even the air seemed to taste different.

Oz had visited streets before that commoners used.

However, on those occasions, it had either been late at night or he’d just been passing through, and he couldn’t really say he’d come into proper contact with them.

The street Oz saw now was completely different from those other times. Just standing around idly was enough to get him bumped into by all sorts of people. Naturally, none of them apologized—it was his fault for standing there and spacing out. He felt himself beginning to smile with eagerness and excitement.

Then:

Come to think of it, I wonder if Gil’s behaving…

Oz remembered Gilbert, who’d been left at Pandora Headquarters with orders to stay there.

His objective for the day was to go shopping in Old Town.

There was one other important condition for today’s outing:

Gilbert couldn’t be there.

Right. Gil was the last person I could’ve taken.

…If this plan was going to work, at any rate.

Gilbert was a faithful valet, and there was no way he could disobey an order from Oz, his master. However, when Oz had told him he’d be coming to this neighborhood, the area near the apartment where Gilbert lived alone, he’d immediately asked him to withdraw the order:

“Look, don’t go out by yourself! Please! Anyway, that area isn’t… The boulevards and the neighborhood where I rent my place aren’t bad, but if you go just a little farther out, it can get pretty rough. Give it more thought—No, I won’t tell you not to go, but at least take me with you…”

Gilbert pressed him, his expression earnest, but Oz thrust out a hand and spoke firmly:

“Nope. I’m going by myself.”

“Why?! What for?!”

“Nn, it’s confidential, sort of… Or maybe it’s a secret.”

“They’re the same thing!”

Oz evaded, but Gilbert wouldn’t back down easily, either, and the argument—“Take me with you!” “No!”—went on for a while. At that point, their squabble made Alice sit up in bed. She spoke, looking as if she was still half-asleep:

“Oz, I don’t know where you’re going, but if they have yummy stuff to eat there, take me with.”

“Sure, Alice. Let’s go.”

“WHY, Oz?!!”

Oz couldn’t help snickering a bit at the memory. However…

“All right.”

Abruptly, his face was taut and businesslike. Oz hadn’t come here just to see the sights.

“Now I have to figure out how to find what I’m after…”

Right: He couldn’t simply enjoy himself. He had a mission to complete, and he couldn’t be careless.

I left Gil back at Pandora… My expedition partner is—

Oz glanced to the side.

There was Alice, looking around as if she was searching for something. To everyone else, we probably stick out like a pair of sore thumbs, he thought. There was no point in worrying about it. For now, they had to search every inch of the street.

“Let’s get moving, Alice! Nothing’s going to happen if we just keep standing here.”

“Mm, that’s fine, but Oz…”

Nodding, Alice looked straight at Oz.

“I’m hungry. Feed me something.”

“…Ah……”

“Let’s see. Right now, I feel like eating meat. Get me meat.”

“You always feel like that.”

“Hmph. —Of course!”

Alice spoke as if she was bragging, and Oz gave a wry smile.

He reconsidered. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to fill their bellies before they started, even if they did it because she’d gotten the jump on him.

Fortunately, there were lots and lots of food stalls on the street. Appetite-whetting aromas wafted from every stall, and they heard the voices of barkers energetically attracting customers.

With Alice beside him, Oz began walking, wondering which stall to choose. …But Alice had already stopped in front of one.

“Step right up!” the owner’s voice greeted them. When Oz looked, he saw that the front of the stall was lined with skewers of grilled chicken that sent up fragrant smoke. As she gazed at the ranks of grilled skewers, Alice’s eyes were sparkling. Naturally, her mouth looked about ready to start drooling at the corners.

“You want this one?” Oz asked, just to make sure, and Alice nodded. However, her eyes promptly went to the stall that was doing business right next door.

“No, that one’s good, too.”

She pointed at a mountain of just-boiled sausages. Then, immediately lured by a different smell, she turned around, pointing to a butcher shop that was visible across the street. Maybe because it was lunchtime, the butcher shop was selling grilled meat from its storefront.

“Ohhh, I want to eat it all! Oz, this is a wonderful place!”

Drat, Oz thought. To Alice, the street at lunchtime might as well have been an El Dorado.

Of course, if Oz had been able to buy her as much as she wanted, he would have loved to do it. However, today was—

“No. No way, Alice! Just one place. Pick one.”

“Why?!”

“Because there’s something more important than buying food. We can’t be extravagant, not today.”

Alice might have sensed a hint of severity in Oz’s words; she grumbled a little: “Hrnn.

“Oz… Only one, whatever we do, no matter what?”

“Mm-hm, one.”

“Hrrrrrrrrrrrrnn…”

Alice gave a long, long growl; she seemed thoroughly undecided. Then, from a short distance away, a deep voice called to them:

“Heeeey, you two! Kids! Not sure where to go? Pick my place!”

“???”

At the voice, Oz and Alice both turned to look, and then…

They saw…

“Oh, oh, oooooooooooooooooooooooh…!!” Alice cried out in surprise and admiration.

Wow. Oz also caught his breath, involuntarily.

Hanging at that stall was a whole roasted pig.

It was a truly powerful sight, the sort that begged for a “Ta-daaa!”

The roasted pig seemed to have already had bits carved off it here and there, but most of it was still left. On seeing their reactions, the stall owner laughed loudly, smacking his shoulder with the blunt side of a big carving knife.

Alice shot over like an arrow and began bouncing around the roasted pig.

“This, Oz! I want this! This is it!”

Flustered, Oz walked over to her.

“Alice-san, Alice-san! He isn’t selling the whole thing.”

“If you can eat the whole thing, I sure don’t mind selling it to you.”

The owner spoke jokingly, then guffawed. Oh, I wish you hadn’t said that! Oz thought. And right then:

“—Oho. You think I couldn’t finish off that much meat, do you?”

Alice’s expression abruptly changed to a defiant smile. She crossed her arms, looking up at the big stall owner.

The owner probably thought she’d responded to his joke with one of her own. He opened his big mouth even wider, laughed coarsely, and said something else uncalled-for: “If you eat the whole thing, I’ll give it to you for free.”

A perilous voice that held the hint of a dangerous smile came from Alice’s mouth.

Baring her gleaming white teeth:

“Fu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, well said! You did know who I was when you said that, didn’t you?! You’ll regret it! If you want to fill my belly, you’ll have to bring out two or three more of those. I’ll carve that into your foolish soul—”

“Wait, wait, Alice-san, wait! You, too, mister!”

Alice was wearing such an aura of gluttony that she seemed ready to devour anything she touched, but a split second before she leapt at the roasted pig, Oz managed to cut in.

“What are you doing, Oz?!”

As Alice yelled, Oz gave a sigh of relief.

Th-that was close…!

If he’d been a moment later, a horrific carnivorous banquet would have commenced in a corner of this Old Town street. Alice was watching Oz, looking put out. For his part, possibly because he’d been overwhelmed by Alice’s nearly bloodthirsty appetite, the stall owner’s forehead was greasy with sweat.

Alice seemed to want to say, What’s wrong with accepting a fight he picked?! Oz held up a hand to stop her and smiled at the stall owner.

“We just need two regular orders! Or, no, two for Alice, so…three orders total!

“…………Uh, yeah.”

With an overawed nod, the stall owner began carving the pork. Alice grumbled, dissatisfied. The owner squeezed sauce over the carved pork with a practiced hand, nimbly wrapped the orders in paper, then held them out to Oz and Alice. When Oz said, “Thank you,” the stall owner stuck out a hand.

Oz tilted his head slightly, puzzled. Then he took the hand, thinking the man must be asking for a handshake.

“Thank you very much.”

“Snrk!” The stall owner burst out laughing.

“Money, boy. Money. Don’t tell me you’re planning to eat for free.”

“Ah, I-I’m sorry!”

“What’re you, some pampered rich kid? Never gone shopping on your own before?”

The owner guffawed loudly.

Aaaaaagh, how embarrassing!

Even Oz had made a few minor purchases before. He’d shaken the man’s hand involuntarily, out of sheer carelessness. Still, somehow—It felt as if the owner had seen through to the sheltered upbringing he’d received as a child of the nobility.

Red-faced, Oz searched the pockets of his trousers. He took one paper bill out of his wallet and handed it to the stall owner.

The owner took coins from the counter and put them on Oz’s palm, saying, “There’s your change. Thank ye kindly!”

Having gotten her meat, Alice was already almost finished with one order.

Oz gazed at the few coins in his palm; he seemed lost in thought.

“What’s wrong, Oz?”

At Alice’s puzzled voice, Oz answered a little self-consciously; his eyes were still on the coins. “I was just thinking, this is a first.”

“A first? What is?” Alice looked blank.

“Nothing.” Oz shook his head. “Let’s go.” He put the coins into his wallet, thanked the owner again, and moved away from the stall. He hadn’t wanted the stall owner to hear the rest of what he was going to say.

Oz murmured in a small voice:

“This is the first thing I ever bought with my own money.”

—Then.

Oz stopped, startled, and looked back.

“…………?”

He saw people, people, people coming and going on the street. The confused hubbub leapt into his ears. He turned, looking around him. “Hmm…” Oz cocked his head. Alice was stuffing her face with roast pork, and as she spoke, her mouth was smeared with sauce.

“What now? You never settle down, do you.”

“It felt like we were being watched. Sorry, it’s nothing. All right, let’s find somewhere to sit down and eat. …Except, Alice-san, you’re done already, aren’t you. Um… Do you want half of mine? I’m not all that hungry.”

“Sure, I’ll eat it for you,” Alice answered instantly.

3

As a matter of fact, someone actually had been watching Oz.

A narrow alley opened off the side of the crowded, teeming street. Someone was leaning against the alley wall, breathing roughly. They’d hastily dived into the alley before Oz’s eyes could catch them.

The alley was squeezed between tall buildings; it was a wretched place, practically a garbage dump. Very little sunlight filtered in, and a fishy stench hung in the damp air. Except for a few wandering rats and that lone figure, it was deserted.

The figure breathed harshly for a while, then muttered:

“…I thought he’d see me. That was close—”

They gulped. They messed with their bangs, trying to hide their face, as though attempting to avoid being seen, even in the empty alley.

Yes, the figure was…

None other than Oz’s faithful valet, Gilbert.

Gilbert shook his head, lecturing himself:

“No, I’m here because I had an errand to run. It wouldn’t hurt anything if he did see me…”

Right, right. He nodded.

“I only came down to Old Town to check on my apartment, and since I was already in the neighborhood, I was wandering around the street. Then I just happened to see Oz. That means it’s fine to get out there and walk tall. I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Even as he came to that conclusion, Gilbert cautiously peeked out of the alley, moving like a sneak thief, searching for Oz.

He didn’t find him immediately, but he managed to spot his slight back as it disappeared into the crowd.

Oz seemed to be moving farther and farther down the street, taking Alice with him. Gilbert was still in the alley, and the distance between them was widening.

Shooing away the rats that were gathering around his feet, he slipped out of the alley into the street. He walked along, blending with the crowd, maintaining a perfect distance: not far enough to lose sight of Oz, and not close enough to be noticed.

Still… Why did Oz have to come to a place like this to do his shopping? Gilbert wondered, perplexed.

To Gilbert, who rented an apartment in Old Town, Hodgepodge Street was a very familiar place. Living alone, he was both indebted to it and fond of it. However, Oz was a son of the four great dukedoms, and it wasn’t a suitable place for him to be.

Ahead of Gilbert, Oz stopped in front of a shop. When Gilbert saw that, he ducked into the shadow of a nearby lamppost, concealing himself.

No matter how you looked at it, he was a fine example of a shadow.

The customer was known as “the Prince.”

Having given half of his own roast pork to Alice, Oz was feeling a little unsatisfied, and he stopped by a greengrocer’s.

He was thinking about buying some apples. Alice, who’d eaten two-and-a-half orders, still didn’t seem full, so he’d buy for her as well.

