The Blood on the Fence
Detective Gray stood motionless in front of the fence, his gaze fixed on the dried bloodstain. Forty-five hours. That was how long this evidence had been sitting here, unnoticed, untouched.
The town of Kushan was already silent, but now, standing in the chilling stillness of the crime scene, it felt as if even the very air had stilled, waiting for an answer.
He needed to deduce the most probable cause of the murder.
A concept came to mind—something he had once read in a novel back on Earth. Jump to the most obvious possibility first.
Most murders weren't complex. Most murders were about one of three things: power, love, or money.
Power and love were complicated. But money?
Money made people predictable.
Gray pulled a single golden coin from his pocket, weighing it between his fingers. The coin was a thousand pieces' worth of wealth, a sum that could change a desperate man's life.
Without hesitation, he tossed the coin onto the ground.
It clinked softly against the dirt, catching the last rays of the setting sun.
Then, with deliberate force, he stomped down on it.
He ground his heel into the metal, twisting his foot as if pressing the life out of something beneath him.
After a moment, he bent down and retrieved the coin. Untarnished.
The wealth of the upper class—untouchable, unbreakable.
This murder was about money.
And now, he had a plan.
An Invitation to the Grand Ball
As Gray turned over his thoughts, Emerald Hall appeared at his side, her expression composed but expectant.
"There will be a ball tonight," she informed him. "The Grand Count of Kushan will be hosting."
His mind clicked into place immediately.
Perfect.
Balls were more than just gatherings. They were a theater of power, where every noble played their part in the elaborate dance of influence and deception.
If someone in this town was responsible for the murder, they would be there.
A few hours later, the plan was already in motion.
Madame Hall had put in a good word for him, making it easy for him to secure an invitation letter.
But he couldn't show up in Alaric Thorn's dusty old suit.
Appearance mattered in places like this. Nobles respected wealth, not wisdom.
So he did what he had to.
He purchased a new black formal suit, paired with polished loafers.
Something subtle yet refined. Something that would allow him to blend in.
Something that wouldn't draw attention—until he wanted it to.
People and their obsession with fashion.
The Grand Ball
At precisely 8:30 PM, the ball began.
The grand hall was magnificent, draped in crimson and gold, chandeliers casting their light across marble floors polished to perfection.
Soft orchestral music filled the space, weaving through the laughter and murmurs of the gathered elite.
Some people danced, moving in elegant steps across the floor.
Others laughed, their conversations rich with theatrics and half-truths.
Most, however, talked. Whispering secrets behind the safety of silk gloves and golden goblets.
And in the midst of it all, waiters in crisp uniforms moved seamlessly between guests, offering trays of champagne.
Nobles and their obsession with champagne.
Gray accepted a glass from one of the waiters, swirling the liquid thoughtfully before taking a sip.
It was good. As expected.
His gaze flickered across the room, watching, searching.
At one of the tables, a noble made a joke—something trivial, something designed to amuse but not challenge.
The gathered nobles laughed.
Among them sat Madame Hall.
Perfect.
He needed a distraction.
Something small yet effective.
Gray turned his attention to his glass of champagne, staring at the golden liquid with quiet calculation.
And then, he let it fall.
The moment the glass left his fingers, time seemed to slow.
The crystal tumbled through the air, catching the light of the chandeliers above.
Then—
Shatter.
A sharp crack echoed through the hall as the glass hit the floor, exploding into a thousand tiny fragments.
For a single moment, silence fell over the ball.
The murmurs stopped. The music faltered. Every eye turned toward the source of the noise.
And in that moment of distraction—
Gray disappeared into the crowd.
The Waiter's Disguise
He moved quickly, slipping through the sea of guests with practiced ease.
There was no hesitation as he made his way toward the service corridor, where the waitstaff moved in and out, unnoticed.
Inside, he found a lone waiter—a young man barely past twenty, his uniform pristine, his focus elsewhere.
Perfect.
Gray moved swiftly, striking with the efficiency of someone who had done this before.
A single hit.
The waiter crumpled, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
Gray worked quickly, stripping him of his uniform and donning it himself.
The transformation was instant.
Gone was the detective in the refined black suit.
In his place stood a simple waiter, unremarkable, invisible.
Gray adjusted the fit, making sure everything looked in place.
Then, he stepped back into the ballroom.
The Suspect
The moment he returned, he assumed the role.
His posture changed. His presence became smaller, insignificant.
To the nobles, he was nothing more than a servant.
He approached the shattered glass, playing the part perfectly.
"My sincere apologies, ladies and gentlemen," he said, bowing respectfully. "I will have this cleaned up at once."
The nobles barely spared him a glance. To them, he was beneath notice.
As he gathered the broken pieces, his eyes flickered across the room, searching.
And then, he saw him.
Richard Ovlive.
A man of wealth and influence, dressed in deep blue with golden embroidery. His dark hair was slicked back, his beard neatly trimmed. Everything about him was carefully curated.
His laugh was too practiced.
His smile was too controlled.
His movements were too rehearsed.
It was subtle—imperceptible to most—but Gray saw through it instantly.
A man accustomed to playing a role.
A man who wore his expressions like a mask.
A man who was hiding something.
Richard Ovlive had a reputation.
There were rumors—whispers of murder, of bodies hidden beneath wealth and charm.
Mere speculation. Unproven.
But now?
Now, he was the most suspicious person in this room.
Gray tightened his grip on the broken glass in his hand.
As expected.
He had already foreseen this.
A Noble's Greed
Detective Gray leaned against the marble pillar, his eyes never straying from Richard Ovlive.
The plan was simple. Watch. Wait. Let him expose himself.
