I Start with a Bad Hand!

If misfortune struck like a series of dominoes, one after the other, life would be somewhat more bearable. If we can’t avoid misfortune, at least it would be nice if it came at regular intervals. Then we could catch our breath between each blow. But misfortune is like a snowstorm, pressing down on you from all directions at once.

‘What is this?’

I was no exception. It was a night when I was contemplating how to reconcile with Agnes. Having never raised my voice in a fight with her before, I found it even harder to figure out how to start a conversation after such an argument.

When I stepped out of the shower to cool my overloaded mind, I noticed a bruise on my left chest.

‘…Why do I have a bruise?’

Pressing the dark mark, I felt no pain. At first, I thought nothing of it and soon forgot about it. But whenever I remembered and checked, it had spread. Ignoring it became impossible as it grew larger and darker, and I eventually had to visit the infirmary.

When I showed the bruise, which had now spread to my upper chest and shoulder, the infirmary staff frowned and asked, “Did you bump into something?”

“What? No.”

The staff member leaned in, speaking cautiously, “Did someone hit you?”

“No, no.”

“It looks like a bruise from a strong impact… And it doesn’t hurt?”

“No. I’ve touched it multiple times, but it never hurt.”

“Hmm, that’s strange… I’ll give you some ointment. Try applying it, though I’m not sure if it’ll help. Come back if it spreads more.”

I doubted returning would make a difference. Did I bump into something? I’m the type of person who avoids anything or anyone before they get close to me.

Then it hit me. This wasn’t a wound inflicted on ‘me.’ This was,

‘…A wound Dietrich’s body remembers.’

Realizing this, I couldn’t help but think of the priest.

“Lady Dietrich’s body will soon collapse at this rate.”

I had vaguely assumed it meant she would just feel a bit more pain, get tired easily, or age faster—a slow decline. That was the only way I had personally encountered death. But I hadn’t anticipated that the priest’s warning about her body “collapsing” would manifest in such a specific and personal way.

A chill ran down my spine, beyond my control.

‘So what happens later? For now, it’s just bruises. But at the very end? If pain and wounds accompany it…’

But then, I stopped my thoughts there.

‘Even so, nothing changes.’

I knew all along. No need to get depressed. I forced my reluctant feet to move towards the dormitory. Tomorrow, I had an appointment with Prince Elius at dawn. I didn’t initially intend to share the information that the suspect was left-handed.

‘Regardless of whether it’s information I already know… since Elius shared his information, I should share some in return.’

I might be foolishly holding on to the hope that our collaborative investigation would proceed smoothly. Elius initially didn’t seem to believe my claim that the person who bought the wig and left a handwriting sample at the wig shop, and the person who sent the portrait, were the same person and that this person was left-handed.

“But, Your Highness, there were consistent testimonies at both locations describing a slender man. Someone who could enter and leave the academy without arousing suspicion, and when he came to my territory disguised as the Second Prince, it implies he’s definitely someone from inside the academy. How could an outsider know I had contact with the Second Prince? Considering the composition of the drawing and the traces left in the handwriting…”

“Wait, say that again.”

“For various reasons, it seems like someone from the academy.”

“No, before that. When he came to your territory, who was he disguised as?”

“…The Second Prince?”

Elius’s eyebrows twitched upward.

“Icarus?”

“Yes. According to our butler, it was a boy with blonde hair and red eyes. As far as I know, there’s only one person in the empire with those features.”

“…Why him?”

“What?”

Elius didn’t hide his displeasure, and I wanted to ask back, how would I know? Instead, I silently endured his gaze.

Fortunately, Elius seemed to change his mind and agreed to let me search the student council archives for the handwriting sample. On the condition that he would accompany me. I nodded and watched him jot down notes.

Even upside down, I could tell that the handwriting filling the documents was clearly different from the one we were looking for. Elius also seemed to notice my focus, and a look of displeasure briefly crossed his face.

‘So it’s not really Elius… then who sent the portrait?’

After a tense negotiation, we agreed to search for the handwriting sample at 4:30 in the morning. Neither Elius nor I wanted to be seen working together on this, and we didn’t trust each other enough to investigate separately. Doing it late at night felt wrong too.

