“It’s time to investigate, it’s time ~!” sang an unnecessarily cheerful voice, vibrant like a little bell out of place at a wake. “Time to look for clues! You and me, the best detectives in the city.”

  “Behave.” the other cut in immediately, dry, leaving no room for reply or theatrics.

  Of all the damn people in the world… did you have to pick me?

  The question wasn’t new; it had been repeating for hours, maybe days, like an invisible hammer behind his forehead.

  Vans walked with his hands shoved into his jacket, buried deep as if he wanted to rip the nerves out through his pockets. His detective badge remained hidden, as did his service weapon, both concealed beneath layers of fabric and discretion. He glanced sideways at Smiley in his human form, who skipped along beside him as if the sidewalk were a private stage and the entire world his captive audience. He hung from lampposts with absurd grace, spinning around himself like an unhinged ballerina in a broken music box, humming with enthusiasm that bordered on offensive.

  His movements were exaggerated, theatrical, almost ridiculous… and yet he never bumped into anyone. He never invaded a pedestrian’s space. No one stepped aside. No one complained. No one frowned. The crowd kept moving, indifferent, as if the spectacle didn’t exist for anyone but him.

  “They don’t see him.” Vans muttered through clenched teeth. “They really can’t see him.”

  Invisibility.

  Another illusion. Another cheap trick and, at the same time, terrifyingly perfect from the mad toymaker who had chosen him as an improvised partner in this investigation that already felt absurd before it had even begun. Investigating why the hell they were after Feralynn and Miria. And worse still, how to keep them from being caught when the world seemed determined to shove them straight into the wolf’s jaws.

  WHY ARE YOU WEARING HEELS?!

  But how? What to do, how to get to the clues? Were there even clues? The child disappearances had dropped off suddenly, so abruptly that the silence felt more unsettling than the screams. News stations barked in alarm, newspapers with headlines “Has The Design returned?” terrified the crowd. Confusing, that just when it exploded in the media they stopped overnight.

  And that, however good it looked on the surface, only made Smiley’s internal alarms flare with almost feverish intensity. That same morning he had interrupted him in his office, bursting in without knocking, saying they’d better hurry, that the clock was already ticking and they were late.

  That if Carmilla’s people stopped the disappearances, it was because they were ready. Ready for something worse. For the next big act.

  Even so, that didn’t answer Vans’ doubts. Why choose him? He lacks magic to help, lacks mana, spells, any shining tool this world seemed to demand. Maybe the headmaster had seen something in him beyond a simple detective without arcane power. Maybe he saw someone impossible to seduce by darkness, too tired to be enchanted by promises of power. Or maybe he simply saw a stubborn man, honest enough to try to protect innocents even if all he had was a gun, a badge, and the refusal to look the other way. Whether they have magic… or not.

  With his eyes closed, as if descending to judgment and not to a platform, Vans went down the stairs into the subway. The air grew denser with each step, colder, more real. Few options: continue with his life handling minor problems, cases solved with bureaucracy and patience… or enter the game for real, get his hands dirty to the core, to cut everything off at the root before that root grew enough to choke the entire city.

  He could have said no. Refused, of course. He could have shut the door, pretended not to hear, continued his routine as if the world weren’t twisting somewhere he still couldn’t see. But Vans wasn’t like that. He can’t look away when the defenseless are at the twisted mercy of those who exploit them, who use them as disposable pieces in games they never asked to play. He can’t tolerate seeing families destroyed by those people, or whoever they are, no matter the uniform they wear or the mask they use.

  He wouldn’t allow it.

  If he had to work with a deranged wooden clown, he would. Even if he couldn’t tell anyone else. Even if the alliance smelled like a mistake from the first second. Even if, deep down, he doubted he could truly be useful on a board where the rules weren’t for people like him.

  “Weee~!” shrieked Smiley as he slid down the handrail like a hyperactive child, spreading his arms as if he were embracing the air instead of the void.

  Snapped from his thoughts abruptly, Vans’ heart gave a violent jump when he saw that at the bottom of the stairs a woman was coming up distracted, focused on her phone. In the last second, just before the inevitable impact, Smiley vanished in a luminous blink and reappeared beside him at the top of the stairs, as if he had never moved.

  Vans spun furiously toward the red suit, rage climbing his throat.

