"They say that time heals all wounds—such an easy thing to say."
Aria whispered, her voice sinking into the folds of night like a fading sigh.
"But what if the very 'time' meant to heal... is itself the name of pain?
What if, by simply flowing, it quietly and yet relentlessly wears us down,
Turning the memories of yesterday into thorns?
Then tell me—what is left for us to believe in?
What can we possibly cling to?"
In her eyes shimmered a light like mirrors reflecting the past.
Scars carved in unseen places by the passage of time
Now took shape as words, falling gently into the silence.
"Hey, don't you think it's strange? That manager, he always wore a watch..."
Aria's voice was soft, blending into the morning stillness. Sitting by the old window, she gazed out as though looking at some distant past, her presence feeling detached from the present time. Her words carried a slight weight, and an undercurrent of hidden emotions seemed to linger.
"The watch...?"
"Yeah. The manager of that restaurant. It would always 'chime' at the same time. A small sound... almost like a ritual."
Rat fell silent, deep in thought. Why was the manager so obsessed with that watch? Aria's voice had an unsettling tone to it.
"Did it chime when he was killed?"
"Yes. At the same time as that sound, my vision went completely dark. That's why I think... it wasn't just a watch."
The protagonist nodded silently. Aria's eyes seemed to focus on something far away.
"All records, all traces of necromancy... it was all erased. As if it had never existed."
"...Why?"
"I don't know. But that manager is hiding something."
Aria smiled softly. Beneath her smile, there was a cold calculation that no ordinary person would ever see.
"—So, steal it. That man, he's big, like a bear. You'll recognize him right away."
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rat is pulling his hood tighter. After all, he was a criminal.
---
At the restaurant, the morning preparations had begun. In the kitchen, the manager was chopping vegetables, giving precise instructions to the staff. The atmosphere was calm, but the protagonist's gaze was fixed on one man.
The manager—just as Aria had said, he was easy to identify. A big, bear-like frame, in his mid-fifties, with his white hair neatly combed. Deep wrinkles on his face showed signs of fatigue and guilt.
His eyes were always moving, scanning every corner of the kitchen with a cautious, alert gaze. The hand that gripped the knife, the hand stirring the pot, the voice giving orders—all of them followed a strange, almost ritualistic pattern rather than a normal cooking routine.
His white apron, strangely, remained clean. A silver chain from his chest connected to a pocket watch. When he washed his hands, he briefly removed the watch in a gesture that seemed almost like a prayer.
That was the signal.
Disguised as a janitor, he slipped into the kitchen and moved about casually. As the manager washed his hands, the protagonist quickly snatched the pocket watch and hid it in his pocket. Then, without a hint of suspicion, he left.
A few minutes later—
"...Click, click, click."
The pocket watch began to chime irregularly. It was exactly 10:10 AM. The sound echoed through the quiet air, almost as if it were a planned signal.
At that moment, a stray dog on the other side of the street suddenly barked. The dog, which had been sleeping just moments before, was now awake.
"...Did it respond to the sound?"
Rat's mind flashed with Dream's words—"dog." It wasn't the sense of smell. It wasn't the sense of sight. It was the sense of hearing.
Rat's stared at the pocket watch. Its faint tremor seemed to be trying to awaken something.
---
"Did the dog react? How interesting," Aria laughed. For a moment, a strange light flickered in her eyes. Rat felt a sudden unease at her words, but the sensation quickly passed. There was an odd persuasiveness to what she said.
"The manager... He used necromancy to control the dead and hide them."
Aria casually said this with a smile.
---
At the same time—
Shooooo...
A black-steel steam locomotive gleamed in the morning sun as it slid into the station. The sound of the steam pierced the silence, and a man appeared on the platform.
His presence cut through the crowd like a sharp blade, an alien figure standing apart. His long black coat billowed in the wind, resembling the wings of a mythical bird. He wore a silk top hat, his eyes hidden in shadows.
In one hand, he held a silver cane, the handle intricately shaped like a coiling snake. With the other hand, he opened an old pocket watch. The ivory-colored dial was delicately adorned. He checked the time without any hurry, then paused to observe the air around him, taking in the movements of nearby police officers and passengers. His lips curled slightly as he lit a black cigarette.
"I hear there's a fugitive hiding in this town," he murmured, catching a whisper from the officers.
He tilted his head as though listening to music.
"—Perfect timing. Just the right moment for a commotion."
His voice was silky smooth, yet sharp as a cold blade. His true identity was still unknown. But one thing was certain—
His "hunt" had already begun.
---
After parting ways with Aria, Rat wandered alone through the forest. He had no particular destination—just killing time. Stepping into a quiet part of the woods where no one dared to tread, he felt an eerie presence, as though something was waiting for him. Still, he continued forward.
Something was wrong. The air felt heavy, and the silence carried an uncanny tension. Even the wind refused to stir the trees, as if time itself had come to a halt. A strange stillness enveloped everything.
His gaze drifted to the ground. Fallen leaves blanketed the forest floor, but something beneath them caught his attention. He stood motionless for a moment before cautiously stepping closer.
Kneeling down, he brushed the leaves aside—and uncovered pale, dry bones. The coldness of them seeped into his fingers, sending a shiver through his body. As more of the bones were revealed, he realized they belonged to a child. Thin fingers, broken ribs, a cracked skull. He could feel the blood drain from his face.
Something creaked inside him. A body, hidden in the depths of this forest—but it wasn't just that. What struck him most was the strangeness of the death. It didn’t feel like a corpse—it felt like an object. A piece of trash, discarded without a second thought.
"Someone... died here," he whispered to himself. But there was no sign of mourning. No prayer, no sorrow. Just remnants of interrupted work. A shattered bowl, charred wood, and an unfamiliar symbol scrawled on a torn piece of paper—remnants of a ritual, abruptly halted.
And then he understood. These bones weren’t simply remains. They weren't laid to rest with reverence. This was—a method.
Not even a ritual. A ritual demands faith. And faith carries emotion. But this body had none of that. It had been treated as nothing more than an object.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a white flower. Somehow, he knew it was needed. He placed it gently beside the bones and covered them with soil, bit by bit.
"...You died properly this time."
That was his prayer. A quiet act of meaning. At last, this body transformed—from mere remains into a person who had once lived.
He stood up and looked down at the flower swaying in the breeze. That simple motion, unseen by anyone else, felt like a whisper. As if someone long gone was telling the world, "I was here."
Further ahead, he found a small grave. A photo had been placed beside it. It showed a cat—one that looked exactly like Aria.
---
Footsteps approached.
They were uneven, hurried. Rat turned around quietly. Before he knew it, the manager was standing there.
"So... you figured it out?"
His voice was cold, as if he hadn’t even noticed Rat's presence until just now. His face betrayed no emotion, but in his eyes—a sharp glint flickered for the briefest moment.
---