When he consulted the contents of his wallet, he thought he could probably afford two.

Outside the greengrocer’s, a man who seemed to be the shopkeeper was chatting with some regular customers. When he saw Oz and Alice, he spoke to them: “Ah, step right up. Pick whatever you like!” All the fruit displayed in front of the store looked nice and fresh.

The apples Oz had been looking for were piled up in a pyramid, and he found them right away. However, since he had the opportunity, Oz took a good look at all the fruit that was on display.

Living at the Vessalius mansion or at Pandora Headquarters, he almost never got a chance to see places where fruit was sold this way. Apples, oranges, apricots, grapes, figs, black cherries, pears, and so on and so on.

It was only fruit, lined up in no particular order, but to Oz, it looked like a casket of jewels. Just the sight of it was enough to make his heart dance.

Alice kept reaching for anything and everything. As he admonished her—“Don’t do that”—Oz pointed to a basket of strawberries. “Mister, how much are these strawberries?”

“Hmm? Oh, those are…”

The shopkeeper promptly told him how much a basketful cost, but Oz didn’t know the market price, and he had no idea whether they were expensive or cheap.

To Oz, fruit had always been something that was delivered to the mansion and set on the table as dessert. There’s so much I don’t know, he thought. He wasn’t about to get depressed over it, but it also wasn’t something he could bring himself to be proud of.

I wonder if Gil knows all about things like this… I bet he does.

Gilbert’s face rose in his mind. Gilbert lived by himself in a rented apartment in Old Town.

“You’re not one of the neighborhood brats, are you?”

The shopkeeper had spoken to him, and there was a smile in his voice. Oz scratched his forehead with a finger, embarrassed.

“Erm, is it that obvious?”

“Well, yeah. For one thing, the stuff you’re wearing looks first-rate.”

“Does it?”

Oz looked at his clothes, but he couldn’t see what the man was talking about.

“The only kid around here who wears duds that nice is the president’s tyke.”

“The president?”

“Of the street’s commercial association. He’s got a snot-nosed kid who always plays around here. You look like you’ve been brought up even better than him. Something about you says ‘quality.’ You’re some aristocrat’s son, aren’t you?”

“……Yes.”

Oz’s answer was timid. At that, the shopkeeper hemmed a bit and folded his arms, cocking his head as though something had struck him as odd. As Oz watched the man, wondering what had happened, the shopkeeper noticed his gaze and laughed. “No, well…

“Come to think of it, there’s the Prince, too. Another guy who looks like he was brought up proper, like you—”

The Prince? Oz tilted his head, perplexed, and the shopkeeper said:

“Ah, he’s a regular at the shops around here; we nicknamed him that ourselves.”

“…The Prince of Old Town…”

As Oz murmured, the shopkeeper looked up and down the street, muttering, “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around for quite a while now.”

The Prince. What an odd nickname.

“What kind of person is he?”

“Let’s see… All I know is that he lives by himself here in the neighborhood. He’s got an eye for merchandise that’s the envy of any shopkeeper. He keeps his wallet shut real tight. He never buys stuff he doesn’t need. He’s so good at chores that a whole gang of housewives couldn’t beat him.”

Wow… Oz was very impressed.

“Well, if you want to hear about the Prince, these folks can tell you more. —C’mon in!”

Glancing toward the front of the store, the shopkeeper called to a few housewives who’d just entered.

The women were all carrying market bags, and they seemed to be in their twenties and thirties. One had a baby bound to her back. Unlike Sharon, his little sister Ada, and the other women of the aristocracy, there was a sense of practical, everyday life and an air of sturdiness about these women.

The shopkeeper went over to the housewives and said something to them. At that, the women eagerly surrounded Oz.

The woman who was carrying the baby spoke:

“So you want to know about the Prince, kid?”

“Yes,” Oz answered.

“For starters, the Prince is so good at shopping he’s famous for it. They say he’s a model housewife, and lots of girls actually do use him as a role model.”

“Why do they call him ‘the Prince’?”

At Oz’s question, the housewives’ faces grew merry.

“Well, you see, he does live around here, but rumor has it that he’s actually from someplace real posh. He doesn’t put on airs or anything, but he feels like ‘quality,’ you know? Like he was brought up nice.”

“My, now that you mention it, this boy feels like quality, too.”

Complimented as an afterthought, Oz put on a perfect fake smile.

“Nobody knows who the Prince really is. He doesn’t talk about himself at all. But—”

The housewife with the baby had begun to speak, but almost immediately, the woman next to her broke in and stole the initiative, as if insisting that she be allowed to talk.

“Right, but it isn’t that he’s unsociable. If we strike up a conversation, he’ll make small talk with us about cooking and things. Quite a while back, he said, ‘I live alone, so I’d like to learn some simple recipes,’ and when I taught him a few easy ones, he was ever so grateful. A few days later, he gave me some as a thank-you, and when I ate it, it was far and away better than when I made the same thing myself. I swear, I’m really no match for him.”

At this point, she said, she was the student, and she smiled in a friendly way.

Wow… That guy’s really amazing.

As Oz thought to himself, appreciatively, another woman picked up the thread, beginning to speak. “Me, too,” she said.

“My old man doesn’t bring in much, and when I was grumbling that the only tea leaves we could buy were the cheap sort, he taught me a trick for brewing delicious tea. When I brewed it that way, would you believe it? …From the way it tasted, you’d never have thought they were the same tea leaves. Do you know that one? First, you—”

As he listened, for a moment, someone’s face almost appeared in Oz’s mind.

Still, he couldn’t imagine there were too many ways to brew really good tea. It was probably just a coincidence.

After the housewives had talked for a bit, they all said the same thing the shopkeeper had, sounding lonely:

“We haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“I see,” Oz said, to show he’d been listening, and then—

“Wha—? Whoa?!”

As he looked around, his eyes went wide.

He’d been listening to the housewives’ stories and hadn’t noticed, but while he wasn’t paying attention, a small crowd had formed around them. What’s going on?! Oz was bewildered. The majority were women holding market bags, but he saw a few who seemed to be employees from other shops, too.

“They’re the Prince’s fans,” the shopkeeper said, laughing.

“The kid says he wants to know about the Prince, so we’re telling him. Any of you want in on that?”

He attempted to draw in the people around them.

“Oh, no, I don’t really need to know all that much…”

Overwhelmed, Oz waved his hands, turning down the offer, but it was too late. Everyone began talking, and their voices broke over Oz like a tsunami.

They said…

They said the Prince could pick out the best bargain from merchandise lined up in a shop with a single cursory glance.

They said a merchant who’d tried to pawn a defective product off on him had confessed honestly after just one glare.

They said a shopkeeper who’d never once responded to attempts at haggling had brought down his price at one word from him.

They said—

They said—

They said

At first, Oz had been impressed by the anecdotes that were brought out one after another, but partway through he began to feel as if he was listening to legends or folklore.

Someone had said, “A shop was jammed with customers, but when the Prince appeared, they parted like the sea.” If he took that one seriously, he’d have to believe the Prince was some sort of mystical sage.

One young woman spoke:

“He shows up in rough clothes, and he always wears a black hat. He takes awfully good care of it, and I’m sure it’s a memento from somebody important to him—”

How much truth was there in these stories about the Prince, and how much was fiction? Oz had begun to take the tales with a grain of salt, but the mention of the hat caught his attention. Huh?

He’d heard that before, somewhere.

Isn’t that…?

Another woman spoke:

“He’s coolheaded and a man of few words, but he’s no good with cats. I hear someone saw him being chased around, all teary-eyed—”

………Yeah, I know that guy.

It was his own valet, Gilbert, who rented an apartment in the neighborhood.

Oz’s expression was beyond description.

At Oz’s reaction, the shopkeeper asked, “What’s the matter?” He sounded puzzled. However, Oz had no idea what to tell him. All eyes in the crowd focused on him. At the heart of the circle, Oz scratched his cheek with a finger in embarrassment, choosing his words as he spoke:

“Umm… I might know that person. I think.”

The crowd buzzed.

The women’s reactions were particularly dramatic. In the blink of an eye, they’d closed in on Oz and begun bombarding him with questions. Who was he? Why hadn’t he shown himself lately? What was his name? Did he have a sweetheart? Where could they go to see him? Et cetera.

He’s Gilbert Nightray, a son of the House of Nightray, one of the four great dukedoms, and my valet.

He couldn’t possibly tell them the truth, Oz thought.

What sort of uproar would it cause if it became known that a person like that was living by himself in a neighborhood like this?

…And geez, Gil. You’re really…

Inwardly, Oz spoke to Gilbert.

You’re kind of a legend around here…

Did Gilbert know people were calling him “the Prince”? Oz was pretty sure he didn’t. He responded to the questions that flew at him hard and fast by saying he didn’t know all that much, either. The people looked disappointed, and he felt just a little guilty.

Some of them were eyeing him skeptically, and he thought it would probably be a good idea to leave, quickly.

“Alice! Alice, let’s go!”

Pushing his way through the crowd, Oz searched for Alice.

When he finally managed to extricate himself from the group, he found her. She was holding a ripe white peach in each hand, and was just about to bite into one. “Wagh! Alice, no!” Hastily, Oz grabbed her hand, stopping her. From behind them, the shopkeeper laughed generously.

“Nah, it’s fine. You can have those two, on the house.”

“Huh? But…”

Oz looked bewildered. Alice bit into a peach, her face shining. The shopkeeper continued:

“Let’s see, then. In return, if you run into the Prince, tell him to stop by the shop again from me. I lay in good stock every day just to impress him. It’s discouraging if he doesn’t drop in every once in a while.”

The shopkeeper’s words were amiable, and it was obvious that the people of this street really liked Gilbert.

This was a side of him that Oz hadn’t known.

…Even today, Gilbert had been adamantly against his going to Old Town alone.

But.

Huh, he thought. This is a good place, Gil.

Oz and Alice left the greengrocer’s and began walking.

When Oz glanced over at Alice, she’d already finished the white peaches and was licking the juice off her fingers.

“Um, Alice-san?”

“Nn. What?” Alice looked up.

“………Where’s mine?”

“Yours? Nowhere.”

Alice’s face was satisfied, with no hint of a shadow.

Oz’s stomach rumbled.

A LITTLE WHILE EARLIER.

What’s that crowd?

In the shadow of the lamppost, Gilbert was suspicious. The shopkeeper who’d been speaking to Oz was a man Gilbert knew well. In fact, he knew most of the people who ran shops in this area. If they noticed him and spoke to him, it would probably attract Oz’s attention to him as well. He couldn’t move carelessly.

Oz had begun talking to the shopkeeper. Then some housewives who’d stopped by the greengrocer’s joined in, and in less than a few minutes, lots of people had gathered around Oz.

Oz was buried in the crowd, and he couldn’t see him.

A little ways away from the group, Alice was gazing at the fruit hungrily.

…It worried him.

Gilbert was very concerned.

Maybe I’ll get…just a little closer… he thought.

In the instant just before he stepped out from behind the lamppost—

As if she’d sensed something, Alice, who’d been rummaging through the fruit, abruptly looked his way.

It was a near thing. Gilbert just barely managed to check himself, and in a lightning-fast burst of movement, he hid himself in the shadow of the lamppost again.

In an instant, he was soaked with sweat.

“……Hff, hff, huff…… Nn?”

Feeling a tug on the tail of his coat, Gilbert looked down. A boy of about ten was standing there, holding on to Gilbert’s coat. He had blond hair that flipped out every which way, as if he’d slept on it wrong. His face looked innocent and naive.

His nose was running, and he gazed vacantly up at Gilbert.

For a kid from this neighborhood, he was wearing very nice clothes.

Gilbert had seen the kid around. He didn’t know his name, but he was pretty sure he was the commercial association president’s son.

