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Chapter Text

June 16, 1900

Limehouse District, Wang’s Opium Den

Upon descending the stairs to the murky basement, Asougi Kazuma expected the worst, yet the place—somehow—looked even worse.

The basement had no windows, and the dim light from a singular lamp held by one of the Scotland Yard officers only barely dispersed the shadows that crept in every corner. Despite no clients currently occupying the premises, the air stank of heavy smoke; poor ventilation would almost certainly cause the stench to never quite go off, not even if the place were to get closed with immediate effect.

In other words, one of the many similar businesses led by the Chinese in one of the worst areas of Eastern London screamed of danger.

Asougi’s nose soon got used to the stench as he suppressed the urge to leave. A few steps behind, Sulla sent him a questioning look. “Are you quite alright, Kazuma? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” he sighed. “The air here is appalling, though.”

“What a charming establishment. It’s a wonder how it’s only our first suspected murder in here.”

Asougi couldn’t agree more with his paralegal’s comment.

It had been just over six months since he decided to stay in London, and only recently had he been permitted to prosecute real cases. In fact, his proper courtroom debut also coincided with the arrival of Sulla Coyell at the Prosecutor’s Office. Certain events caused the two of them to connect, and so Asougi—despite always being a bit too headstrong to open up to people—had slowly learned to accept her role as his aide.

They both worked under Lord Barok van Zieks, formerly known as the Reaper of the Bailey. In fact, Sulla herself used to be his apprentice many years ago. Her profound knowledge of the law, as well as sharp mind, were both incredible assets in the courtroom and outside.

When earlier this morning a case was submitted to the Prosecutor’s Office, Asougi was thrilled. A dead body in an opium den with violent symptoms all over; the owner of the business mysteriously vanishing; lack of obvious suspects or even a clear cause of death. In other words, a perfectly mysterious case for Asougi to prove himself.

He pleaded with van Zieks to allow him to investigate, even if no one could tell if an indictment would even be needed at this stage. The man agreed, and so Asougi and Sulla ventured for one of their first—and certainly the first of such calibre—investigation.

However, Asougi hadn’t quite expected this supposed crime scene to present such a grim sight. He’d started to feel sick by the atmosphere here. At least the body had, naturally, already been removed and sent to the coroner. Meanwhile, a few Scotland Yard officers were running about directed by a familiar face in the corner.

“There’s she is—Inspector Lestrade. What on earth is she doing?”

Up till now, Asougi had very mild familiarity with this girl—if one could ever call her an actual police detective. Gina Lestrade had originally been Tobias Gregson’s protégé; unfortunately, the man lost his life before he could raise her a proper investigator, leaving her to her own devices.

However, it would seem that she was actually doing pretty well in Yard, or at least well enough to manage people at the crime scene. Every now and then one of the officers would walk up to her to report a finding. She seemed to enjoy the position of authority, giving orders like she owned the place.

“Search ‘arder! The owner must’ve left some clues that’ll lead us to ‘im.”

As they watched this peculiar display of professionalism, Sulla giggled. “Energetic as always, Gina is. It’s great to see her in such high spirits.”

“Not sure if ‘high spirits’ is what I’d call it, but nevermind.” Getting impatient already, Asougi gestured at Sulla to follow him. “Let’s talk to her and see what the Yard has found out.”

They stepped inside the basement, making their presence known to the working policemen. Upon seeing the prosecutor and his assistant approach, Gina immediately forgot the tough and prideful façade she was putting up in front of the clearly more experienced fellow officers.

“Ya two…” A shadow crossed her face as she narrowed her eyes. “Who are ya again?”

Forcing himself to remain composed, Asougi exhaled. “Hello, Inspector. Although I expected you to remember me.”

“Oh I remember ya alright. Yer ‘Oddo’s friend or summat. Forgot yer name, mind.”

Finding this a perfect opportunity to step in, Sulla extended her hand. “Hi, Gina. We met last month, remember?”

Taken aback, Gina blinked. After a moment of hesitation she accepted Sulla’s hand.

“Ah, right. Yer the lass wot lives at ‘Olmes’s place now… the one whose old man got nicked.” Her expression darkened. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Not at all. You’ve helped me tremendously—I will never forget what you did for me.” Despite the grim topic, Sulla remained smiling as she shook Gina’s hand. “You can call me Sulla. We’re here to investigate on behalf of the Prosecutor’s Office.”

“Hah!” snorted Gina. “I ain’t ‘eard of any prosecutors comin’ to investigate. Gettin’ in the police’s way is a criminal offence, ya know.”

“Yes, we know the law, Inspector,” asserted Asougi, feeling himself lose patience quicker than fresh air would grow toxic in this room. “As a matter of fact, we didn’t come to obstruct your job. Quite the contrary.”

“Would you please take a look at this, Gina?”

Before Asougi and Gina could jump at each other’s throats, Sulla stepped forward. She produced a document from her purse and handed it to Gina with the kindest smile.

“Wot’s that?” Quite surprisingly, Gina didn’t seem to mind being called by her first name by Sulla. She took her time reading the document, but eventually sighed and handed it back. “Can’t ya explain it to me plainly, Sul? Too many fancy words in there.”