A noble should never have any need to pick up loose change, let alone a gold coin worth a thousand pieces. A man of true wealth would have ignored it entirely. But Richard wasn't just any noble—he was a fraud.
And frauds always revealed themselves.
As Gray anticipated, Richard Ovlive stood up.
He excused himself from the table, his deep blue suit flowing with each careful step. His posture was elegant, composed, but there was a certain sharpness in his eyes, a calculating nature masked beneath layers of refinement.
He approached the buffet table, his gaze sweeping across the array of delicacies and fine drinks. His attention landed on the champagne—an expensive Morgana vintage, the kind only the highest aristocrats could afford.
Richard reached for the glass, fingers curling around the delicate stem.
And then—he saw it.
A golden coin, gleaming under the soft candlelight.
Gray watched as Richard's gaze flickered, his body tensing for the briefest of moments. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for witnesses.
He thought no one was looking.
And so, he took it.
The noble's fingers moved swiftly, almost instinctively, as he snatched the coin and shoved it into his pocket.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and walked back to his seat.
Perfect.
Gray suppressed a smirk. The bait had been taken.
Now, onto the next step—catching him in a lie.
The Liar's Game
Gray finished cleaning the shattered champagne glass, slipping effortlessly back into the crowd.
No one had noticed him. No one had even spared him a second thought.
With quiet precision, he retrieved his own suit, discarding the waiter's uniform and blending back into the noble gathering.
By the time he returned to the ballroom, Richard Ovlive was back at the table, laughing with the other aristocrats.
He was telling a joke. The kind of joke meant to impress, to entertain, to remind everyone why they liked him.
And the nobles?
They laughed.
Even Madame Emerald Hall chuckled, though Gray could tell she found Richard more amusing than genuine.
Perfect.
Gray stepped forward, joining the circle just as the laughter began to fade.
With a glass of champagne in hand, he smiled and spoke.
"Indeed, the wine from Morgana is quite addictive," he mused, swirling the golden liquid. "I heard a rumor that people would kill for it."
There was a brief pause.
Then Madame Hall laughed.
"Oh, it truly is to die for," she agreed, placing her empty glass down. "My husband brought back a bottle from the Morgana Empire. He said it was worth fifty golden coins."
Fifty thousand pieces.
For a bottle of wine.
Gray raised a brow.
That wine better bring a man back from the dead if it costs that much.
Richard remained silent, taking another sip of his drink. But Gray could see it now—the subtle stiffness in his expression, the way his fingers tightened around his glass.
The noble was uncomfortable.
Good.
He had already lost. He just didn't know it yet.
The Late-Night Visitor
After the ball ended, Gray and Madame Hall returned to the estate.
She offered him a guest room, which he accepted without hesitation.
He had one last part of his plan to execute.
Minutes passed in silence.
Then—
A rustling noise.
Gray's eyes snapped open.
Someone was outside his window.
He moved quickly, grabbing his cane as he stepped out onto the estate grounds.
And there he was.
Richard Ovlive, crouched by the backdoor, attempting to break in.
Predictable.
Gray approached without a word, and before Richard could react, he swung his cane.
The polished wood cracked against Richard's skull, sending him collapsing to the ground.
A groan escaped the noble's lips as he struggled to get up, but Gray pressed the cane against his chest, pinning him down.
His voice was low, calm.
"Why?"
Richard glared up at him, dazed but defiant. "Why what?"
Gray didn't repeat himself.
Instead, he drove his cane into Richard's ribs, forcing a strangled gasp from the man.
Silence lingered between them before Richard finally broke.
"Because I'm fucking poor, alright?!" he spat, his voice laced with anger and desperation. "Powerful and poor—that's what I've always been!"
Gray's expression didn't change.
"Power?" he echoed. "What kind of power?"
Richard's breathing was uneven, his body tense.
"I… I have an ability," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "A talent, if you will."
Gray narrowed his eyes.
"Explain."
Richard hesitated, but after a moment, he exhaled sharply. "It's called face-shifting."
Magic.
Of course, it was magic.
Gray didn't even bother being surprised.
Instead, his mind worked through the implications.
Face-shifting. A man who could change his appearance. That would explain the doppelgängers.
But before he could question Richard further, something fell from the noble's pocket.
A Tarot card.
And alongside it—
The gold coin Gray had planted.
Caught.
Red-handed.
Richard knew it too.
His face paled as he stared at the evidence against him, realizing there was no escape.
Gray smirked.
"You're under arrest for theft, fraud, and murder."
Richard didn't even resist.
The Aftermath
Dragging Richard to the police station wasn't difficult.
By the time Gray handed him over, the authorities were all too eager to take the disgraced noble into custody.
The town of Kushan would be safer without him.
But Gray barely had time to enjoy his victory before reality crashed back down on him.
He was still trapped in Alaric Thorn's body.
He wasn't home. He wasn't even close.
He had no idea how to return.
And now, he had a Tarot card with unknown significance sitting in his pocket.
One mystery solved. Another waiting to begin.
Without another word, he turned and headed back toward Barker Street.
Home… for Now
The scent of bread and butter filled the air as Gray stepped through the door of Alaric Thorn's home.
Lisa Thorn stood by the modest kitchen, carefully preparing dinner.
She glanced up as he entered, a small, welcoming smile crossing her face.
"You're back."
Gray hesitated.
For a moment, he almost didn't answer.
But then—
"Yeah," he said, adjusting his fedora. "I'm back."
[A/N: I will be calling the MC detective gray, gray or Ethan :) I'm heavily inspired by LOTM and Sherlock Holmes! Best detective in history!]