‘At least working together, we should finish quickly.’

Although I didn’t relish being alone with him, I knew Elius felt the same. We had to finish this before the sun rose and we could see each other’s faces more clearly, and before the number of these meetings increased.

***

Could two people work together without uttering a single word to each other?

Elius and I managed it. At precisely 4:30 AM, we met in front of the student council room, silently entered the archives, and compared handwriting samples without a word until 6:30 AM. I discovered that if you keep your mouth shut for a long time, it makes a sticky sound when you finally open it.

‘The worst part is we didn’t find anything.’

We’d have to come back tomorrow.

Despite comparing every student’s handwriting with the sample Agnes provided, we found no match. We didn’t know if each student was right- or left-handed, so we examined everything, making the process slower than expected. It wasn’t easy, relying on very dim lighting in the dark room.

‘Why is everyone’s handwriting so erratic? Couldn’t someone have a consistent script?’

On top of that, just as I didn’t plan to finish so soon, the dry air in the archives, combined with the dry weather, gave me a nosebleed. Frantically searching my inner jacket pocket, I remembered it was a futile effort.

‘Where did my handkerchief go? Oh, right.’

Icarus took it. Damn.

Panicking as blood dripped uncontrollably, I stood up, hastily covering my nose to avoid staining the documents. Elius, who had been reviewing his share of the papers, stared blankly at me. Then, with a short sigh, he tilted his head slightly and spoke.

“Let’s call it a day.”

The first words I had heard in two hours.

“Yes.”

The first words I had spoken in two hours.

“Same time tomorrow morning.”

“Yes.”

I responded, still wiping the blood from my nose, while Elius simply closed the files without further comment.

Thus, we continued our silent work sessions throughout the early mornings. Annoying as it was, there were two significant outcomes.

One was discovering a document written by the former Duchess of Elexion in some very old, musty files. The handwriting on the document I found was slightly more vigorous and cheerful, but it matched the script in the letter.

‘Maybe it feels strange because it’s the handwriting of someone who’s no longer in this world.’

The second outcome was that despite combing through the files of every student, we couldn’t find a match.

‘Why?’

I reviewed the stacks of documents with a troubled heart. Even after cross-checking twice, the handwriting didn’t match. There were a few similar scripts, but the way certain letters were formed was distinctly different. Given the circumstances, it seemed highly likely the culprit was an academy student.

“What a waste of time.”

Elius clicked his tongue and brushed past me. I could tolerate that.

“Uh… You two were together…?”

As I left the dusty archives with a heavy heart, I unexpectedly ran into Roxanne. I could tolerate that too, and it was fine when Elius bumped into me on his way out, taking Roxanne with him.

‘He always has to bump into me. Petty jerk.’

What was really bothering me was the realization that all my theories had crumbled, plunging me back into a sea of confusion.

‘Why does nothing ever go right?’

Returning to the dormitory from the archives, I checked the time and saw that my first class was with Agnes. I trudged to the classroom, where I found only Agnes’s belongings scattered around. The empty chairs and desks offered no solace as I stared at her stuff.

‘Why doesn’t she ever carry her bag?’

Knowing she wouldn’t say a word and would stubbornly look straight ahead if I sat next to her, I chose a spot near her things. Not too far away, because she’d give me those slightly hurt glances if I sat too far.

After finding some dust on my face, I headed to the washroom. When I returned, I found a circle of students gathered around Agnes’s desk.

‘What’s this, some kind of group bullying?’

I hurried over, but then I heard,

“A fountain pen? The one with the jewels?”

“Did it fall somewhere? Keep looking.”

Oh, she’d lost something. Thank goodness. Seeing the group huddled around her desk, I’d feared something worse. Joining the silent search, I scanned the floor for her pen. I knew the pen well, adorned with her birthstone, a flashy, custom-made pen that wasn’t easy to miss.

Keeping my eyes on the floor, I absentmindedly rummaged through my bag to pull out a book, and my fingers brushed against something.

‘What’s this?’

I pulled out a fountain pen encrusted with diamonds. The very pen I recognized,

“Uh… Agnes, isn’t that your pen Dietrich is holding?”

And with that, all eyes turned to me.