“Oh, naturally. This is the official document that assigns Prosecutor Asougi to this case. Because of this, we would like to kindly request your permission to investigate, so that we’re well prepared for the trial—if a formal indictment happens, that is.”

Almost instantly, Gina’s face transformed from hostility to acceptance. She glanced over at Sulla, then at Asougi—her gaze lingered on him, as if she wasn’t sure whether to trust him or not—and eventually nodded.

“Alright, fine. Ya may search around, just don’t bother me men.”

“Thank you very much, Gina.”

Much to Asougi’s bafflement, Sulla somehow wrapped this difficult girl around her little finger—and she managed to do so with just under ten minutes of conversation. If it were up to him, he’d probably end up fighting with her, considering both of their fierce tempers. He felt thankful to Sulla for her reasonability.

In any case, now it seemed that Gina would at least give them some information.

“So,” he spoke up, revising a mental note of all the topics he wanted to discuss. “Inspector Lestrade, if you’d be so kind. Who even is the victim?”

Gina grimaced in frustration. “That’s the thing—no idea yet. The fella ‘ad no papers on ‘im, no one ‘as been able to identify ‘im. And that autopsy or wotever, we’re still waiting for the coroner to complete it. For now, the bloke must ‘ave overdosed, if ya ask me. After all, this is an opium den.”

“That’s impossible,” pondered Asougi. “According to my information, the body suffered a violent and unnatural death. In comparison, overdose is typically extremely difficult to recognise. It wouldn’t have been suspected as a murder.”

“So wot?” Gina shrugged. She clearly had no intention of humouring Asougi’s hypothesis. “I’m no doctor, me. Just tellin’ ya my guess.”

Sure, Asougi thought bitterly. Because that sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

“What else do we know? The owner hasn’t been found yet?”

“Nah. No luck.”

“Any witnesses?”

“A few. But everyone was too stoned to remember anythin’ of use. They all say that the fella simply collapsed while smokin’.”

“Great,” said Asougi sarcastically. “Looks like our main hope is determining the owner’s whereabouts and getting information out of him. That, or praying there’s a vital clue somewhere.”

In that instant, Gina’s expression transformed into a scowl. She glared at Asougi, her gaze ice-cold, and he reflexively flinched, not expecting such open hostility. Sulla remained calm, but she also seemed shocked at Gina’s sudden shift in attitude.

“Listen now, Prosecutor A-Soggy,” she hissed, voice quiet enough to send a shiver down one’s spine. “I know what yer thinkin’. The owner killed the fella for wotever reason.”

“That would seem logical, yes,” uttered Asougi.

“Meself, I grew up in an area similar to this one.” Her frown softened, and her clenched fists trembled. “And I’ve seen wot them Chinese folks go through. They only ‘ave each other, so they’ll do anyfin’ to keep afloat. Yet people act like their mere existence is a crime.” She adjusted the hem of her cap, eyes downcast. “My guess is this killed bloke was one o’ those ‘better than them’. So ‘e ‘ad it comin’.”

Uncomfortable silence fell in the basement. Gina sniffled and wiped her face before returning to glare at Asougi.

In a way, he agreed with her. After all, at some point in his life he had to work in ports with nothing but the clothes on his back, just to get to London. He understood being desperate—he’d once accepted an assassination mission, for goodness’ sake. He could sympathise, but he still had work to do.

Having composed herself, Gina waved him away. “Alright, I’ve got places to be, so ya move along. Just don’t make a mess, Prosecutor A-Soggy.”

And so, not allowing Asougi the last word, Gina rushed up the stairs; the door to the basement closed behind her with a rumble. Asougi rubbed his temple. He hadn’t even started investigating, and he already felt exhausted.

Seeing his state, Sulla showed him a reassuring half-smile. “She has a heart of gold. Let’s crack this case and hope she’s right.”

With a sigh, Asougi nodded. Sulla’s grounding presence worked miracles in situations like this.

He looked around the murky room to analyse the interior. There were damp stains all over the walls; the only furniture consisted of two tables and two beds with incredibly disgusting sheets. This was where the clients of this business would most likely consume their drug until they collapsed.

Nothing of particular interest. So where to start?

“Is this the part where we inspect every single thing in the room down to the potted plant on the windowsill?” asked Asougi with a shrug. “If only there was a windowsill in this wretched place.”

The joke made Sulla giggle. “Don’t give up so easily. We just need to look around. Chances are, there are clues in plain sight.”

“Wouldn’t you like to leave though? This is hardly the place—”

“Absolutely not. If Gina can sympathise with the owner, then I’d be a disgrace for leaving.”

Asougi let his gaze linger on Sulla’s darkened expression. He decided to drop the topic.

And so they proceeded to investigate.

At a glance, the dirty mess in the basement looked perfectly ordinary; had it not been for the white tape on the floor, Asougi wouldn’t have been able to tell where the body fell. No signs of struggle, only a singular chair lay sideways on the floor. The place looked like everyone had simply left as they stood, leaving everything in its natural state.

Asougi carefully checked the furniture. An unfinished game of chess remained on one of the tables. He pondered for a while and concluded that white could win in two moves.