Just then, the kid pointed at Gilbert and, without warning, opened his big mouth:

“Onii-chan, what’re you doi—Mmf!”

Hastily, Gilbert put out a hand and covered the boy’s mouth. The kid’s eyes rolled wildly. Gilbert bent down, getting close to the kid’s face, and told him, “Go away, okay?” He wasn’t sure he’d gotten through, but although the kid looked blank for a little while, before long, he nodded.

…I guess he got it.

Gilbert patted his head lightly—Good boy—and straightened up. When, from the shadow of the lamppost, he stealthily returned his gaze to the greengrocer’s, Oz and Alice (the latter with a white peach in each hand) were just walking away from the shop. Gilbert took out his pocket watch and looked at it.

It was noon, and many of the street’s workers were out and about as well, but things would gradually calm down.

When that happens, it’s going to be harder to blend into the crowd and follow Oz… I mean, I just happen to be walking in that direction myself, but still…

Even as he thought these things, straight-faced, Oz and Alice were getting farther away.

Gilbert was about to leave the shadow of the lamppost when he felt something pull on his coat.

When he looked down, the snot-nosed kid was staring up at him, hanging on to his coat.

“You’re st…”

He almost yelled.

He’s still here…?!

When Gilbert flinched, the kid looked at him curiously. Flustered, Gilbert put out a hand and gestured at him: Shoo! Shoo! (Go away.) However, the kid just kept gazing up at him.

If he didn’t go after Oz and Alice soon, he’d lose sight of them, but the kid was hanging on to the tail of Gilbert’s coat, and he couldn’t move. He tugged lightly on the coat and pointed at it, telling the kid, “Let go of this.” However, the kid only looked up at him and didn’t budge.

Making his voice as small as he could, so as not to attract attention, Gilbert spoke bluntly:

“…I told you, get your hands off my coat!”

Maybe he’d finally gotten through to him. The kid stared down at his own hands, holding the coat. Hurry up and let go, Gilbert willed, and then the kid suddenly drew his hands in, bringing the cloth of the coat up toward his face. Gilbert didn’t even have time to ask him what he thought he was doing.

The kid pressed the coat to his face, and…

Hooooooooonk.

Tha—Th-th-th-th-that little… He just blew his nose on my coat—!!

It was practically a miracle that he didn’t yell.

On reflex, he glared at the kid, but this was just a kid, and he couldn’t get mad at him even if he wanted to.

Gilbert bit his lower lip. His shoulders trembled.

“…Ugk, kuh, rrgh…!”

His eyes were a little bit teary.

4

“You know, this place is a lot more peaceful than I thought it would be,” Oz murmured.

Having left the greengrocer’s, he’d walked along, peeking into shops here and there.

Old Town. …Here, day and night, criminal organizations battled it out, illegal goods were traded, and mysterious women were pursued by bad men.

That, and enigmatic murderers carried out their secretive work.

This place should have been filled with trouble like that. …According to Fruit of Uncertainty, the book he’d borrowed from Elliot, anyway.

In the book, the detective Ivel—who, although he had an aristocratic guardian, ran a detective agency in Old Town—described the area this way. The words had made a particular impression on him. Old Towns hold all the world’s good and evil, condensed, he’d said.

There was no way Oz wouldn’t be interested after that.

There was no way he wouldn’t have wanted to go.

That said… Oz smiled wryly.

“I guess stories are just stories, after all—”

Almost before Oz had finished speaking… Somewhere, he heard an astonished outburst from a crowd of people. It wasn’t like the ordinary bustle of the city. He could hear screams in there, too, along with boisterous excitement. Oz looked around, searching for the source of the noise.

His eyes focused on something. Down the street, a crowd had gathered in front of the mouth of a fairly wide alley.

F-finally… Trouble?!

Shivering with excitement, Oz launched himself into a run.

Although it might not have been very commendable of him, inwardly, he was thrilled. After all, this was what he’d been waiting for.

Is it a syndicate battle, or an enigmatic killer, or a mysterious lady—?!

Reaching the edge of the crowd, he pushed his way in, calling “Excuse me, excuse me” over and over, working his way toward its heart.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” “How did this happen?” “Is it a fight? No—” “That lot again!” Hearing the voices of the onlookers convinced Oz that there was a really fantastic incident waiting just ahead. His cheeks flushed with rising expectation. Before long, he’d managed to maneuver his way through the crowd to the very front.

His field of vision opened up.

Okay! Trouble’s broken out, and—?!

It was a gloomy alley.

The first things Oz saw were three rough-looking men.

And then…

“You first! Start jumping.”

…………………………Huh?

Oz’s eyes went round.

In front of the men, in an arrogant pose, stood Alice.

Come to think of it, when he thought back carefully, he had the feeling he’d stopped seeing Alice somewhere along the way, while he’d been looking into shops.

Alice was standing tall in the center of the alley.

The three men in front of Alice were standing in a neat, horizontal line, like students being scolded by a teacher. They were wearing tacky coats, and there were tattoos on the arms that stuck out of their sleeves. They were obviously ruffians.

All three men looked as if they’d just been beaten like carpets.

Their faces and bodies were covered in bruises.

Wha—Huh—Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh?!

Inwardly, Oz yelled.

The man Alice had ordered to jump gave a hoarse shriek; he looked as if he was about to cry. “Please forgive me!” Any tough-guy menace he’d had was gone without a trace.

Alice snorted.

“You people tried to do that ‘mug’ thingie to me first, remember? As if ‘Forgive me’ is going to cut it now! —Get moving. Jump.

“If you value your lives.” Alice broke into a superforceful, dangerous smile.

“Suh, spuh, sp-sp-sp-spare us!”

As if they’d be killed if they disobeyed, the three men began bouncing up and down.

Behind Oz, some of the spectators were giggling. From the conversations he overheard, Oz learned that these three were famous on the street as two-bit punks. The men were constantly causing trouble for people who lived in the area, and some residents had been victimized by them that very day.

Apparently Alice was the hero who’d vanquished them.

Shouts of encouragement flew Alice’s way, and some people were actively egging her on: “Give ’em some more, little lady!”

Oz couldn’t laugh. It was really and truly no laughing matter.

In the first place, Alice didn’t know anything about buying and selling, so how had she known about mugging? Because Oz had told her.

After they’d left Pandora Headquarters, before they’d reached Old Town, he’d told Alice about it, along with other kinds of trouble they might run into there. He’d made his description funny, exaggerating and distorting a bit. Something about how “Mugging is a type of ‘hunting’ seen all the time in neighborhoods like this—”

But in any case.

He’d told her about it in order to make sure she took care not to get caught up in that kind of trouble.

I-I didn’t tell you so you could do it, Alice-san—!

What a horrendous misunderstanding. …Or was it that he hadn’t explained it right?

As the men kept hopping, their faces crumpled with tears, Alice pointed at them sharply.

“Yeah, ‘mugging’ is too slow. Give me meat, you lot!”

“A-Alice-Alice-Alice!”

Oz practically tumbled out of the front row, hurrying to stand in front of Alice. When she saw him, Alice responded: “Oho.

“Oz, huh? Where were you, and what were you doing?”

“No… That’s my line…”

As Oz spoke, his shoulders slumped.

AFTER THAT.

To get Alice to let them go, the men brought out what little money they had, but Oz politely refused it. In exchange, perhaps, or possibly as a thank-you to Alice for having punished the hooligans, the spectators gave her a mountain of meat dishes.

She was treated as a real hero.

“Here, Oz. I’ll share with you, just this once.”

As she walked down Hodgepodge Street with Oz, hugging all the meat to her chest, Alice held out a skewer of grilled chicken.

She was obviously in a good mood. “Thanks…” Oz said, accepting it with a complicated expression on his face.

Apparently, in that last incident, the men really had been the ones to start trouble with Alice, and when he thought of what could have happened if she hadn’t been so strong, he was just glad she was all right. Besides, as the people on the street had pointed out happily, as far as results were concerned, Alice’s actions had proved to be a good deed.

However.

I did want something to happen, but I never thought Alice would make it happen…

He completely hadn’t expected it.

Well, no, you could probably say that, when traveling with Alice, you could fully expect to see things you weren’t expecting.

“Nom-nom-nom-nom-nom-nom-nom… Mm, yum!”

Alice was enthusiastically stuffing her face with a grilled skewer, and she seemed blissfully satisfied, as though she’d already forgotten the men.

As he walked along next to Alice, Oz also brought his skewer to his mouth.

“—Oh, you’re right. It really is good.”

Alice kept silently munching on grilled skewers, taking them out of their paper wrapping one after another.

It happened just about the time the number of skewers was set to go into double digits. Alice’s stomach must have calmed down a bit: The pace at which she was eating slowed, but even so, she had a new skewer in her mouth when she spoke:

“And? What about you? Did you find what you came for?”

“Huh?”

Oz looked blank. Alice continued, her tone casual:

“If you haven’t yet, then I suppose I’d better start helping you seriously.”

“……Huh?” Oz repeated.

Alice glanced at him.

“You’re looking for those, right? Gloves like the black leather ones in that book. To give to somebody.”

“?!”

This extremely frank statement bewildered Oz.

Questions swirled through his mind: Why?! How?! He hadn’t told anybody about his reasons for coming to Hodgepodge Street. He’d kept his plan secret the entire time. Strictly. Carefully. He’d been sure he hadn’t let anything slip. And yet… Why?

Could she possibly have deduced it from some incredibly faint, infinitesimal clue?

If she had…

Is Alice actually a great detective?!

Involuntarily, Oz drew closer to her.

“How do you know about that, Alice?!”

At that, she answered:

“You went to bed early last night, remember? When I went to your room, you were talking about it in your sleep.

“As plain as day,” Alice said, finishing him off.

…………………………………………………………………………………I’m an idiot.

Oz went down in flames.

5

Oz, where are you?!

It was after lunchtime, and Gilbert was walking rapidly along Hodgepodge Street. His expression was tense with impatience.

He’d forcibly yanked his coat out of the boy’s hands, and the kid had burst into tears; while he was soothing him, he’d lost sight of Oz. He can’t have gone very far yet, he thought, and he was looking into the shops all down the street with a feeling as if he was praying.

That said, as long as they kept to Hodgepodge Street, he wasn’t all that worried. He’d said it was dangerous to come to Old Town, but there were lots of people in this area, and, maybe as a result, it was safe. If it hadn’t been, Gilbert wouldn’t have rented an apartment for himself nearby.

The place it wasn’t all right to go was a corner of Old Town.

It was an area known as “the Bottom,” and it wasn’t all that big. It was the dark side of Reveil, an area that was practically lawless, where the neighborhood’s very poorest and those who couldn’t live in ordinary society anymore tended to wind up.

At each and every one of the shops he stealthily peeked into, he struck out. If he still hadn’t found Oz after he’d checked a few more…

No, he can’t possibly have gone to the Bottom…but…

If he only knew what Oz had come here to buy, he thought, he’d be able to narrow down the possible destinations.

The rising impatience made the buzz in his chest grow stronger.

Be at the next one, Oz!

His excuse for himself—that he just happened to have an errand here—had vanished from his mind.

The next place Gilbert peeked into was a secondhand clothing shop.

It was a comparatively large store for Hodgepodge Street, a popular shop with a wide selection of merchandise. It also seemed to have a lot of employees.

Praying that Oz would be in the shop, he peeked through the door, quietly, so as not to be noticed.

…………There he is!

Oz was unexpectedly close. He was standing just inside the shop, with his back turned toward the door, and Alice was a short distance away from him. Beyond Oz were two young men who seemed to be employees.

Oz hadn’t noticed him yet, but there was no telling when he might turn around. Gilbert hastily pulled his head back out. He held his breath.

Faintly, from inside the shop, he could hear voices in conversation.

It was all quite simple.

“………Ah. The guy they call ‘the Prince’ or whatever it is.”

Oz had brought up the Prince at the secondhand clothing store, too, and the young employee had responded in a bored voice.