  “Are you sick or what?!” he shouted, earning uncomfortable looks from civilians who only saw a man yelling at empty air, at nothing tangible. “You’re gonna hurt someone if you keep this up!”

  Smiley scratched the back of his neck with exaggerated innocence, tilting his head as if he didn’t understand the gravity of anything.

  “It’s just that I haven’t left the castle in a long time.” he sighed as they descended the rest of the stairs, now walking with almost cartoonish calm. “I forget what it means to stroll through the city. Besides… it’s fun to bother you. You’re just as bitter as Astera, but since you can’t throw a sword at my face at the speed of light, I take advantage~”

  “I can get you arrested.” Vans snorted, fixing him with a warning-laden stare. “Give you a criminal record.”

  In a blink, Smiley was wearing an orange prisoner jumpsuit, bright handcuffs on his wrists clinking theatrically.

  “No, please! Not prison!” he wailed with absurd drama, shaking the chains as if the fate of the world depended on it. “I’m far too handsome for that!”

  He snapped his fingers and returned to his impeccable red suit, not a wrinkle out of place.

  “Though if it’s house arrest… I might consider it~!”

  Vans rolled his eyes with deep exhaustion, one that had nothing to do with the hour of the day, and they boarded the train.

  Blanks like him. Ordinary people going to or from work. Tired faces that seemed to have left hope on the pillow that morning. Worn backpacks. Phones lighting up dark circles under their eyes. A life without fireballs or shining miracles, without golden threads or smiling masks.

  Vans closed his eyes, enjoying the silence he knew wouldn’t last. He held the overhead bar with one hand, firm, as if he needed to anchor himself to something solid. The other rested inside his pocket, brushing the cold metal of his weapon as a reminder of who he was.

  He heard high-pitched laughter. He opened one eye.

  At the other end of the carriage, Smiley was kneeling in front of two children, inflating balloons and twisting them with surprising skill, his fingers moving with almost artisanal precision. The mother slept in her seat, head tilted against the glass, defeated by exhaustion. Other adults pretended not to look… or truly didn’t see him, each locked inside their own fatigue.

  "..."

  A dog took shape between his hands. Then a giraffe with an impossible neck. His fingers left small golden sparks that changed the color and texture of the balloons, transforming ordinary latex into vibrant little creatures to amaze the children even more.

  A turtle. A butterfly. The children laughed with their mouths open, fascinated, as if the world were simple again.

  Smiley finished each child’s favorite animal, ruffled their hair leaving a harmless glimmer, a spark dissolving into the air, and returned to Vans while the balloons took on slight animation of their own, moving shyly as if they were breathing.

  “You like kids too much.” Vans commented, professional suspicion barely disguised in his low tone. “You never stop making them laugh.”

  Smiley took the bar beside him, imitating his mundane posture with exaggerated naturalness.

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  “I like making people happy.” he replied with unexpected softness, no mockery in his voice. He lifted his gaze toward Vans with a closed-eye smile, almost sincere. “It’s not that hard to understand, is it?”

  With his free hand he formed a small sphere of golden, sandy light that spun between his fingers like dust suspended in a sunbeam.

  “POS energy.” he explained proudly, as if presenting a revolutionary invention. “Positive.”

  Vans watched the sphere without expression, giving him nothing.

  Smiley blew it toward his face.

  The bright sand dissolved on contact with his skin. Vans tensed, instinctively stepping back as if expecting to burn. Tiny sparks fell over his skin like warm dust, without pain.

  And without meaning to… he remembered. His graduation at the academy, years ago. The new uniform, still stiff. The proud faces of his parents in the crowd, searching for his gaze. The photos with relatives and the celebration at the bar, awkward laughter, exaggerated toasts, the feeling that the future was something clean.

  A smile slipped from him before he could stop it.

  When he lowered his gaze, Smiley was watching him with a soft, almost empathetic expression, as if he had been waiting for exactly that.

  “Do you see now?” the headmaster asked quietly, without theatrics this time. “You need no spell to experience the magic of life.”

  Vans cleared his throat and regained his composure like someone putting on a necessary mask.

  “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Understood~! Understood, partner.” Smiley replied with no real intention of obeying, the light tone betraying him. Then he tilted his head with childish curiosity. “Hey… nice gun by the way.”

  Vans blinked, confused.

  Smiley was holding his service weapon between his fingers as if it were a new toy.

