Bermuda

Shorendo checked the inside of the envelope he had received and pulled out several photographs along with a written statement. The statement contained multiple samples of “Servan” handwriting. It was a detailed account written by Marcus Servan’s bereaved family, describing exactly how he had been found immediately after his death.

“Up to now, the investigation has focused on determining the cause of death as suicide, based solely on the verbal statements of the wife and family—the initial witnesses at the time the death was reported—and the traces left on the body that was handed over. However, upon meeting with the family today and informing them of the possibility that Company Commander Servan was murdered, we were able to obtain an additional written statement, along with a signed agreement to cooperate with the investigation.”

Shorendo held up five or six densely filled pages before the assembled group. Loren, who had been leaning back, straightened and leaned forward.

“An additional statement? Does that mean there are clues they hadn’t shared with us?”

“Mm... rather than that, it seems they’ve tried to narrow down potential suspects based on Marcus Servan’s repeated behavior prior to the incident, his unstable psychological state, and his relationships with those around him.”

“The autopsy results were only delivered today, weren’t they? And they wrote all that in such a short time?”

Andreas, already fully absorbed in the meeting, asked sharply.

“Ah, I was told they had actually been drafting the statement for the past three days. That point still needs cross-verification through the dispatched investigator, but apparently there were already family members who couldn’t accept his death as suicide and had been raising doubts. They suspected he might have been murdered. There wasn’t even a proper suicide note left behind.”

“How credible is it?”

“It’s ultimately speculation based on suspicion. Still, the more reference material we have, the better.”

Loren, who had posed the question as if to test agreement, gave a silent nod.

“There is also testimony stating that his relationship with his wife—who had been considered a strong suspect—was particularly poor. Apparently, their arguments were frequent, and he even resorted to physical violence against her.”

“A piece of trash.”

Eighth Battalion Commander Benum muttered as if adding a refrain. If the testimony was true, there was little else to call it—but it was still an inappropriate word to use about the dead, especially a former colleague. Hugo’s gaze turned cold.

Benum immediately fell silent, and Shorendo flipped another page of the briefing papers.

“And... there is also a statement that approaches the suspect from a somewhat different angle. However, since it comes from the wife—one of the primary suspects—it’s possible that a strong desire to remove herself from suspicion influenced it. Still, from what I’ve reviewed, it is both the most far-fetched and, at the same time, the most plausible scenario among the family’s statements.”

None of the attendees urged him to continue. Naturally, they assumed his next words would reveal that “plausible scenario.” Yet Shorendo wore a faintly uneasy expression, hesitated for a moment, then continued.

“As mentioned in the earlier briefing, the reason the initial investigation concluded Marcus Servan’s cause of death as suicide was due to the prominent evidence of tongue severance. Meanwhile, the damage to the orbital region had been concealed through reverse-regeneration magic such as recovery. To inflict a stab wound less than 1 mm in diameter that penetrates the skull, one would first need exceptional skill in handling concealed weapons.”

Meterion, clearly displeased with the length of the explanation, folded his arms and rested his elbows on the table. It was an unusual posture for him, as he typically carried himself with an aloof, downward-looking air. Verity Shalma, seated beside him, cast a brief glance his way at the deviation.

The reason for his heightened sensitivity to today’s agenda was obvious. Having himself been placed under suspicion regarding the smuggling of old-model shackles, he wanted to capture and crush the real culprit who had dragged him into this.

“Additionally, one would require the strength or magical power to pierce the skull. And the anatomical knowledge necessary to precisely insert a weapon through the orbital fissure.”

Hugo listened to Shorendo’s voice as background while quietly observing Meterion’s behavior. The man was full of schemes, but he showed a stark, almost transparent difference between matters that interested him and those that did not.

In that sense, Meterion’s current reaction led to a peculiar conclusion—that he was genuinely serious about uncovering the truth of this case.

So the aristocratic faction isn’t involved.

“With these reasonable grounds, Vivian Servan, the spouse of the late Marcus Servan, has—”

Just as Hugo, who had been rubbing his lips, shifted his gaze back toward Shorendo—

“She has named Leonardo Blaine as a suspect in this case.”

For a moment, silence fell over the conference room.

As the situation veered in an unexpected direction, Hugo—who had been calmly observing—found his eyes widening.

“...What?”

Nothing he had heard so far connected cleanly. Was this what it felt like for one’s head to ring?