Oz’s shoulders twitched. He’d sensed the barbs in the man’s words.

Oh, he thought. That might’ve been a mistake.

The young employee, who seemed like a frivolous type, continued without noticing Oz’s slight reaction:

“Yeah, y’know, I haven’t seen him around lately. Not that that’s bad news.”

“You said it.”

Another employee who’d been straightening merchandise nearby joined the conversation.

“He takes too much time to decide what he wants. He’s a pain.”

“That he is. I don’t get why people make such a fuss over that guy.”

“Same here. Looking at that gloomy mug of his ticks me off.”

“And all the women squealing about him… Are they stupid or what? What’s so great about him anyway?”

The two employees were enthusiastically badmouthing Gilbert and neglecting Oz. Although he didn’t let it show in his expression, Oz felt annoyance building inside him.

He wanted to complain, but it was partly his fault for bringing up the subject without giving it much thought, so he choked it down.

Old Town and Hodgepodge Street held a Gilbert he didn’t know. Learning about him was fun, and Oz had brought him up everywhere he’d gone. Between leaving the greengrocer’s and finding this used clothing store, Oz had asked about “the Prince”—Gilbert—at several shops.

Every one of them had spoken favorably of him. The people on this street liked Gilbert so much, it made him a little jealous.

Yes, it was quite simple:

Since that was the case, it wasn’t odd that there were also people who harbored ill feelings about it.

Ah… I should’ve known better…

Secretly, Oz was sorry he’d asked. He decided it would be better to hurry and find out whether they had any black leather gloves for sale, then leave the shop.

The place was crowded with clothes, and Alice, who’d come in with him, was wandering through the shop, looking around curiously.

The two employees were continuing their conversation, peppering it with unpleasant smiles. Put simply, these two were jealous of Gilbert’s popularity with women. Oz didn’t want to talk to them, and he looked around the shop, searching for another staff member to ask.

“When the tavern girls collared that guy and forced him to drink, one watered-down round was enough to wipe him out. That’s just sad. How lame can you get?!”

The words hadn’t been directed at Oz and Alice, but the voice was so loud they couldn’t help but hear.

…Ignore it. Just ignore it, Oz told himself, silently. For now, he started walking, beginning to move away from the pair.

The employees’ voices grew a bit louder.

“Oh, and by the way, I heard something funny. Next time they see that jerk in the tavern, some guys are planning to make him drink himself senseless, then take him someplace private. Somebody’s gotta teach him a lesson. Show him if he gets too full of himself, he’s gonna get hurt!”

The two employees burst into coarse laughter.

.

Oz stopped. He turned around. He walked up to the two, his footsteps sharp, and stood in front of them.

He looked straight at them. His gaze was quiet—Or rather, ice cold.

At the pressure in that gaze, even though he hadn’t actually glared at them, the employees flinched back.

However, they soon broke into dry smiles—“…Yeah? What?”—and acted as if they were ready to fight.

Oz took one small, deep breath.

“Listen. It’s true that he can’t hold his liquor, and he’s tried and failed to quit smoking lots and lots of times, and he cries pretty easily, but he’s important to me. You can talk about him behind his back all you want, but if you do anything weird to Gil—”

His tone was calm and very polite. However, it held a blade of clear, serious anger.

“I’ll never forgive you.”

Oz was a head shorter than both of them, but at his words, the employees muttered in mingled bewilderment and fear. Oz stared at them steadily for a little while. Pinned down by his force, the employees took a step back and spoke, sounding flustered:

“Wh-what gives, all of a sudden? …What are you to that guy…?”

“Me? I’m—”

Oz thought about what answer he should give, and immediately hit on the perfect word.

Putting his hands on his hips, he puffed out his chest and declared with dignity:

“I’m—his guardian!”

Oz looked satisfied.

Maybe they hadn’t expected the word: The two employees were dumbfounded.

Watching the two of them out of the corner of his eye, Oz raised his voice, calling for Alice. She came trotting out of the depths of the shop.

“What?” she asked.

“Let’s go, Alice,” Oz told her, simply.

“…Nn? Are you sure? Don’t you need to look for that thing?”

“I don’t feel like buying anything from this place anymore,” Oz said, flatly.

Oz took the lead, leaving the secondhand clothing shop a step ahead of Alice. True, as a used clothing shop, it was the place that was most likely to sell leather gloves. However, he was sure they’d find them for sale somewhere else if they looked.

Oz and Alice left the shop.

Then, just outside, they came face-to-face with someone unexpected.

“—Why, hello there, Oz-kun and Alice-kun. Fancy meeting you here.”

Oz blinked a few times. Beside him, Alice pointed: “You’re—!” The someone wore a cloak and was leaning on a swordstick; he raised the stick in a light salute, smiling brightly. “Good afternoon. ”

Oz called his name:

“Huh…? Break?”

It was true. Standing right there…

Was someone who brought the question “Why here?” to mind: Xerxes Break, in person.

Although it was ordinary for him to appear in unexpected places, Oz couldn’t imagine why he’d be on this street.

“Why are you here, Break?”

At Oz’s question, with a significant look, Break began to speak: “Well, you see…” However, before he could continue, Alice spoke up cheerfully:

“I bet you’re here for the snacks, too, you old clown. This really is a magnificent place!”

“…He isn’t you, Alice.”

Oz looked mildly appalled. Then:

“Oooh, it’s Zeke-sama!”

Someone called out from behind Oz. It was a young woman’s voice. When Oz turned around, several women in gaudy clothes were standing there. Zeke? Oz cocked his head, puzzled.

The women waved at Break and ran up to him. As they passed Oz, the floral fragrance of perfume drifted behind them. When Oz turned back, the women had surrounded Break and were talking to him in an overly familiar manner.

Break was greeting them amiably: “It’s been a long time.”

“It truly has, Zeke-sama! Honestly, you never come by the shop.”

“Ha-ha-ha, my apologies.”

“Mama’s lonely, too. You will stop by today, won’t you? We’ll give you all sorts of extras.”

“Well, well. Hmm, what should I do?”

“The shop opens in the evening. Do come.”

At that, the women moved away from Break and left, waving and winking at Oz as well.

Gradually, Oz understood. The women probably worked at a tavern somewhere on this street. In other words, Break was one of its regular customers. In that case, Break had come to the street today in order to put in an appearance at the tavern—

Sensing that Oz seemed to want to say something, Break spoke, smiling:

“You will keep this a secret from my lady, won’t you?”

“…So it’s something you can’t tell Sharon-chan about. Not only that, but ‘Zeke’… You go there under an assumed name? How about that…”

As he spoke, Oz’s eyes were reproving. When he continued, his voice was even more ironic and slightly scornful:

“‘We’ll give you extras,’ huh? I see.”

Alice, who was standing beside Oz and Break, listening to their exchange, grumbled: “Hrrrnnn?” Apparently she didn’t quite understand what they were talking about. Although he would have been hard-pressed to explain, Break didn’t seem at all abashed.

“I suppose you could call it a mature pleasure. Ah, you children are a bit young for that. You mustn’t, Oz-kun.”

Oz grew mildly irritated at finding himself treated like a child. With a taunting expression, he said:

“Listen to you. Ahh, you know, maybe I will tell Sharon-chan.”

“My, my. That would be a problem.”

Although he said it would be a problem, as Break spoke, his gestures indicated that it wouldn’t really be anything of the sort.

Then, his expression grew a bit thoughtful. In the tone of one speaking in riddles, he asked Oz a question:

“Do you know where ‘information’ tends to collect, here in Reveil?”

“…Information? What sort?”

Oz hadn’t expected the question, and all he could do was answer with one of his own. Break lowered his voice a bit, so that it would blend in with the noise from the crowd.

“For example, in a corner of this street, there’s a tavern. Its proprietress is so influential that there’s no one in underworld society who does not know her. Her intelligence network reaches into every corner of aristocratic society, and it’s said no information fails to find its way to her.”

“……Huh?”

“The ladies who work at her tavern have secured the favor of many nobles, as her pawns. ‘We’ll give you extras’ is a code phrase…meaning that new information has come in.”

“”

Oz couldn’t find a response. He swallowed involuntarily.

“…Wouldn’t it be marvelous if that were true?”

Break smiled significantly, mischievously, as he twirled his swordstick.

Oz glared at Break, thinking he’d been teased again. However, Break’s tone and expression were vague, and it was impossible to tell whether it had really been just a joke, or whether he’d disguised the truth as a jest. As he realized he couldn’t match Break in this sort of battle, Oz’s shoulders sagged.

“…Never mind. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, Break.”

“That would be quite helpful.”

“All right. I’ll be going, then.”

Oz waved to Break, turned his back on him, and walked off with Alice.

As Oz’s form grew smaller with distance, Break murmured quietly.

Turning to look at a narrow alley beside the secondhand clothing store, he said:

“…Now, then. I think I’ll go loan him a handkerchief.”

6

In the alley Break had turned toward…

He got angry for my sake. Oz did. My master…got angry…for me…

As a valet, how could he not be delighted about that?

Gilbert leaned against the alley wall, basking in the emotion. Oz’s voice rose again in his mind:

“If you do anything weird to Gil—”

His voice had held real anger.

When he’d heard Oz’s words in front of the secondhand clothing store, for a moment, he’d very nearly forgotten himself and run to him.

However, seeing Oz and Alice preparing to leave the store had brought him back to his senses, and he’d hastily dived into a nearby alley.

They probably hadn’t noticed him.

“If you do anything weird to Gil… I’ll never forgive you.”

Oz’s voice played over and over in his mind, like a refrain.

As a valet who served a master, could there be any words he would have been happier and more grateful to hear?

He was glad from the bottom of his heart that Oz was his master.

His smile was soft, and the corners of his eyes grew hot as tears of joy welled up. Then Gilbert gasped, and the smile vanished.

And even so, that master gave me an order, and I’ve…!

The air that had brimmed over with happiness grew dull and depressed. He’d gone against Oz’s orders and come to this neighborhood. Gilbert’s conscience weighed heavily on his back. I’m so… I’m such a—!

He held his head, writhing, and an anguished cry escaped him: “Uwaaaaaaaaah!”

Just then:

“Tearing up, then writhing in agony… You’re a busy fellow, aren’t you, Gilbert-kun.”

“………?!?!”

At the sudden voice, Gilbert turned as if he’d been stung. His eyes were wide and round.

“B-Break?! Why—”

Why are you here? Gilbert had been about to ask, but Break stuck out his swordstick, forestalling him, and he swallowed the words. “I’d rather not have the same conversation twice,” Break told him. Gilbert had no idea what he was talking about.

As Gilbert looked discombobulated, Break glanced from the alley to the street and continued:

“Oz-kun left. Shouldn’t you be going after him?”

“………!”

Gilbert had nothing but questions.

Why was Break here? Why did he seem to know what was going on? However, this wasn’t the time to grill him about it. If he failed to watch over his master after he’d committed the crime of disobeying his order, things would be truly hopeless.

“Thanks,” he told Break, simply, then broke into a run.

As he passed Break, a white silk cloth danced in front of his eyes. On reflex, he caught it. It was a handkerchief.

“Wash it and return it later, please. Your nose is running.”

Red-faced, Gilbert pressed the handkerchief to his nose and raced from the alley.

He didn’t hear Break’s final murmur:

“I wonder if Gilbert-kun will be all right… Now, then.”

7

The two of them had been parentless children from the same orphanage.

New orphans came to the facility at different times, and they left for new homes at different times as well, and so, although the pair had been at the same orphanage, the time they’d spent together had been very brief. There were many children who’d spent longer together than they had.

As a result, Ivel had forgotten the boy who’d been with him for that short time.

…Until the very last moment.

The climax of the story.

Ivel the detective’s brilliant deductions had finally brought the murderer to bay, and he was mortally wounded by the guards’ bullets. It happened in Old Town, in a decaying backstreet like a refuse dump.