  He checked his coat. Empty. The pocket felt hollow. It was indeed his gun. Indeed, he tried to snatch it back, but with a simple flick of a finger, extremely thin golden threads sprouted and bound his wrists to the overhead bar, tightening without hurting him but not allowing him to move.

  He couldn’t make a scene. He couldn’t alert the sleeping passengers who would only see an armed man losing his mind in a car full of civilians. Tense, jaw rigid, he watched as Smiley inspected the weapon with genuine curiosity, turning it, examining every detail. He even looked down the barrel, as if trying to understand how it worked from the inside.

  “My little fiery student loves shooting.” he commented lightly, as if talking about the weather. “She surely understands these things better. In my time they used crossbows. Oh! How outdated I am...”

  Thank the Gods that little gremlin can't carry weapons.

  He ran his fingers along the barrel, leaving a trail of blue sparks that lit the interior for a second, as if the metal were breathing.

  Then he tossed the gun into the air.

  Poof!

  A light cloud dematerialized it, and the weapon reappeared inside Vans’ coat, exactly where it had been.

  When the threads vanished all at once, Vans immediately checked the pistol with quick, professional hands. On the metal, engraved where there had been nothing before, was a tiny symbol: a top hat with a heart in the center. It glowed gold for an instant before fading, as if sealing a silent pact.

  “Enchanted.” Smiley said with a sideways smile that didn’t quite reach kindness. “A little extra insurance… in case things get ugly.” He leaned slightly, theatrical even in intimacy. “Do you still have the card I gave you~?”

  Vans swallowed. He nodded silently, knowing reproach would be useless at this point. He pulled the poker card from the inside pocket of his coat and showed it without words, the stiff cardboard like a promise he hadn’t asked for.

  Smiley clapped with contained enthusiasm.

  “Excellent, excellent!”

  ...

  ...

  ...

  When they got off the train they continued their path through the constant flow of people going up and down like a gray tide. Smiley behaved, to Vans’ genuine surprise, and seemed visible, since others avoided him in the crowd, shifting a shoulder slightly, frowning for a second, reacting the way one reacts to any eccentric stranger in a big city.

  They went up the escalators that vibrated under their feet, and the peripheral zone of the city greeted them. Where shops were scarce, and opportunities were harsher. Buildings with peeling paint, rusted bars, broken windows patched with cardboard. The air smelled of old dampness and cheap gasoline. It was a neighborhood that survived more than it lived.

  “Where did your little contact say he’d be?” Smiley asked casually, hands behind his back as if strolling through a park and not through a sector where people learned not to ask too many questions.

  “Lucas, or whatever his real name is, is hard to find. He said he’ll recognize us and approach. He knows the capital’s underworld better than the typical scum.” He paused briefly, scanning the surroundings with a trained eye. “You could’ve teleported us here, you know.”

  Smiley let out a small laugh with zero real innocence, a brief vibration that didn’t fit the street.

  “I like feeling like a normal one! Even more when I have my little partner by my side!” he replied with almost childish theatrics, as if this were an excursion and not a mission against forces that preferred the shadows.

  "You're ridiculous." spat Vans.

  "Mhm~!"

  Vans glanced sideways at him, held that look a second longer than necessary and then lowered his gaze before asking, voice lower, heavier.

  “If you can make yourself look human, why don’t you do it all the time?” Then, even lower, almost as if fearing the question might have consequences. “What are you, really?”

  “If everyone knew I can look like that, where would the fun be? I wouldn’t be able to surprise anyone.” he laughed softly, enjoying the mystery he himself cultivated. “Answering your other question, I’m a puppet! Obviously.”

  “One with autonomy and magic." Vans replied, crossing his arms, skeptical but attentive. "And with a record of existing for centuries.”

  “You’re itching with curiosity.” Smiley sighed softly, shoulders drooping in feigned defeat, though the smile didn’t completely fade. “It shows you really are a detective. Fine, I'll satisfy you.”

  Before Vans’ expectant silence, Smiley began in a nostalgic voice, lifting his gaze as they walked under electrical wires and bridge shadows.

  “I was a toymaker, a long, long time ago. I crafted gifts for others with my own hands. During carnivals I gave presents to the street orphans. I was very happy, until the Era of Terror arrived.”

  “What is that even supposed to be?” Vans asked, without softening his tone.