“I didn’t know you played,” said Sulla with an amused expression.

“I don’t—at least I never really have, but I’m familiar with the rules.” A question flickered in his mind. “Do you think people are even in their right faculties to play while smoking opium?”

“Huh, perhaps the drug allows them to think of possibilities they wouldn’t have noticed otherwise…”

Leaving the chessboard, Asougi concluded that this room had absolutely nothing worth noting. He walked around for a moment longer, dodging the hostile gazes from the remaining Yard officers. They didn’t seem pleased to have an intruder—a Japanese at that—trespassing on their turf.

It was in that moment that Sulla disappeared from Asougi’s sight. He noticed her in the darkest corner—barely making out her silhouette in the dark. There was a creak and the wall where Sulla was standing simply opened like a door.

Asougi walked over. They found themselves staring inside a small, stuffy backroom.

“Shouldn’t the Yard have searched in here?”

“In their defence, you could barely see this door without feeling up the wall.”

They stepped inside. The room seemed to be the owner’s office and storage room. Lamps, pipes and opium containers lay about; a desk in the corner was the only object which wasn’t dusty and dirty.

While Asougi looked around the room, hoping to spot anything among the clutter, Sulla opened all the desk drawers and started fumbling through their contents. “My goodness, what a mess. How does the owner even find anything in here? Compared to this, your desk is the image of tidiness.”

“Excuse me, my desk is perfectly organised in a manner that makes sense to me.”

“Sure, you keep saying that—oh my! Look!”

In the lowest drawer, in the very deepest corner hidden under heaps of old papers, office knives and junk, lay a blue Scotland Yard identification book.

Astonished, Asougi unearthed it from the dirty depths of the drawer. Both him and Sulla stared at it for a moment as if they had found a treasure in the mud.

“What? How can this be in the owner’s desk?” Finally recovering from the shock, Asougi opened the book. “It says ‘Joe Netz, Police Inspector’.”

“That’s not a name I’ve heard,” concluded Sulla. “Not even when I was working with Holmes. But if this belonged to the victim, Gina or her men would surely have recognised his face, don’t you think?”

Staring at each other, both came to the same chilling realisation. Something in this case made no sense. It seemed they would need to scratch beneath the surface—and hope that the image underneath wasn’t something even more terrifying.

June 16, 1900

Prosecutor’s Office

Each time Asougi stepped inside, greeted by the gaze from the painting, he was inevitably assaulted by a wave of conflicting emotions.

The first time—nearly a year ago now at this point—he was a phantom without memories, a mask and a cloak obstructing his face. Reborn anew, he later became the apprentice of the very man he’d tried to condemn. Eventually the two had developed some sort of begrudging respect for each other, although Asougi could never be sure what van Zieks really thought. A man of few words and even fewer praises, even if he appreciated his disciple’s skill, Asougi had no real way of knowing.

On the other hand, Sulla always acted naturally in this grand room. Apart from her past as van Zieks’s former apprentice, she seemed to simply like him—as absurd as that sounded. Gratitude, respect, Asougi could understand. But honest attachment?

Yet as he and Sulla entered to look for their mentor, Asougi realised that over the past few months, he had grown to think of this office as his own. His own working space—a personal Japanese-style low desk—sat opposite the wine barrels, where he’d spend hours upon hours reading case files or analysing evidence. The scale model of the previous crime scene sat in the middle of the room, as Asougi hadn’t yet had the time to rearrange it.

Van Zieks was absent. But Sulla—always up to date with both of her co-workers’ schedules—concluded that his trial should be ending any moment now, so they decided to wait. With some time to spare, Asougi assumed a seiza position by his desk while Sulla, as she enjoyed, sat on van Zieks’s chair.

“Say, Kazuma?”

“Yes?” He still couldn’t quite get used to the way she called him. The culture of his homeland declared that only the most intimate relationships allowed first names, but it was different in the Great British Empire.

“The calligraphy displayed above your desk—what does it say?”

His gaze flickered upwards. On the wall next to the wine barrel rack, positioned so that he could gaze straight at it while sitting by his desk, hung a calligraphy scroll penned by Asougi himself. It was also the sole expression of someone’s individuality other than the owner of this office.

“It’s a Buddhist term,” explained Asougi as he critically eyed the black brushstrokes drawn with his unsteady hand. At the time of writing, his mind was a whirlwind and it showed in the imperfect, nearly violent lines. “It means ‘crushing evil and spreading the truth’. It’s a phrase I swore to live by ever since parting with my blade.”

Silence fell; both of their gazes lingered on the calligraphy scroll. Asougi still felt a long way to reach the ideals expressed by this word, but it encouraged him to push forward. Ages ago, he used to display a simple word, ‘justice’, in his student dorm—but now there was nothing he identified stronger with than these four characters.

The door opened, startling him back to reality. Barok van Zieks entered the office.

Sulla jumped off van Zieks’s chair before he could comment on her cheeky antics. “Good day, Lord Barok!” She greeted him with a bow. “How was your trial?”