Ivel walked up to the murderer, who lay in a pool of blood, his life nearly gone.

Then he spoke to him.

The murderer had been a master of disguise. Why, then, had he never removed his black leather gloves? They’d provided his pursuers with an important clue. Then, Ivel revealed his reasoning: He believed that the murderer had wanted to be pursued and discovered.

However, with a hoarse laugh, the murderer rejected the detective’s theory. “That couldn’t be,” he said.

As he spoke, the murderer raised his head from the pool of blood.

For the first time, the detective and the murderer were face-to-face.

Then, in him, Ivel saw…the shadow of the boy from the orphanage with whom he’d parted so long ago.

The boy had spent a very brief time at the orphanage with him. His name was Arrond.

With that, Ivel remembered everything.

They’d been close in age, and they’d often played together. Once, Ivel had helped out at a butcher’s shop in Old Town, and with his very first wages, he’d bought a pair of black leather gloves…and had given them to him.

He’d told Arrond there was no real meaning to it. He’d accidentally bought the adult size, he’d said, and they didn’t fit his hands, so he was giving them to him. However, Arrond was no different, and when he’d put the gloves on his hands, the size was all wrong.

Arrond had looked troubled, but Ivel had laughed and told him they’d fit once he grew up.

It was a trivial anecdote from a distant night.

Then the murderer left his last words:

“It’s strange, isn’t it? Even I don’t understand. I abandoned everything, became something who did nothing but steal human lives. Even so, even after I’d thrown everything away, I couldn’t get rid of these leather gloves. I don’t know why. I don’t even remember how I got them.”

The murderer looked at Ivel, and his expression was as young as it had been back then.

“Ah, you were right, master detective. I must have wanted you to find me.”

Ivel knelt in the pool of blood, hugging the corpse to his chest, and howled.

There the tale ended.

Over Hodgepodge Street, the sun was well into its journey down the sky.

“…They’re nowhere.”

They’d walked from one end of the long street to the other. Oz sat on an old, worn bench by the roadside; his expression was a bit dejected.

Alice sat next to Oz, licking a lollipop. Oz had bought it for her because he’d felt guilty about dragging her all over the place.

“I thought it would be pretty easy to find a shop that sold leather gloves.”

“Want to go back to that one store?”

Alice meant the secondhand clothing store where they’d heard Gilbert insulted. It probably was the best possibility.

Even so, with no hesitation, Oz shook his head.

“No way. I can’t give Gil something I bought at a place like that.”

After he said it, he realized it was the first time he’d said he was looking for a present for Gilbert.

He’d kept that a secret the whole time, and not only from Gilbert: He hadn’t told a soul.

Not even Alice.

Still, although it must have been the first Alice had heard of it, she didn’t react. Maybe she’d already heard that much when he was talking about the black leather gloves in his sleep. …Or maybe she just wasn’t interested, and was concentrating on eating her candy.

Oz scratched his cheek, a little embarrassed. He looked up at the slanting sunlight and repeated the words to himself:

“Right, I’m giving them to Gil… That’s the plan.”

The idea had hit him in the midst of the emotion and excitement he’d felt when he finished reading the book he’d borrowed from Elliot.

The black gloves Ivel, the detective, had given Arrond, who’d become a murderer. Their fates, bound together after long years by that present from childhood.

“There’s no real meaning to it.

“I accidentally bought the ones for adults, and they didn’t fit my hands.”

As he’d read, it had felt to Oz as if Ivel simply said these words to hide his embarrassment.

It hadn’t been stated in the book, but he thought Ivel had probably wanted to use the first money he’d earned by himself on a present for someone.

However, he hadn’t known what sort of reason to give, so he’d come up with a childish, lame excuse.

In aristocratic society, presents were an everyday occurrence, and were sometimes even given as greetings. Except for the ten-year gap when he’d been in the Abyss, Oz had given Gilbert a present on his birthday every year. Those presents hadn’t been casual, greeting-type presents. They’d had actual feeling behind them.

However.

Strictly speaking, the power behind the presents came from the House of Vessalius, not from Oz himself. Oz had never given Gilbert something purchased with money he’d earned on his own.

After reading the book, this had begun to feel like a huge difference to him.

“………Haaah.”

He leaned back into the bench, giving a little sigh.

Sensing eyes on him, he glanced over at Alice, who sat beside him. She was watching him, her lollipop still in her mouth.

He’d thought she must have gotten bored, or tired, or sick of being dragged around, but this didn’t seem to be the case.

All Alice’s eyes said was, Well? What next?

Oz looked back at the buildings that lined the street.

Then, as if talking to himself, he murmured:

“It’s a little far, but we could try going to the place I heard about.”

The young man who’d worked as a clerk at the shop where they’d bought the lollipop had told him about it, a little while ago.

Oz had asked him if there was any place other than Hodgepodge Street that might sell leather gloves. The young man had told him that, if you walked west from the street for a little ways, there was an alley with rows of street vendors. If they’d searched Hodgepodge Street and hadn’t found what they were looking for, going there was about the only thing left to try.

…But, the youth had warned them, lowering his voice:

The alley with the stalls was close to a dangerous area known as the Bottom of Old Town.

Since that was the case, the young man had told them to make sure they stayed away from it.

It’s all right. I know. …Okay.

Having made up his mind, Oz got up from the bench, turned to Alice, and spoke:

“Let’s go, Alice.”

They set off, walking side by side. They heard the shops’ barkers attracting customers, and the hum of voices from the busily milling crowd. In the bustle, Oz abruptly heard an animal’s growl—or rather, a human voice that sounded like a growl—and he looked in that direction.

His eyes found the back of a big man who probably weighed five or six times as much as Oz did. The big man was standing on the other side of the street, next to a cart piled high with cargo, and he was yelling something, nearly howling.

A lollipop lay on the ground by the man’s feet. It seemed to be broken in half and coated with dust.

Alice snorted at the sight.

“A great big man, fussing over dropped food. That’s ridiculous.”

Oz nodded slightly, then seemed to remember something:

“Huh? But Alice, a little while back, when you dropped that sparerib on the floor, you—”

“It’s fine if I do it.”

Alice spoke flatly, as if it was only natural.

This was very like Alice, and Oz chuckled. He felt as though some of the tension had gone out of his shoulders.

He looked up at the sky. It was getting close to sunset.

He thought about Gilbert, back at Pandora Headquarters. It would be mean of him to stay out too late, on top of ordering Gilbert to stay there. His valet was a worrywart at the best of times, and he was probably waiting anxiously for him to come home.

I’ll head back really soon. —I’m sorry, Gil!

Meanwhile, as his master was apologizing to him this way, Gilbert was…

“Uh, erm… Well.”

“Y-y-youuuuuu, you just ran right into me, and my—MY!—precious, sweet li’l lolly fell on the dirty groooooooooound! Wh-wh-what’re you gonna DO about it, huuuuuuuuuh?!”

…Was currently behind the cart, being badgered by the big man.

It had happened when he’d seen Oz and Alice leave the street, heading west, and had hastily started to follow them. Gilbert had been in a hurry. There was a particularly rough area to the west of Old Town. If it looked as though Oz and Alice were heading toward it, he’d have to stop them before they went in.

As, thinking this, he hurried out from his hiding place, he’d crashed into a big man who’d had a lollipop in his hand. He’d gone flying, ending up right back behind the cart again. He’d rolled on the ground and banged his back.

When, feeling dizzy, Gilbert had turned his gaze to the big man’s feet, he saw the lollipop, broken in half and lying on the cobbles.

Gilbert got up. He was tall, but a thick voice bellowed down at him from even farther up:

“Apologiiiiiiize, apologiiiiiiiize!”

“—I’m sorry. Use this to buy another one.”

He had to hurry after Oz.

Pushed into motion by that thought, Gilbert took some coins from his wallet, holding them out to the big man as he passed him.

However, his hand was roughly smacked away.

Coins scattered across the cobbles.

“Whaaaaaat is with that attitude, huuuuuh?! Do you actually feel sorry?! Do yoooooooooou?!”

Gilbert’s behavior seemed to have poured oil on the big man’s wrath. Even if he had been to blame, he thought, he’d gotten pulled into something troublesome.

“And anyway, what’re you apologizing to me for?! Apologize to the lollyyyyyy! Poor li’l thing, all broken and covered in duuuuust! Get down on your knees, on the ground, and APOLOGIZE WITH TEARS IN YOUR EYES! ‘I’m terribly sorry, lolly!’”

The man’s voice was dead serious. It was filled with rage, and also with grief for the broken candy.

…What’s wrong with this guy?

A sense of amazed disgust was spreading through Gilbert’s heart.

He knew he’d been at fault, but the big man’s language had reached the realm of the absurd.

He didn’t have time to waste on a lengthy exchange. He was going to lose sight of Oz.

Although he seemed calm on the surface, inside, Gilbert’s chest churned with impatience, and his thoughts raced uselessly.

I have to hurry and follow Oz. This is no time to be messing around like this. But it was my fault he dropped his lollipop, and I need to apologize and have him forgive me… No, I did apologize and I said I’d pay for a replacement, so why is this happening? I have to hurry and follow him. I need to have him forgive me. Oz. The lollipop. I have to follow the lollipop—Wait, no, no, Oz is the lollipop— No, the lollipop is Oz, and… That’s not it. This isn’t it!

I have to follow Oz!

Gilbert gritted his teeth and bowed his head. He steeled himself.

His eyes darted up, and he sent a sharp glare at the man.

When he spoke, he could not have been more serious:

“I won’t kneel, but I’ll apologize one more time. —‘Lollipop, I’m sorry.’”

That should do it. He started walking away, quickly.

However, it apparently wasn’t enough for the big man, and he wouldn’t let him go quietly. With a roar like a raging bull, he bore down on Gilbert, swinging a thick, log-like arm at him. Gilbert had half expected things to turn out this way, and he dodged the arm easily.

The big man went badly off-balance.

Then:

“Use those coins to buy yourself a new one, all right?”

With that, Gilbert kicked the man’s feet out from under him.

The big man had been moving fast, and he flew into the air, then landed on the cobbles on his back. The back of his head smashed into the broken candy, shattering it. He cried out in anguish, but Gilbert had already chased the big man from his mind and run off.

He looked for Oz, but…

It was too late. Oz and Alice had vanished from the street.

8

As he left Hodgepodge Street, traveling west, the townscape gradually changed.

There were fewer detached houses, and the streets became lined with plain, four- or five-story apartment buildings. There were no large streets, only a complicated web of narrow alleys that ran between the buildings.

Oz… Where are you?!

Gilbert ran, weaving through the alleys, searching for Oz and Alice. There wasn’t much time left before sunset. Once that happened, night would come fast. It would be no time for Oz, a son of the House of Vessalius, to be out walking around without his valet.

The area was silent. Only Gilbert’s footsteps echoed through it.

“………?!”

On turning a corner—he’d lost track of how many corners that made—Gilbert stopped, startled.

A figure was curled up on the ground by the side of the road.

It was an old man, wrapped in dirty, ragged clothes. Gilbert made his footsteps loud as he approached, watching for a reaction, but the old man didn’t move a muscle. For a moment, he wondered if it was a corpse, but as he got closer, he caught the smell of alcohol drifting from the old man.

…Oh. A drunk, huh?

Relieved, Gilbert knelt in front of the old man. Thinking even as he did so that it was probably a waste of time, he set his hands on the old man’s shoulders and shook him roughly.

There was no immediate response, but as he kept calling “Hey!”, heavy eyelids opened, and cloudy eyes turned Gilbert’s way.

His lips worked, but he couldn’t speak clearly, and Gilbert wasn’t able to make out what he said.

Gilbert hadn’t been expecting a decent conversation in the first place. Scowling at the stench of liquor on the old man’s breath, he put his face close to the man’s ear and bellowed a question:

“Have you seen a kid?! Anywhere around here?!”