  Smiley shook his head slowly. They stopped beneath the graffiti-covered bridge where Lucas had told them to wait. The walls were covered in tags and obscene drawings, as if the concrete had absorbed decades of resentment toward society.

  “Something missing from the records of history. A beautiful time led by the bearer of the chaotic flames. The Hollow King. The Tyrant Dragon: Carthus V.”

  Leaning against the column, Vans crossed his arms and tilted his head, trying to connect names with nonexistent files.

  “I bet they don’t teach that to the kids at your school either.”

  “Bingo!” Smiley pointed, pleased, almost proud. “That’s why you’re with me, because you’re not an idiot!”

  “That doesn’t explain what happened to you.” Vans insisted, not letting himself be distracted by the playful tone.

  “Oh! Well, let’s just say they captured me when I joined a group of heroes to stop him. We miserably failed, and his beautiful and precious queen turned me into their personal court jester.” he said as if talking about a bad date. “She turned me into wood and tortured me daily until I managed to escape! You know, the usual!”

  There was an abrupt, heavy silence, broken only by cars passing beneath the bridge like metallic whispers.

  “...Who was that woman, the Queen who tortured you?” Vans asked, not taking his eyes off his painted face.

  Smiley widened his smile, but this time his voice came out with a shade of darkness that made the hairs on Vans’ arms stand up, as if the air had suddenly cooled.

  “Who comes to your mind?”

  Vans swallowed, unable to pronounce her name. He was about to say it, parting his lips, feeling the weight of that syllable on his tongue, when they heard a car park nearby.

  “Seems your dear Lucas arrived!” Smiley said, greeting the hooded stranger with an exaggerated gesture. “Yoohoo~! Over here, mister criminal~!”

  The hooded man, upon seeing the wine-red suited figure, froze in place, as if he had seen a ghost far too real.

  “Hey, hey. Easy. I told you someone else was coming with me.” Vans intervened calmly, trying to ease the tension thickening in the air. “He's with me. Trust us.”

  But the hooded man looked again at the man in the red suit. His breathing changed. Without hesitation he began to step back. One step, two, fear growing in his pupils.

  “Hey, wait!” Vans shouted when he started running.

  The man spun abruptly to get into his car and leave, but—

  CHASK!

  In a blink they were at the top of an abandoned building. The vertigo struck first, then understanding. Vans blinked rapidly, trying to stabilize reality, and saw in front of him Smiley holding the young man by the head of his hoodie, at the edge of the void.

  “NO, NO, PLEASE, NO!” the hooded man screamed in horror, flailing his arms, feeling the cold air behind his back. “DON’T KILL ME, PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU!”

  Smiley stood with one hand in his pocket, looking at him with a serious face, no trace of play. He held him by the edge. If he let go, nothing and no one could save him from becoming a mere red pulp on the asphalt.

  Vans, more tense than ever, every muscle on alert, tried to approach very slowly, as if walking on thin ice.

  “Smiley.” he said once, with that voice of someone used to dealing with people in altered states during critical moments on the police front. “Smiley. Don’t. Drop. Him.”

  Lucas, or whoever he was, kept begging the headmaster through screams, his voice breaking with every word.

  “My child, I usually have a lot of patience.” Smiley said, and suddenly let him fall. “But we’re running out of time.”

  Vans ran at full speed to the edge, his heart hammering against his chest.

  “NO!” he shouted, watching his informant fall into the void. “ARE YOU FUCKING SICK?!”

  Smiley let out a tender little giggle that was terrifying, a laugh completely out of place in a moment that smelled of death. He extended a single hand downward, and from his palm dozens of thin golden threads burst forth, spreading like a luminous spiderweb, catching the falling man.

  With a yank, as if reeling in a fishing line, he pulled him back up effortlessly. Lucas landed safely on the rooftop beside them, hitting the concrete clumsily. He trembled, incapable of struggling against the grip, paralyzed by the terror of having seen his life flash before his eyes in an eternal blink.

  Vans shot Smiley a look of pure anger, a gaze that, if it were a bullet, would have pierced wood and magic alike. Smiley returned a dry, tense look, no smile.

  "Tsk..."

  They didn’t stop to argue. They needed answers, however ambiguous they might turn out to be. Any drop of information.

  Both of them walked toward him.

  

  ?