The reflexive question came naturally.

“What do you mean? Is there any reasonable basis for that?”

After a brief pause, Shorendo spoke carefully.

“There is supporting material submitted by Vivian Servan’s side. However, there are aspects that remain insufficiently substantiated to be immediately adopted as formal evidence. Therefore, before officially disclosing these materials, I would like to request your final review, Commander.”

As the Deputy Commander finished speaking, the Battalion Commanders’ gazes shifted toward Hugo. Among the photographs he had taken out, Shorendo selected the blurriest one and placed it back into the envelope, handing it to his adjutant.

The adjutant passed it to Flinn, and Flinn carried the evidence to Hugo. Though he tried not to show it, even Flinn looked visibly shaken.

Hugo said nothing as the yellow envelope reached his hands.

With everyone watching him, he simply stared down at it for a few seconds, organizing the tangled situation.

The fact that the person who had been whispering affection with him just moments ago might now be implicated as the perpetrator of a murder—and that he himself had to pull out the evidence.

What is this....

It was a cruel reality. And yet, at the same time, an urge rose within him to confirm it as quickly as possible. Because he had to prove it wasn’t true.

Countless thoughts flickered through his mind, but Hugo maintained the composed face of a rational Legion Commander. Running his fingers over the creased surface of the envelope, he opened it without hesitation and took out a single photograph.

The black-and-white photo, faded with age and worn by many hands, depicted an old-fashioned interior. Quite a number of people stood in a line—more than twenty in total. Among them were the elderly, the young, and children. Behind them, within a framed display, was the Servan family crest resembling a human eye. It appeared to be a family photograph.

“......”

How could something as simple as a family photo serve as evidence pointing to an outsider as the culprit? As he scanned each face one by one, his gaze naturally settled on a young girl standing in a corner. Her appearance was strikingly out of place among the others, who mostly had dark hair.

She alone had light-colored hair. The exact shade was impossible to determine—white, silver, or perhaps even blond.

Her long bangs covered half her face, making it difficult to clearly see her small features.

Still, Hugo’s brow gradually furrowed. A strange sense of déjà vu began to coil around him.

***

“Hey, Lion.”

From across the table, Gillian sent a rare, tense look. But Leonardo answered with a glance that said he was fine. Having come all the way here to eat together, he couldn’t keep up the mysterious persona forever.

He set the hat he had removed onto his thigh and brushed back his bangs, speaking in a relaxed tone.

“That was fun.”

As the flattened blond hair loosened, it gained a fuller volume. Under the dim, yellowish lighting, strands of gold shifted and shimmered with every touch. At a glance, where the light reflected, it even glinted like white hair.

“So we should enjoy the second round too, right?”

The strip of white cloth that had been hooked over his ears and the tip of his nose slid smoothly along the line of his face. The two people seated on either side of him stared at Leonardo without blinking.

Along with the faint scent of sunlight that naturally clung to him, another unfamiliar, intense fragrance brushed past their noses. Orca unconsciously sniffed, like an animal catching a scent. In that moment, the cloth slipped completely away from Leonardo’s smooth jawline.

“......”

His lips, now fuller and more flushed, were fully revealed. At such close distance, the unforgettable curve of his profile flickered before their eyes.

Ero suddenly felt himself growing lightheaded with intoxication. Otherwise, there was no explanation for why his vision wavered as if he had nowhere to rest his gaze—or why his face burned.

Forgetting even his duty to keep Orca in check, he stared blankly at Leonardo’s face, seeing it properly for the first time.

Under the weight of all those eyes, Leonardo lowered his gaze slightly, a bit embarrassed. He absently touched the back of his neck, checking whether the tie was properly hidden beneath his turtleneck.

When his fingertips brushed the fabric, he seemed to relax, finally reassured. He lifted his eyes again, cleared his throat, and looked around once before raising the glass of juice in front of him.

“What are you doing? Aren’t we toasting?”

Gillian, reading the mood, quickly lifted his own glass. Ero, still dazed, fumbled and followed.

“Y-Yes? Ah, of course!”

At that moment, as if entranced, Orca suddenly grabbed Leonardo’s hand. Then, in a tone of utmost seriousness, he asked:

“Lion, will you accept me as your mate?”

It felt like a word was missing somewhere in that sentence, but for Orca, it didn’t seem to matter at all.

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