If there was no response, he intended to leave immediately. A second after he’d asked the question, Gilbert had already begun to stand up.

However:

“I saw.”

A reply did come, in a hoarse, unsteady voice. Taken by surprise, Gilbert froze.

He grabbed the old man’s arm, but just as he was about to hastily ask his next question—

“A blond brat in good clothes…got taken away by…’s lot.”

That’s Oz!

The situation could not have been worse.

Gilbert let go of the old man’s arm, practically shoving him away, and took off like a shot.

The name the old man had spoken in that hard-to-follow voice had belonged to a criminal organization that was notorious in Old Town.

The Gray Snake was a syndicate that conducted a variety of nefarious activities from its base of operations in the Bottom. Pandora was in charge of keeping the peace in Reveil, and from what Gilbert remembered, they were investigating the Gray Snake as well.

If he’d been taken away by a member of that organization…then Oz was in the Bottom, right now.

As he ran, Gilbert saw red. Alice should have been with Oz. What had she been doing? She was stupid and a glutton, but she should have at least done what it took to protect Oz. …Or had the two of them gotten separated?

Considering Alice’s capriciousness, that seemed likely.

From what the old man had said, it had sounded as though only one person had been taken away.

“Dammit! Oz—!”

“With those duds, he’s gotta be nobility.”

“Yeah. A dumb one. Some aristocrat’s brat, messing around on his own in a place like that…”

“No kidding. What did the boss say we’re doing?”

“Fleecing his folks for as much as we can get. Must be rough, having a kid who’s a moron.”

“Well, thanks to that, we get rich. Better be grateful.”

“You said it. And? What’s the blond brat doing now?”

“The boss is trying to get his story out of him, but he’s having trouble. Apparently the kid’s clammed up.”

Crouching in the shadows, Gilbert muffled his breathing.

He was listening closely to the conversation that drifted to him from the building’s back door, just a few meters away. The speakers were two members of the Gray Snake syndicate. The “aristocrat’s brat” they’d mentioned was probably Oz.

From what they were saying, Gilbert gathered that Oz was still safe, and he felt very slightly relieved.

However, at the same time, he couldn’t completely control his irritation at the many insulting things that were being said about his master.

He wanted to get right out there and hit them with a few choice words, but he clamped down the urge. Until he’d saved Oz, he had to move with the greatest possible care.

Oz is…with the boss, huh? …Maybe on the top floor?

Gilbert looked up at the building from where he hid beside it, behind an old fire cistern. He was currently behind the four-story tenement that the Gray Snake used as its headquarters.

He’d checked the front door first, but it had been tightly guarded by six syndicate members. The number wasn’t a problem, but it would be hard to defeat them without letting them raise the alarm. All the first-floor windows had been shut firmly from the inside, and he’d decided that if he was going to infiltrate, it would have to be through the back door.

There were two men standing at that back door.

If they’d only give him an opening, he could incapacitate them in an instant, even without using his gun.

The two members kept talking. The topic had shifted to predicting the cut they’d be given, and how they were going to use it.

A cheerful laugh went up. They seemed pretty relaxed and careless. Was it time to make his move? Gilbert was about to carefully peek out from his shelter, when…

Tunk.

As he began to change position, Gilbert’s heel struck an empty liquor bottle that was lying on the ground.

Startled, Gilbert froze.

!

Hastily, he reached out for the empty bottle as it rolled away, but it was too late. The bottle struck the fire cistern with an unexpectedly loud noise. He sensed it when the syndicate members who were standing at the back door flinched. Something cold ran down Gilbert’s spine.

“Hey, did you hear something just now?”

“Yeah, over there… The fire cistern?”

Gilbert could hear the two members talking.

What do I do? What do I do? Just ignore it—I’m begging you! Gilbert was flustered.

Please ignore it, he prayed.

“I’ll go check on it, just in case,” one of the pair said.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps. The man who’d stayed at the back door spoke carelessly:

“I bet it’s a cat. Just a cat. I hear there’s more of ’em around here lately.”

A cat. It was a snap decision. Gilbert tensed his throat, and:

“…Mroooowwwr.”

He gave his very best cat impression. He hated cats. He’d never dreamed the day would come when he’d imitate one.

He’d performed the imitation on reflex, and afterward, in spite of himself, he broke out in mild goose bumps.

However, it seemed to have worked: The approaching footsteps stopped, and he heard a voice say, “So it was just a cat.” For a moment, Gilbert felt relieved.

And then.

“I like cats. I’ve got three at home. C’mere, kitty-kitty. ”

Whaaaaaaat?!

Gilbert was aghast.

As the footsteps began coming closer again, there was no more time to think or hesitate. Knowing that the first one to strike would win, Gilbert leapt out from behind the fire cistern. He locked eyes with the approaching syndicate member. The man’s eyes went wide. His mouth moved as he prepared to yell.

Before he could make a sound—

“Sorry I’m not a cat!”

Gilbert brought the butt of his gun down on the other man’s head. There was a dull sound, and the man collapsed. As he did, Gilbert’s eyes were already on the back door.

He must have managed to catch them unawares; the man who’d stayed at the door was frozen, a startled look on his face. Gilbert couldn’t let him alert the others inside. He sprinted to the back door in one burst. Just as the man yelled, “You—?!”, he launched a kick into his solar plexus.

The man was knocked back against the wall, lost consciousness, and slumped to the ground.

Did they hear that…inside?!

He didn’t know. He didn’t know, but under the circumstances, it was now or never.

He approached the back door, turned the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. He listened for sounds beyond the door, and when he was sure he couldn’t hear anything, he flung it open.

On the other side, a dim hallway stretched away. It was silent.

From this point on, speed is what matters.

Gilbert tightened his fingers around the grip of his gun and raced down the corridor like a shadow.

Hang on, Oz!

THE TOP FLOOR OF THE GRAY SNAKE’S STRONGHOLD.

There had been many rooms on the other floors of the tenement that acted as their base of operations, but the top floor seemed to be just one large room.

Gilbert stood in front of a set of big double doors, the sort that looked like the entrance to a hall. He’d put all the syndicate members he’d encountered on his way here out of commission before they could raise the alarm. The men who’d been standing guard in front of the big doors were currently lying at Gilbert’s feet, unconscious.

They had Oz on the other side. Even as his unease spurred him on, he put his ear to the door, telling himself to calm down.

He could hear faint voices in conversation.

“You think maybe this guy’s mute? He just stares at you like a moron, no matter what you ask him.”

The voice sounded irritated. Did it belong to the boss?

Apparently the captive Oz was responding to all questions with silence.

A hum of voices came to Gilbert through the door.

Apparently, the boss and Oz weren’t the only ones on the other side. Ten people? …Probably not quite, but he guessed there were seven or eight syndicate members, besides the boss.

What do I do?

Should he charge in from the front? Should he come up with some kind of plan? Just as Gilbert was thinking this…

“Hey. Give me your knife.”

The voice that seemed to belong to the boss spoke.

“I bet he’ll talk if we cut off a finger. C’mon, hand it over!”

Wha…?!

Unless he did something, Oz was going to lose a finger.

Instantly, before he could think, he kicked the big doors open.

He leapt into the room. It was a vast space. Inside, as Gilbert had expected, was a man who seemed to be the boss—holding a knife—and syndicate members with guns in their hands. There were eight of them.

The boss was standing surrounded by his men, with his back to Gilbert. As the big doors flew open with a bang, the men’s startled faces all turned toward them.

However, Gilbert didn’t have the leeway to care about the syndicate members; his eyes went directly to the boss’s feet.

At those feet lay a pitiful-looking kid, trussed up with rope. He was facing away from Gilbert, who could see the back of his blond head.

Frantically, Gilbert called his name:

“O—”

The kid rolled over, turning to face him.

At that…

“……………………………………………………………………………Huh? Who’re you?”

Gilbert was dumbfounded.

For a moment, he really had no idea who it was that lay there, but after a few seconds, he understood.

The kid on the ground was the one who’d blown his nose on his coat, the commercial association president’s only son.

It’s…not…Oz?

In spite of himself, Gilbert looked as though he’d managed to misplace his soul.

“…What the… An intruder? Tch! What are the guys downstairs doing?!”

The boss spoke, irritated, turning toward Gilbert. With angry yells, the syndicate men leveled their guns at him.

However, Gilbert didn’t even see the guns that were trained on him. He was desperately organizing his thoughts.

The captured kid hadn’t been Oz.

Now that he thought about it, all the old man had said was “a blond brat in good clothes.” He’d simply jumped to conclusions. He was disgusted with himself. So all that frantic running around had been wasted effort?

………What am I doing?

His shoulders slumped, and he gave a long, tired sigh: “Haaaaaaaah.”

Gilbert had leapt into the room, then looked abruptly deflated. And the boss yelled, as though he thought Gilbert was making fun of him:

“Hey, joker! Do you understand the situation here?! I dunno whether you came to save the hostage or what, but you bust into the Gray Snake’s headquarters, you better believe you ain’t walking out in one piece! Get him, men!”

At the boss’s words, the syndicate men fired, one after another. However, none of them had spent much time at target practice. Most of the bullets missed, and Gilbert was able to dodge the ones that headed in his approximate direction by twisting slightly, so that they only skimmed his coat.

From the floor, the president’s son was staring up at him with round eyes.

What am I doing…? he thought again.

Gilbert’s anger and disgust at himself got muddled together, turning into an unfamiliar emotion that surged inside him. At that point, having exhausted their bullets, the syndicate members rushed him en masse, yelling and cursing.

They were howling random things about syndicate traditions and pride, but…

In response, Gilbert thought:

Argh, for the love of…!

Inside his head, he heard something snap.

“You people are too damn confusing^{________________________________}!!”

He went berserk, as if taking everything out on them.

As he rampaged, a thought abruptly materialized in a corner of his mind:

Oz isn’t here… In that case…

Where was he?

9

Under a vermillion evening sky.

Gilbert had made his way back to Hodgepodge Street with the kid he’d ended up rescuing from the Gray Snake. The street was gearing up for its lively nighttime hours. It was beginning to show a different kind of bustle from the one he’d seen at noon.

“Kid…”

Gilbert set down the kid; he’d been carrying him under his arm. The kid looked up at him, blankly.

“I’m trying to find somebody.”

The kid tilted his head in confusion, pointing at himself.

“No, not you. My master. So… Can you get home from here by yourself?”

The kid nodded.

“Don’t ever go back that way again, you hear me?”

The kid nodded. Does he really understand? He wasn’t at all confident about that, but it had been quite a while since he’d lost sight of Oz and Alice. He couldn’t afford to take any more trouble over the kid. Possibly the kid had picked up on Gilbert’s feelings; he spoke, softly:

“I won’t. ……That was scary.”

“It was, huh?”

Gilbert ruffled his hair, then let go, and the kid trotted off. Go straight home, Gilbert thought, then realized he didn’t even know the kid’s name.

He called after him:

“Kid, what’s your name?”

The kid stopped in his tracks, turned back, and said, “Ojji.” Then he immediately turned around again and disappeared from view.

His blond hair, like Oz’s, bounced as he ran.

“…Even his name’s sort of similar.”

Gilbert’s expression turned sour.

That’s Oz!

As he walked rapidly down Hodgepodge Street, Gilbert spotted Oz coming toward him. Hastily, he ducked behind a nearby stack of wooden crates.

Cautiously, he peeked out from the shadow of the crates, looking the pair over. Alice was next to Oz. The two of them seemed to be walking along without saying much to each other. Every once in a while, Alice would speak to Oz, looking a little concerned.

Huh? Oz…?

Gilbert’s eyes were playing tricks on him. For a moment, it had looked as though Oz was crying.

He wasn’t actually crying, but his shoulders drooped, and he looked depressed.