“Guilty.” Shedding his overcoat, van Zieks looked at the clock with a raised eyebrow. “Weren’t you two supposed to investigate? It’s barely been two hours, yet you’re already back.”

“In fact, we’ve come to request your assistance, My Lord.” Standing up from his desk, Asougi also bowed before his mentor. “Please spare us a few moments.”

As he sat down, van Zieks analysed the faces of Asougi and Sulla. Obviously, assaulting the man with questions moments after a trial hardly complied with good manners. But he was supposed to be their teacher, to help them when they needed help; Asougi wasn’t going to apologise or kneel down for it.

When van Zieks nodded in approval, Asougi produced the Scotland Yard identification book from his pocket.

“We found this at the crime scene, among the owner’s personal effects.”

“A Scotland Yard identification?” Van Zieks took the book and examined it all over. “Very curious. It appears to be genuine.”

“The thing is, we have no idea whose it is or why it was even at the scene. If this man is our victim, anyone from the Yard would have recognised the body. We thought you might shed some light on the matter… My Lord.”

Choosing to remain silent, van Zieks opened the book. He stared at it for a while, before a frown crossed his forehead.

“That’s a name I haven’t expected to see.”

“So you know this man, Lord Barok?” Anxious, Sulla perked up. “This Joe Netz?”

As his frown deepened, van Zieks leaned back in his chair. “Inspector Netz… Yes, I do know him. We used to work together often back when I was still a novice prosecutor. A passionate, thorough man. Contrary to many, he never hesitated to share his opinion even if it meant opposing a noble.” With that, van Zieks paused. “He left the force at some point during my retirement from the courts. Or rather, he was dismissed.”

“Dismissed? Why would he? You just praised him as a good detective.”

“At the time I was dealing with my own problems, so I never knew what happened to him. However”—van Zieks’s gaze darkened—“finding this Yard identification in an opium den of all places tells me all I need to know. Inspector Netz is the victim.”

Sulla inhaled a sharp breath, whereas Asougi furrowed his brows, unsure what to make of the whole story. They exchanged glances, both clearly thinking the same thing.

“How can you be so sure, My Lord?”

“At his time in the Yard, it was Netz’s driving force to pursue Chinese gangs in London,” explained van Zieks, his gaze distant. “Needless to say, that’s dangerous territory. Perhaps this obsession is why they dismissed him from the force in the first place.”

“In other words… Inspector Netz might have been frequenting opium dens to conduct undercover investigations?” suggested Sulla. “One of those being Wang’s Opium Den. That would give us a motive for murder—the owner felt threatened.”

“But then why would the owner have this identification in his desk?” Asougi still wasn’t satisfied. “Especially if the man left the force years ago.”

“Perhaps he never stopped investigating. Not even after being fired.”

The usual grim atmosphere of the office grew even colder. The mysterious death was starting to draw connections to organised crime—and that was something Asougi wasn’t quite prepared for.

“It will be extremely difficult to prove anything if the perpetrator is in fact a Chinese mobster,” he pondered. “In establishments like that, full of shady people doing drugs, anyone present could be a suspect. Even if we obviously know it’s unlikely that the clients would kill each other in plain sight.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” Van Zieks crossed his arms, which meant the conversation was over. “If you don’t mind, I still have matters to attend to. Kindly continue with your investigation elsewhere.”

“Why, of course. Don’t let our presence bother you, My Lord,” retorted Asougi, voice dripping with sarcasm, and turned to leave. When he noticed Sulla didn’t follow him, he stopped to beckon her. “Something the matter, Karma?”

Unexpectedly, her pensive expression transformed into a knowing smile.

“Say, do you mind if we pop over at Baker Street for a moment?” She put a finger over her lips, a gesture of confidentiality. “If I’m not wrong, there is someone else who could give us a hand.”

June 16, 1900

221B Baker Street, Holmes’s Suite

Contrary to Asougi’s wishes, the door to the apartment gave way as soon as Sulla pulled the doorknob. That meant at least one of the lodgers were present.

“I’m back!”

It somewhat startled Asougi to hear Sulla announce her presence in such a carefree manner—until he remembered that this now happened to be her place of residence as well. Wasn’t he the one who’d suggested it in the first place? After all, anything would be better than living in a house haunted by ghosts.

Ever since that fateful incident, Sulla had been living in the attic room that—according to Holmes—Naruhodou used to occupy during his stay in London. Asougi himself was quite curious about what the room used to look like compared to now, but he’d come to terms with never witnessing either sight.

As both him and Sulla made their way inside Holmes’s suite, they were greeted by Iris.

“Kaz and Sullie! Great to see you.” She peeked out from the kitchen, a huge smile on her face, wearing an apron embroidered in some colourful patterns. “You’re just in time for lunch. Please, sit down in the living room!”

“Sorry, Iris. We’re in the middle of an important investigation. Promise we’ll drop by later, okay?”

“Hmph! You shouldn’t overwork yourselves to the point of skipping meals.”

“I promise we’re not. It’s just that this case is proving quite a headache…”

“So is Mr Holmes home?” Asougi decided to interrupt the cheerful chit-chat before either of the ladies got carried away. “We have an important matter to discuss with him.”

