"Phew, all things considered, it went pretty well." Snow stepped out of the police station under Dunn's complex gaze, a faint smile on his lips.
Confronting Dunn at the station might seem reckless, but a closer look revealed the risks weren't as high as they appeared.
First, Snow had passed Dunn's dream probe without issue. Second, he hadn't shown any Beyonder traits. In the eyes of the authorities, he was just an ordinary person with fleeting exposure to occult rumors. The Church didn't typically scrutinize such individuals.
If they detained every half-informed civilian, places like the Evil Dragon Bar wouldn't exist.
Thus, Dunn had two options for handling Snow, an "ordinary" man,
The first choice would be recruit him into the Nighthawks as a civilian staff member.
Or, Keep an eye on him but take no action.
Joining the Nighthawks would've been ideal for Snow. It would've let him easily disrupt Ince Zangwill's script. As long as he didn't reveal his knowledge of the Acting Method, he could pose as a "Seer" and coast in Tingen's Nighthawk team until the apocalypse. With some maneuvering, he might even become the Aurora Order's Tingen branch leader, reaping their benefits while selling them out—and Mr. A would probably thank him.
Sadly, Dunn showed no such inclination.
Perhaps Snow's Backlund origins or failure to meet civilian staff criteria played a role, but that didn't matter. He'd achieved his baseline goal—
By registering himself with Dunn, Snow had established a persona as an "ordinary person aware of the Beyonder world." Now, mingling in local occult circles or "coincidentally" appearing at the Evil Dragon Bar would seem plausible. Dunn might haul him in for a lecture, but at least he could move freely.
Checking his pocket watch, Snow headed to a modest restaurant for lunch. As the sun grew harsh, he returned to the inn, awaiting Mr. Fool's summons.
…
Above the gray fog, in the grand, majestic palace, the ancient, mottled bronze table stood as if untouched by time.
Snow materialized amid a tide of dissipating light, seated at the table. Beside him was a man whose face was obscured, only his blue, seaweed-like hair faintly discernible.
Across the table, a blonde girl's features were similarly blurred. Just as Snow eagerly anticipated Miss Justice's sweet, innocent greeting, she seemed distracted. Instead, Mr. Fool tapped the bronze table, his voice steady and authoritative.
"This is our new member in our gathering... 'The Devil.'"
"This is Miss Justice, and this is Mr. Hanged Man."
Normally, Justice would've eagerly studied the new member, speculating why he chose "Devil" and what storied past he might have.
But her mind was elsewhere—fixated on her talking dog. Meanwhile, the Hanged Man felt a twinge of displeasure.
Finally, Justice gathered her thoughts.
"Honorable Mr. Fool, ever-helpful Mr. Hanged Man, and our new member, Mr. Devil, I have a question—
What can a pet with extraordinary powers do for its owner? In simple terms, what's its role?"
Her pleasant voice echoed in the hall, but an awkward silence followed. The odd quiet and the group's stares made Justice want to crawl into a hole.
As the mist barely concealed her blushing cheeks, the Hanged Man finally spoke, offering insights.
Though Snow, as a fellow keeper of an extraordinary pet, could've jumped in, being too eager risked irking the Hanged Man. Better to play it safe.
As the Hanged Man used the Spectator pathway as an example, Justice grew more flustered. She straightened, trying to project confidence, and forcibly changed the subject.
"Mr. Fool, I found another page of Emperor Roselle's diary. I'm sorry, it's not very long."
"No matter. Your debts are cleared," Mr. Fool replied, his stature too grand to quibble over diary length. As Justice began transcribing the memorized content onto parchment, Snow seized his moment.
"Honorable Mr. Fool, do you need Emperor Roselle's diaries?"
"!" ×3
His words stunned not just the Hanged Man and Mr. Fool but even Audrey, mid-writing. The way Devil said "diary" was too natural, as if he'd known all along they were diaries!
"Indeed. You can provide Roselle's diaries to earn corresponding rewards," Mr. Fool said with a slight nod, though inwardly tense. His mystique as a hidden existence relied on the knowledge in Roselle's diaries. If someone else could decipher them, he'd need to tread carefully to maintain his [beep—] facade.
Recognizing them as diaries wasn't that hard, though—even Old Neil had noticed the date pattern…
As Mr. Fool reassured himself, Justice, having finished copying a page, looked up curiously.
"Mr. Devil, you knew Emperor Roselle's notes were diaries?"
"Well played!" Mr. Fool silently applauded Justice's question, unaware that Devil was mentally clapping too—
"Yes, a… family elder's notes mentioned this," Snow said, nearly slipping with "Panredax" but catching himself. "Sadly, they left no decoding method, so that's all I know."
Snow subtly bolstered his "family's" mystique, stopping short to let the Hanged Man and Justice fill in the blanks, leaving the stage to Mr. Fool.
At the Tarot Club, Mr. Fool's reading time was sacrosanct. Snow wouldn't dare interrupt. He mentally rehearsed his planned steps, awaiting the line he'd been longing for—
"You may now converse."
(End of Chapter)
--
Author's Note:
I. They say the Hanged Man and Roselle are exchange students, but look closely—the Hanged Man's bold early on! When Mr. Fool pulled Little Sun onto the gray fog, the Hanged Man dared to show discontent! He already knew Mr. Fool's three-part honorific and had received responses to prayers, confirming Mr. Fool's near-true-god rank. Yet he still expressed clear displeasure. Truly a proper hotheaded bro!
II. Cherish this moment when the Hanged Man is still a proper, temperamental Sailor
Translator's Note: I love this author more and more.