Gilbert almost ran over to him on reflex, but he managed—barely—to restrain himself. What happened? He frowned.

When he looked closer, he saw that Oz held something in one hand.

It’s a…box? A box of what?

The box Oz held was small enough to fit in one hand. He wondered if it was the reason Oz had come to this neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Oz and Alice were getting nearer and nearer. If they kept coming this way, they’d pass right by the crates where Gilbert was hiding, and if that happened, they’d see him. He glanced around, searching for another place to hide.

Then, abruptly, the sound of their footsteps stopped. Gilbert looked back in their direction.

Oz and Alice were standing in front of a rubbish dump by the side of Hodgepodge Street. As Gilbert watched them, Oz tossed the small box he held into the dump. Then he spoke to Alice.

Since they were close, Gilbert heard their conversation.

“Let’s go.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“It’s fine. …Let’s go home, Alice.”

With that, Oz began to run, heading away from the rubbish dump.

Hastily, Gilbert crouched down in the shadow of the crates. First Oz, then Alice, ran right past him.

Fortunately, neither of them seemed to have noticed Gilbert. He considered following Oz, but he was curious about the little box Oz had thrown away.

Oz had said they were going home. Alice was with him, so if they went straight home, he thought they’d probably be all right.

Just to be on the safe side, Gilbert looked back, making sure he couldn’t see Oz and Alice. Then he walked over to the rubbish dump. There were all sorts of discarded cardboard boxes, paper bags, and cloth sacks. The little box Oz had thrown away had fallen on top of them.

The impact of being tossed had jolted the lid halfway off. When Gilbert bent closer to look, he saw its contents.

…A black…glove?

Gilbert picked up the box and took out what was inside.

It was a brand-new leather glove, all black.

Gilbert examined the glove closely, then tilted his head, curiously.

“There’s just one…?” he murmured.

He glanced at the rubbish dump again.

The small box had held only one glove, the right one. He looked around the dump, but he didn’t see the left glove.

Had Oz taken the remaining glove home with him? That wouldn’t have been natural. He couldn’t possibly have any use for an unmatched glove.

Gilbert gazed at the leather glove in his hand. It was black, and the size was too large for Oz’s hands. Abruptly realizing something, Gilbert checked the inside of the box again.

The empty box still held a single card. Gilbert caught the edge with his fingertips and took the card out. It might have been a message card; it held a short note.

Just one sentence, written in a flowing hand:

To my dear friend…

Just then.

Tunk. Something was pressed against Gilbert’s back.

?!

Startled, Gilbert froze. The object was hard, and it felt like the end of a stick… Like the muzzle of a gun.

Gilbert hadn’t been paying any attention at all to what was behind him, and now he regretted it. As he began to turn around on reflex, a voice just behind him said, “Don’t move.” The voice was muffled, as if the speaker had a cloth pressed to his mouth. Only one explanation came to mind.

“You really did a number on our organization a little while ago.”

He got around behind me…?!

He didn’t know what to do. His mind was flooded with anxiety. He should have seen this coming. He’d gone on a full-blown rampage, and it hadn’t been likely the Gray Snake would just let him walk away.

“Put both hands out where I can see them.”

The bloodlust in the voice was terribly sharp. Cold sweat beaded up on Gilbert’s forehead.

The man seemed to be alone, but it was clear that he was far, far more skilled then the boss or the syndicate members back at the Gray Snake’s stronghold had been. He’d caught Gilbert off guard, but he still wasn’t giving him any opportunities. For now, Gilbert would just have to obey the man and keep an eye out for openings.

When he followed the order obediently, the man behind his back spoke again:

“Kneel, then hang your head. Don’t make any suspicious movements unless you want to get shot.”

Rrgh! Gritting his teeth, Gilbert obeyed. The object that was probably a gun was still pressed firmly against his back.

“You’re here for revenge? What are you going to do with m—”

“Now say ‘woof.’”

“…Huh?”

“Bark like a dog. Do it.”

The gun muzzle dug into his back sharply, as if the man had twisted it.

“Why do you want that?”

He asked because he really didn’t understand, but the muzzle only dug into his back, spurring him on.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t, but he decided that, for now, he needed to follow the order, and that he could figure out later what his opponent was trying to do. The presence behind his back was overwhelming, and he couldn’t even turn around.

“Wuh, woof…”

Internally disgusted—First a cat, now a dog?—he barked, his cheeks burning with shame.

The muzzle pressed to his back trembled slightly.

“Are you happy now…?!”

“……………………………”

Why isn’t he talking?! Gilbert thought. It didn’t seem fair. At that, the voice spoke from behind him:

“Next, ‘shake.’ Pretend your master is in front of you.”

“—Huh?”

“Go on, hurry up. Put your soul into it!”

“………………………………………………Hey, wait a second.”

Something inside his mind was cooling down rapidly. Gilbert’s expression grew savage.

The voice behind his back continued; it was impossible to tell whether or not it had noticed.

“Once you’ve done that, then roll over. Lie on your back and pant with your tongue hanging out…”

“You little—!”

His face flushed bright red, and he whirled around violently. The person standing behind him, with the tip of his swordstick pressed against Gilbert’s back, covering his mouth with his cloak, was—

“Break!!”

Without thinking, Gilbert hauled the other man up by his shirtfront.

Beaming, Break spoke: “My, you’re so very violent all of a sudden, Gilbert-kun.”

“Shove it. What were you trying to make me do?!”

When he’d gotten that far, something struck Gilbert as odd. “Hang on,” he said, checking.

“Break, you said, ‘You really did a number on our organization’…”

He couldn’t have said that if he hadn’t known Gilbert had stormed the Gray Snake’s stronghold. As he spoke, Break wore a smug smile:

“The Gray Snake was rather luckless, wasn’t it? Who’d have thought they’d be annihilated by someone venting his frustration on them for no good reason?”

Dramatically, Gilbert understood.

Between the anger and the shame, he ended up raising his voice to a yell:

“Were you following me?!”

Poking the end of the swordstick right at Gilbert’s nose, Break said, “Certainly not.”

He continued:

“You may be a wimp, but you know this neighborhood. I wouldn’t follow you when you were coming here. Besides, you knew exactly what sort of place the Bottom was. Who’d ever have thought you’d leap into ‘absolutely unnecessary trouble!’ of your own accord…”

Break heaved an affected-sounding sigh.

Gilbert felt as if he’d been made fun of in a big way, but he asked a question that concerned him even more:

“Then you were trailing Oz, too?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?! How long were you watching? Or, no… How much do you know?!”

As Gilbert interrogated him, incensed, Break said, “I wonder,” and gave a significant smile.

“Well, I knew you were shadowing Oz-kun to keep an eye on him, and because you are, in fact, a good-for-nothing, I’d made allowances for the fact that you’d lose him. Even if Alice-kun was with him, when a son of the House of Vessalius goes to a neighborhood like this one without even his valet, he can’t be left alone. I circled around ahead of them and cleared the way a bit.”

“Cleared the way?”

“To the rougher set, Oz-kun wandering around this area without his valet might as well be ambulatory bait-on-legs. I ran off small-time thugs who tried to bother him.”

Then he added, “Well, and I’m not entirely uninvolved in this affair, either.” What’s that supposed to mean? Gilbert was about to grill him, but before he could, Break continued:

“However, I was occupied with you and took my eyes off him for a moment, and I’m afraid the results were unfortunate.”

As he spoke, he lightly tapped Gilbert’s hand—the one that was holding the leather glove—with his swordstick.

Gilbert let his eyes fall to the glove again.

Then he looked up, startled, and glared at Break.

“Do you know? What this is about, I mean?”

“Yes, well. More or less.”

His expression asked, Would you like to hear?

When Gilbert said, “Tell me,” with zero hesitation, Break seemed to think just a little. Then he began to speak:

“Since things did end this way, it’s probably best if you know, too. Only… You didn’t hear it from me, you understand.”

Gilbert nodded.

“I expect it won’t stay a secret, in any case.” Break smiled, and then he spoke:

“That was a present for you from Oz-kun. …Or it was intended to be, at any rate.”

10

When you turn the last page, the story ends.

However, that isn’t to say that the lives of the characters in the book are over. Even after their tale ends, the characters continue to live through days the reader knows nothing about.

Oz thought of the ending of Fruit of Uncertainty.

The story had ended with Ivel, the detective, hugging his friend’s corpse to his chest and howling.

On his friend’s hands were the black leather gloves Ivel had given him when they were young.

I wonder what Ivel did with the black gloves after that…

It was the morning of the day after he’d gone to Old Town.

In his room at Pandora Headquarters, Oz sat in a chair by the table in the center of the room. It was still early morning. Ordinarily, he’d be sleeping peacefully right about now.

He’d had trouble getting to sleep the previous night, and even so, his eyes had opened very early.

Oz’s vague, faintly melancholy gaze was turned toward the ceiling.

Fruit of Uncertainty, which he hadn’t yet returned to Elliot, lay on the table.

After he’d finished reading it the first time, he’d read it through again several more times.

However, no matter how many times he reread it, there was no way for him to know what happened after the last page. To find that out, he’d have to ask the author. However, the book had been written roughly a century ago. The author was long dead.

The fate of the black gloves.

“…Haaah.”

No matter what he did, it reminded him of the day before, and Oz couldn’t keep from sighing.

The little box and the black glove. He’d thrown them away at the rubbish dump.

…Well…

There was no help for it. That was all I could do.

But.

After I’d bought them and everything… After I even had Break help…

The events of the previous day rose vividly in his mind’s eye.

They’d searched Hodgepodge Street for the black leather gloves, but hadn’t found them.

When, following the advice they’d been given, Oz and Alice left the street and walked west, they reached an alley where several stalls rubbed elbows with one another. Confused jumbles of articles were laid out on cloths spread right on the pavement. As they walked over, bold, steady stares followed them.

Most of the shops on Hodgepodge Street had welcomed them, but the atmosphere here was very different. It might have been because this was close to “the Bottom.”

Alice seemed to have picked up on the danger in the air; she gave a belligerent snort.

He couldn’t imagine finding anything here good enough to give to Gilbert. Still, he couldn’t just give up without looking, and Oz made up his mind to check each of the stalls. For starters, he crouched down in front of the nearest stall.

Ill-mannered eyes turned on him, staring openly, as if probing his intentions.

Pretending not to notice, Oz spoke cheerfully:

“Mister, there’s something I’m trying to find.”

“…Find it yourself.”

It was an answer you’d never expect to hear in customer service. “What’s with you, you jerk?! Are you even trying?!” Alice fumed, but Oz calmed her down. “All right,” he told the stall owner, and he began examining the haphazard array of items.

Ninety percent of it was junk that seemed to be little more than garbage. After he’d looked things over, Oz said, “Thank you,” stood up, and left the stall. Tch! The clear sound of someone clicking his tongue followed him. Oz just smiled wryly.

He moved on to the next stall. That stallkeeper’s service was about the same. As before, Oz checked through the articles on his own, but as expected, he found nothing.

The next stall, and the next one, and the stall after that were all the same. He felt a growing sense of futility. Time passed in vain.

The next stall was the last one. If he didn’t find it here, he’d just have to give up for the day.

However, the stall seemed far too dreary a place to pin his last hopes on. The other stalls had had lots of articles set out, even if most of them had been junk. In contrast, the items lined up at this stall could have been counted on one hand.

The stallkeeper was a timid-looking young man. Oz could tell at a glance that he wouldn’t find what he wanted here, but the young man watched him with imploring eyes, and he decided to at least take a look.

“Please buy something. Anything! If you don’t, I won’t get any supper tonight.” The young man urged him on, pleading.

Maybe not, but… Inwardly, Oz was troubled. Everything here was rubbish. Even if he bought something and took it home, he’d just have to throw it away.

Then, next to him, Alice presumptuously put out a hand. The item she’d picked up from the stall was a small, worn-out wooden box.