Instead of a reply, a shrieking sound resounded in the house. Asougi flinched, goosebumps from the unpleasant sound assaulting all over his body.

“What on earth?”

“Ah, he must be tuning his violin…” sighed Iris.

So the great detective was home, too. The chaos in this apartment would never cease to amaze Asougi. How on earth did Sulla manage to deal with this on a daily basis?

Once Iris had returned to the kitchen, Sulla gestured at Asougi to follow her to the living room. As expected, Holmes was currently messing about with his beloved Stradivarius. The common opinion claimed Holmes to be a skilled player, but having never heard anything resembling music coming from this man’s fingers, Asougi had his doubts.

The two entered the living room, yet the great detective, engrossed in tuning the instrument, either didn’t notice or ignored them deliberately. Asougi thought he would rather solve the case himself than ask someone like him for help.

“Holmes!” yelled Sulla over the noise. “Can you spare us some time? It’s rather urgent.”

Remaining motionless, Holmes opened one eye and merely glanced at the visitors as if to assert his indifference. For a moment, Sulla attempted a stare contest with that single eye. Eventually—much to Asougi’s surprise—a deep sigh escaped the detective. Only then did he put the violin down and acknowledge the guests.

“You’re home early, Sulla. Has the star prosecutor at your side already solved the case, I wonder?

Asougi rolled his eyes. “Hello to you too, Mr Holmes. Thank you for putting so much faith in me.”

“And why are you messing about with your violin at this hour?” Crossing her arms, Sulla kept glaring at Holmes. “When you should be doing something useful with your time, like registering your inventions so that we can use them in court?”

“Ah…” Holmes’s smile froze. “I… might recall you telling me something like that. When was it again?”

Sulla’s palms clenched into fists. She looked like a time bomb about to explode. “You might remember? You might?! I’ve been nagging you to take care of this every day for the past week, including today morning! Have you at least filled out the papers?!”

As it turned out, Holmes—of course—hadn’t.

After receiving an earful and another reminder from Sulla, the detective began to sulk. Ignoring his moody attitude, Sulla returned to the issue at hand.

“Forget your daily noise-making for now. Could you help us with our case?”

In an instant, Holmes’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ve come for the great detective’s assistance! Why didn’t you say so sooner? That’ll be, let’s see… five shillings!”

“You’re going to charge your roommate for a help request?” Asougi raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for such a vile man, Mr Holmes.”

“Ah, how refreshing to savour Mr Asougi’s sharp wit in the middle of the day.” At least it seemed to work, because Holmes stopped fooling around—for now. “So? How can I be of assistance?”

Asougi and Sulla shortly referred the events until now, including the Yard identification book, van Zieks’s story and the suspected connections to Chinese gangs. So far, the clues they’d gathered were miniscule.

“Can’t you please deduce where the owner of the den ran off to? Or, I don’t know, give us a hint where to search next…”

A smirk adorned Holmes’s lips. The mere sight of that caused Asougi’s skin to tingle—a bad premonition.

“Actually, only this morning I finished another invention. You may borrow that. Let me bring it.”

Holmes jumped over to his cluttered desk. After an eternity of rummaging through the mess, he exclaimed “Aha!” and returned straight to his exasperated visitors. In his hand, there was a small metallic trinket—somewhat resembling a tin candy box with an antenna attached to it.

He handed the trinket to Asougi, who examined it from all sides. “What is that?”

“This, my dear fellow, is a ‘Poison Detector’. It can perform a number of chemical tests that would otherwise require elaborate laboratory equipment. You touch this antenna wherever you wish—just like that—and the chemical will react to certain poisons, changing the colour.”

It took Asougi a moment to realise the importance of this invention. He felt blood drain from his face as he stared at the detective’s smug grin.

“You don’t mean… The man was poisoned?”

“Well, that’s up to you to ascertain. But all things considered, the look of the body would fit, and no murder weapon was determined, correct?”

As a matter of fact, they couldn’t even be sure it was actually murder—at least not before receiving the autopsy report. Yet since the victim died in a manner that caused the body to look so gruesome, then surely, that would strongly hint at poison.

While Asougi fought the chill down his spine, Sulla swiftly snatched Holmes’s invention and put it in her purse. “Great, this is just what we needed! Thanks, Holmes. I’ll return this to you once we’re done with our investigation.”

“Naturally. And one more thing…”

The unfinished sentence hung in the air. When Holmes looked over—an uncommon expression of seriousness—Asougi swallowed hard.

“Allow me to pose a warning to you, Mr Asougi. Do not bite off more than you can chew. For your sake, and for Sulla’s.”

“What are you talking about?” Although Sulla attempted to sound relaxed, her face grew a little pale. “Stop scaring him. We can both take care of ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself! Who’s scared?” protested Asougi.

But Holmes never replied. His eyes, glued at Asougi’s own, spoke by themselves.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Seconds later, the spell was broken. Holmes’s face grew sulky as he slumped on the settee. “I believe I have some paperwork to do…”

June 16, 1900

Limehouse District, Wang’s Opium Den

“I admire how you can bear living under the same roof as Mr Holmes.”