It was very plain, and small enough to fit on the palm of her hand.

The young man must have seen a sales opportunity. He spoke desperately:

“I think it’s a box for accessories or something, but it might be broken; it won’t open. Oh, but it’s a valuable masterpiece that a certain aristocrat had a famous artist make for him, and it’s rare to see gems like this, and I highly recommend it. Even though it’s broken.”

When someone recommended a shabby item like that to you, there was really nothing to say.

Alice had picked it up on a whim, without much interest, but being told it wouldn’t open seemed to make her want to open it: She began wrestling with the box. She planted her fingers on its edges, and she even began cursing at it, trying to pry it open one way or another.

“Alice, don’t. If it breaks, we’ll have to buy—”

Just as Oz cautioned her, beside himself with anxiety…

There was a crack, and the lid of the wooden box opened… Or rather, “split.” In the instant it happened, Oz clearly heard the young stallkeeper give an ecstatic “Yesss!” Oz’s shoulders slumped. Alice spoke to him, sounding satisfied:

“Did you see that, Oz? I got it open.”

“…People don’t call that ‘opened,’ Alice.”

His wallet held his precious “own money,” but there was really nothing to be done about it. Oz began to get his wallet out.

He’d pay for it, but there was no point in taking it home, so he thought he’d have the stallkeeper get rid of it for him. I wonder how much it’s going to cost. What if he takes advantage of the fact that we didn’t ask the price first, to gouge us? As he was thinking these things, Alice spoke again:

“Hmm? There’s something in here.”

“……………………Huh?”

Oz’s head came up. He looked at the small box.

It might really have been a gift from heaven.

Oz leapt at Alice, catching the hand that held the box.

“Alice, the box! Let me see it!”

What Alice was about to take out of the little wooden box with the broken lid was…

A pair of black leather gloves.

Looking back now, Oz thought he’d been almost drunk on happiness then.

He’d been persistent in his search, and as a result, at the very, very end, he’d found what he’d been looking for. Not only that, but the line written on the message card that had been in the box was ideal for the sort of present Oz had been thinking of. He’d thought he’d finally found the perfect gift.

He’d been deliriously happy.

But.

He didn’t want to remember what had come after that.

“Ahhh…”

Curled up on a chair in his room, hugging his knees, Oz gave a dismal groan.

Even though he didn’t want to remember, what had happened afterward was burned into his memory, and it replayed in his mind whether he wanted it to or not.

Over and over.

I wonder what Gil’s face will look like when he gets these.

Back then, luckily, they’d escaped without being charged an exorbitant price, and he’d managed to pay with the remaining money in his wallet.

He’d put the box in his pocket, carrying the black leather gloves in his hand as if he was showing them off to everyone, and they’d returned to Hodgepodge Street. At that point, all they had to do was go home, but he’d wanted to thank the young man at the sweets shop who’d told them about that place.

Yes, Oz thought. Back then, he’d been in terribly high spirits.

So much so that he hadn’t seen his surroundings.

He’d had no warning. No, to be fair, Oz should have heard the approaching clatter.

He’d been giddy and hadn’t noticed it until it was nearly on top of him.

A horse-drawn carriage barreled out of one of the alleys that opened onto Hodgepodge Street, moving at a ferocious speed.

He was standing right in its path. If Alice hadn’t yanked him by the arm, right then, Oz would have been pulled under the wheels of the carriage. If that had happened, his body would have been what got torn to shreds.

…Instead of the left-hand black leather glove.

When Alice hauled on his arm, and he noticed the looming carriage…

He’d been startled. His grip had relaxed, and it had been sucked into the spinning wheels, disappearing in an instant in the roiling clouds of dust. The carriage passed them like a fierce gust of wind, without slowing, and careered off down the street. The sudden, unpredictable violence of the act drew screams from the crowd.

It was sheer good fortune that no one had been seriously injured.

“You idiot! What were you spacing out for?!”

Even as Alice yelled at him, Oz stood there, dazed. He didn’t understand what had happened. When his mind caught up with reality, the first thing he did was check on the leather gloves he’d been holding.

The only glove in his hand was the right-hand one.

“Where’s the left one?”

As he murmured, Oz looked around him. His eyes went to the road down which the carriage had bolted. Several tattered fragments that looked like shreds of black cloth were scattered across it. He didn’t understand what they were right away.

Although it felt as if he was denying what his head knew to be true, finally, Oz understood.

He was looking at the black leather glove.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…”

Curling up even smaller on his chair, Oz heaved an even longer sigh than before. Whose fault had it been? The reckless carriage’s? No, that wasn’t it. It had clearly been his own fault, for being in such high spirits and not paying attention to his surroundings.

The tragic scene replayed in his mind. Absentmindedly, in memory, Oz traced that reckless carriage. Something about it tugged at him.

I wonder what that carriage was, anyway…

It hadn’t been a cart.

The carriage had been decorated, and it had looked first-rate. It had been the sort of carriage aristocrats rode in. Why had a carriage like that been barreling down Hodgepodge Street? That in itself was strange, and yet…

No, that doesn’t matter. More important—

The right-hand glove, the one he’d tossed on the rubbish dump. The one he’d thrown away with his own two hands.

“Are you sure about this?” Alice had asked.

“It’s fine,” he’d answered.

Oz looked up at the ceiling of his room. His expression was dull.

Ahhh… After I’d bought them and everything… After I even had Break help…

His face wore the look of someone who was remembering something.

Wrapped in an endlessly listless aura, Oz murmured, as if he were sinking into the depths:

“With the money I earned all by myself, at my very first job…”

The words had come out sounding like a complaint, and they were unexpectedly loud in the quiet room. Startled, Oz fell silent.

Cautiously, his gaze went to the bed.

Alice was in it, asleep; she’d pulled the comforter up over her head, so that only the ends of her hair hung outside. She’d come in just as Oz got up and had taken over the bed. This happened frequently, so Oz had let her do as she pleased.

“She didn’t…hear…about the job, did she…”

Having Alice find out about it wouldn’t be a problem in itself, but she was straightforward, and if he told her, there was no telling when the news might make its way to Gilbert.

All he could hear from the Alice-lump under the comforter was soft, sleeping breathing.

Oz gave a sigh of relief.

When keeping secrets, it was important to keep the number of people who knew as small as possible.

“Although I guess there’s no point in keeping it a secret now.”

After all, it was already dead and gone.

His present to Gilbert. The one he’d bought with his first, very own money.

“‘Just one glove.’ Yeah, right…”

As Oz murmured to himself in self-mockery, there was a light knock at the door, and it opened, revealing Gilbert. Apparently he hadn’t expected Oz to be awake; he spoke softly, sounding startled: “…Oz?”

Gilbert was balancing a tray with a tea set on his right hand.

At the sight of that hand, Oz doubted his own eyes.

“Huh? Gil—”

On one hand—just the right one, the one supporting the tray—Gilbert wore a glove. A black leather glove.

“I’m sorry, Oz. If I’d known you were awake, I would’ve waited for you to respond to the knock.”

Gilbert apologized, crossed to the table, and set down the tray.

Working briskly, he began to make tea.

However, Oz had other things on his mind. His eyes were riveted on Gilbert’s right hand.

Puzzled by the way Oz was acting, Gilbert cocked his head.

“What is it, Oz?”

“No, that’s my line! What’s going on…?”

Oz had been frozen, still hugging his knees; now he released his legs and clambered down to the floor with a clatter, nearly falling. He pointed a finger at Gilbert, as if demanding an explanation. Then he pointed at the right hand in its black leather glove, unable to get the words out properly:

“Gil— That! The glove! Why…?”

“Oh, this?”

Gilbert had been making tea, but at Oz’s words, he paused, glanced at his right hand, and smiled.

From his expression, it was obvious that he really, truly cherished it.

Then—to Oz, of all people—he spoke with evident pride:

“Isn’t it great?”

“No— That’s not what I meant! Listen—”

Oz was trying to cross-examine him, but the words wouldn’t come.

Gilbert reached into his breast pocket with his gloved right hand, drew a card out with his fingertips, and gazed at it. Oz could see the letters written on it:

To my dear friend.

Then Gilbert spoke:

“It’s my treasure. I’ll cherish it as long as I live.”

He spoke decisively, clearly, strongly.

“!!”

Oz was speechless.

Questions were all that swirled in his head: Why? How?

The glove on Gilbert’s right hand was, without a doubt, the black leather glove Oz had bought and thrown away the day before. And, in that hand, he was holding the message card. The present for Gilbert that Oz had planned in secret.

Why did Gilbert have a present he’d thrown into the rubbish dump? The only ones who’d known about the secret plan were Break and Alice; was one of them responsible for this? No, finding the culprit didn’t matter anymore.

More important, Oz couldn’t understand it.

Why was Gilbert happily wearing an incomplete pair of gloves, a set of just one?

How could he be happy about something like that?

“I’ll cherish it as long as I live,” he says—

How could he say that?

…And what should he say to Gilbert? Beyond confused, Oz spoke crossly:

“……J-just one glove? That’s weird.”

“Really? I don’t think it’s particularly weird.”

“It’s weird! It’s dumb! One single glove isn’t good for anything! Take it off!”

At Oz’s yell, Gilbert gave a small grunt, then nodded deeply.

He answered with a straight face:

“You’re right. It would be terrible if I scratched it or got it dirty. I’ll put it away somewhere safe— Koff?!”

Oz’s flying kick had struck Gilbert in the gut.

He’d shown no mercy.

As he held his stomach, his eyes tearing up, Gilbert looked back at Oz; several question marks floated above his head.

Then a fist flew his way. Hastily, Gilbert dodged it.

“Oz, wait! Calm down. What’s wrong?!”

Gilbert stretched out both hands, checking him.

However, Oz struck the words down with a “—Shut up!”, sulking crossly, and threw another punch. Naturally, Gilbert did nothing but defend. He was fighting his master, which meant he couldn’t restrain his opponent by force, so he just kept dodging.

Without warning, a game of tag had broken out in the bedroom.

“Why are you dodging, Gil?!”

“B-because it’ll hurt if I get hit, obviously!”

“Stop it! Don’t dodge the next one!”

“That’s crazy! At least tell me why!”

“No!!”

With no hesitation, Oz answered Gilbert’s plea with a declaration.

The shock brought Gilbert to a standstill, and Oz’s fist hit its target.

Gilbert fled, and Oz gave chase. Alice had been sleeping in the bed, but at the noise, she sat up. Dazedly, she watched the two of them race around; her eyes still looked half-asleep. Then, slowly, she opened her mouth and spoke to them:

“What are you two doing? That looks like fun. Let me play.”

““We’re not playing!””

The two stopped in their tracks, answering Alice in perfect unison. “Hmm?” As Alice gave a short grunt, the game of tag started up again, right in front of her. Alice watched them, but soon flopped back down onto the bed.

As she drifted back into sleep, hugging the pillow, Alice murmured:

“Oz, your face… I can’t tell whether you’re mad or smiling…”

MEANWHILE, RIGHT AROUND THAT SAME MOMENT.

Sharon and Break were enjoying their morning tea on a terrace a short distance from Oz’s room. There were fresh-baked scones from Pandora’s kitchen on the table. The two were quietly drinking their tea, without saying much.

Looking up at the clear sky, Break murmured:

“It’s so peaceful, my lady.”

“It certainly is.”

Lowering her teacup from her lips, Sharon spoke with a pleasant sigh. She was smiling.

The two of them returned to quietly savoring their tea.

They were nearly silent. It was as if they were listening closely to something. And very much enjoying it.

Sharon murmured softly:

“It sounds as though they’re simply playing.”

Oz’s and Gilbert’s noisy voices drifted from a room somewhere.

The voices were drawn up into the sky, and they seemed to herald the start of a lively day.

No one who heard them could help but chuckle.

~ Fin ~