The two of them rushed back to Limehouse, carrying off the trinket borrowed from the great detective. After the ominous warning, Asougi started second-guessing himself. This case was bound to only get more and more entangled.

Just as Asougi thought he had offended Sulla with his off-hand comment, she let out a snort of laughter.

“What’s so funny now?”

“No, I just—every now and then, I ask myself the same question.” Hiding a smile with her palm, Sulla looked up at the afternoon sky. “Holmes is a major pain sometimes. More often than not, to be fair. But when I think back how he pulled me out of the hole I was in a few years ago… and how he gave me shelter last month… all of a sudden I can’t imagine not having him around.”

The sincerity of this confession embarrassed Asougi. He shouldn’t have pried; it was easy to judge Holmes for his majorly annoying disposition, but it’s not like the man didn’t have any redeeming qualities. He’d been raising a child when no one else would. He’d saved countless lives, including Sulla’s—hell, including Asougi’s own.

When they descended the stairs to the basement of Wang’s Opium Den, Gina was already back, a familiar-looking puppy cradled in her arms. Upon seeing Asougi and Sulla, she approached them with a pout.

“So I ‘ear ya’ve found some Yard book in ‘ere? Soon as they told me, I went off to fetch Toby.” She raised to dog for them to see, her tone accusatory. “Wot’s the big idea? ‘E was s’posed to sniff on them clues!”

“You weren’t here, Inspector. We borrowed the book to determine who it belonged to,” replied Asougi curtly.

“And who gave you permission, eh?!”

Asougi felt a vein throb on his temple. “My job as the acting prosecutor. Do you want me to spell it out for you or can you accept a simple answer?”

“Wha—now yer pissin’ me off, Soggy!” Gina snarled at Asougi, and Toby also growled as if to protect his guardian. “Ya suck. If only ‘Oddo was ‘ere! ‘E would always do everyfin’ to save people, but all ya prosecutors do is tryna condemn them.”

At her words, Asougi flinched as if someone just punched him in the gut. Fury must have twisted his face into a horrifying image, because Gina stepped back, her eyes wide, hugging Toby who also whimpered. Even Sulla seemed shocked at the sight.

Fists clenched, biting his lower lip, Asougi took a few deep breaths. Slowly the muscles of his face released the snarl. But the harm had already been done. He’d never get on good terms with this inspector girl.

When Sulla spoke, her voice echoed in the otherwise silent basement.

“Gina… May I please explain just one thing to you?”

“W-wot?” Still scared, Gina hugged her hands to her chest.

Stepping towards her, Sulla bore a serious expression. Yet—unlike Asougi’s animalistic seething just moments ago—it was also undeniably soft.

“Gina, looking at you, I can sense you want to believe the best in people, including the owner of this den. That is a good thing. Please, never grow cynical, because life gets very hard once you do that.” For a split second, Sulla looked sad, as if she’d already passed that point of no return. “The point of justice isn’t to condemn anyone, but to give them a fair judgement. And to achieve that, both sides are needed—the defence and the prosecution. So just like you want to believe the best of the missing owner, can’t you please do the same with us?”

Gina listened on, astonished. For a long while, no one dared to speak or move.

Eventually, Gina turned away. Her face remained obstructed by shadows under the brim of her cap. “Alright, I… guess yer ‘Oddo’s friend after all, Soggy. It was… my bad for yappin’ at ya.”

Asougi exhaled. All the tension left his body, leaving him oddly empty. “I apologise, too. You’re in charge after all, Inspector.”

Fragile peace had been temporarily restored, though it threatened to break if either of them treaded clumsily.

Handing Joe Netz’s identification book to Gina (who allowed Toby to sniff it from every side), Asougi and Sulla explained what they’d learned during their investigation. Obviously, Gina had never heard of Joe Netz. Upon learning of Holmes’s poison detecting device, her eyes suddenly lit up.

“Just remembered Dr Goulloyne ‘as finished the autopsy report. ‘Ere, ya can read it.”

The contents of the report were curt and simple. Victim: Joe Netz. Male, British. Cause of death: cyanide poisoning. Skin visibly reddened due to high oxygen saturation. Time of death: June 15, late evening.

“So it was poisoning!” exclaimed Sulla.

“And if I’m not wrong, Lord van Zieks went out of his way to identify the victim for us.” Asougi had to admit, he felt grateful to their mentor.

“Yeah… Thing is, how did it ‘appen?” wondered Gina. “The witnesses ain’t even remember their own names, let alone who they smoked with that evenin’. There’s nuffin’ pointin’ at how that Netz guy ingested the poison.”

“What if he… inhaled it?”

Sulla and Gina look at Asougi with surprise. That possibility, so simple and obvious, hadn’t crossed their minds until now.

In an instant, Sulla’s face brightened. “Yes, that would make sense. This is an opium den after all. Do you think…?”

“Inspector Lestrade,” demanded Asougi. “Could we examine the pipe the victim was smoking at the time of death?”

“Eh?” Gina didn’t seem to follow. “Wot are ya two blabberin’ about? Poison in the pipe?” And then it struck her too, because she jumped up. “Blimey! Is that really possible?”

“If Mr Holmes’s invention works, we shall learn soon enough. Please, pass me the pipe.”

Still unsure what they were up to, Gina fetched the pipe from one of the Yard officers, then handed it to Asougi. He nodded at Sulla. She pulled out Holmes’s trinket and hovered it over the pipe.

There was no reaction at first as the tip of the antenna touched the lip, then the stem of the pipe. But once Sulla stuck the antenna inside the bowl, the tip turned a vivid blue. Asougi absently wondered if this colour had been Iris’s idea or if it had some chemical significance.

“Wot’s it mean?” asked Gina excitedly. “Did ‘Olmes say wot it means?”

“That’s Prussian blue,” explained Sulla, who apparently recognised the colour. “The most basic indication of cyanide. It can normally be found by laboratory testing, but it appears Holmes has mastered the art of miniaturisation.”

“Cyanide it is then.” Confirming the colour on the antenna, Asougi handed the pipe back to Gina. “That should prove good enough to interrogate the owner of this business—if we can find him.”

In that precise moment Toby grew restless in Gina’s arms. She tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t stop wriggling and eventually jumped down to the floor, then ran to the basement stairs, barking loudly.

“Oi, Toby, wot ‘ave gotten into ya—”

As Gina dashed to retrieve the dog, the basement door opened to reveal a Yard officer descending the stairs. He flinched at the barking Toby, who wouldn’t calm down even when Gina kneeled and petted him.

“Um, Inspector? Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a fellow up there who says he’s the owner of this business…”

“Wot?!” Gina goggled her eyes.

The temperature in the basement dropped by a few degrees as Asougi and the two girls turned around. They saw two more policemen enter the basement, and behind them arrived a middle-aged Chinese man. It was when the last man appeared that Toby finally stopped barking and growled instead, his fur ruffled, tail down.

Asougi analysed the man’s attire; he was wearing moderately elegant clothes and hints of sneer on his lips. Despite the fact his establishment was currently occupied by the police, his face betrayed no signs of uneasiness.

Remembering her duties as the inspector in charge, Gina was the first one to regain her senses. She lifted Toby to calm down both him and herself. “Yer Shoomin Wang?”

“It’s Xiao-Ming Wang, if you please, guniang,” replied the Chinese man with a chuckle. “I hear that Scotland Yard have been searching for me? My humblest apologies. I had an important errand out of town.”

He paused, gauging the reactions. No one took his words seriously, but not even a muscle twitched in his features.

“Now, may I please know what is this commotion in my humble premises? These gentlemen mentioned it being a crime scene!”

“A man died here,” said Asougi firmly. “Or have you not been aware?”

The smile froze on Wang’s face. He took a step towards Asougi; his eyes narrowed. “Ah, the famous Japanese prosecutor… Quite a comfortable life, is it not, huozi?”

The unexpected jab sufficed to throw Asougi off balance. Even though both the Chinese and the Japanese often faced similar challenges in this foreign land, the hostility emanating from Wang was undoubtedly directed at Asougi himself.

Come to think of it, most Japanese people in London were exchange students and researchers—in other words, people who arrived here in pursuit of knowledge. On the other hand, the Chinese, frequently ostracised from society and forced to live a life of crime and poverty, would typically form their own tight-knit communities.

Asougi decided he wouldn’t be scared off. “What do you know of Joe Netz’s death yesterday evening, Mr Wang?”

“My goodness, I know nothing.” Wang was lying through his teeth and managing to do so with a smile. “Netz? I’ve never even heard that name. Yesterday evening, I closed my establishment as every day without incidents. Naturally, certain clients end up unable to go home, so they stay overnight—but no one died.”

“And yet a body was discovered here this morning. How would you explain that?”

“The poor soul must have overdosed. If he was one of my kin, he would know when to stop.”

Asougi’s skin tingled. Talking to this man felt like facing a wall so high you’d never see the top, not even if you craned your neck.

“Unfortunately, Joe Netz died of cyanide poisoning—and cyanide was found in the pipe he’d been smoking.”

He expected a reaction, but Wang still remained completely calm. “That’s not possible, huozi. Besides, doesn’t detecting poison require special equipment? How could you have found poison so quickly?”

“A certain great detective boasts more chemistry skills than the biggest laboratories in London,” replied Sulla, crossing her arms. “But of course, we shall send the pipe for analysis to fully confirm the poison.”

“And moreover…” Asougi pulled out Joe Netz’s identification. “Do you recognise this, Mr Wang?”

Then, for the first time, a dangerous glimmer shone in Wang’s eyes.

“I’m afraid to say I do not.”

“We found this in your desk in the backroom. How did you come into possession of the victim’s identification? Did you not steal it from him while he still worked as a police detective?”

“Nonsense! I’d never seen the man before yesterday evening.”

“According to our information, Joe Netz was determined to bring down Chinese gangs in London,” persisted Asougi, his tone ice-cold. “Years upon years he would pretend to visit your den as a client, but in reality he’d be investigating you and your associates, Mr Wang. He didn’t stop even after losing his job—and at some point you caught on. So you eliminated him before he could meddle with your business.”

Wang listened to Asougi’s explanations with an almost bored expression. And then he laughed. Everyone froze as Wang laughed in Asougi’s face like he’d just heard a fantastic joke.

“Aiyah, what a brilliant deduction! You impress me, huozi.” He wiped the smile off his face and within a split second his face grew terrifying. “Fine, let’s say the gentleman was poisoned with the pipe. But you don’t have any proof I did it. It could have been any other client yesterday—it could have even been a suicide. Alright?”

“Soggy…!” Gina pulled on Asougi’s sleeve from behind.

“Besides, even if you arrest me, even if you prosecute me, you’ll find yourself in trouble. Consider this a first and final warning—by coming after me, you’ll attract the wrath of our community. ” Wang’s teeth flashed in the dark as he sneered. “Who knows what could happen to one of those lovely guniang at your side?”

“You little—”

Asougi jerked forward to grab Wang by the lapels, but he was stopped by two policemen who grabbed him by the shoulders. As Asougi struggled in their grip, Wang’s smile grew even wider.

They held him in place until he stopped resisting, his mind slowly returning to clarity. What a disgrace—he fell for such a simple provocation. But bitter frustration arose in his throat when he realised he couldn’t possibly do anything to Wang now. Not when he openly threatened Sulla and Gina.

After glaring at Wang for a little while longer, Asougi turned to leave. “Let’s go. Karma, Inspector Lestrade.”

“Wait, but—”

When Sulla tried to protest, Asougi looked at her so sternly she immediately fell silent.

As the three of them—followed by the uneasy Yard officers—climbed the stairs to leave the den, Asougi could feel Wang’s gaze burning holes in the back of his head. Just as they were about to leave, the man’s voice reached Asougi’s ears:

“This country’s judicial system is not enough to chase us away. Be aware of that, huozi.”

June 16, 1900

Prosecutor’s Office

The evening approached rapidly, but the summer sun remained high in the sky. Barok van Zieks’s office bathed in the warm light which dispersed the gloomy interior for a change.

Since Sulla, escorted by Scotland Yard, had left to pay a visit to Lord Chief Justice, Asougi sat in the office alone with van Zieks. Normally, the atmosphere between them would feel awkward without Sulla’s presence, but today Asougi was too focused on the grim conclusion to the case—or rather the lack of conclusions.

“If I may advise you, Mr Asougi,” van Zieks spoke up unprompted, which called for a celebration in itself. “I sense your frustration and sympathise with it. And I will not suggest you give up. However, you need to tackle this problem methodically—not recklessly rush into action.”

“Interesting. Your advice sounds similar to what a certain great detective told me, My Lord.”

Van Zieks grimaced. “As much as I would like to say otherwise, Holmes is no fool. You’d be wise to keep his words in mind.”

With a sigh, Asougi rested his chin on his palm. Reckless rushing into action was such a default state for him, he felt awkward not to.

“Did you have it equally frustrating when investigating the Reaper of the Bailey, My Lord?”

“Worse. It took me years upon years, and even then…” Van Zieks’s gaze grew distant as he stared outside the window. “Without hard evidence, I was up against a mirage.”

“But you persisted.”

“Indeed I did. Not without doubts, mind you.”

Under the summer sunlight, that grim case which ripped everyone’s hearts out seemed unreal like a dream. Contrived whims of fate uncovered the Reaper’s true identity, as well as the darkness lingering in people’s souls.

Could they hope to take on these Chinese mobsters at some point? Could Sulla encourage Lord Chief Justice to pay attention to this matter, when Scotland Yard itself abandoned the man who’d been trying to fight alone?

Serving justice turned out to be an arduous task. If a defence attorney’s primary job was to believe in their client no matter what, then what was the prosecutor’s? What should he believe in when the judicial system before his eyes proved so disappointing?

Just then, the door opened to reveal Sulla’s rosy face. She stumbled inside, panting slightly, as if she had ran all the way here.

Asougi raised an eyebrow at her. “How did it go?”

“Phew!” She threw herself on the floor along with all her possessions. “Well, they obviously didn’t want to listen at first. Not enough evidence, too troublesome, yadda-yadda. But I gave the Lord Chief Justice a piece of my mind—so he promised to shake up the status quo.”

With a sigh of relief, Asougi shifted in his seat. Prolonged seiza was already starting to make his legs go numb.

“Good job, Karma. I wish the laboratory results would arrive soon though,” snarked Asougi. “If Mr Holmes had made the effort to register his invention in time, we wouldn’t be going through all this trouble.”

“Oh, I am so going to keep nagging him. If he can get even a single invention registered, that’ll be of great help to us.”

Not long afterwards, van Zieks left the office. The setting sun turned orange, pink and purple, shimmering on the collection of hallowed chalices.

“Shouldn’t you head home as well?” Not moving a finger from his seat, Asougi shot Sulla a questioning gaze. “Miss Watson is surely waiting for you with dinner.”

“I can’t possibly leave you here when you’re so upset with the case, now can I?”

Just like that Sulla cut the conversation short. The two of them remained where they were—silent, unmoving, not really doing anything other than occupying space. It was a comfortable, though unusual situation—and while Sulla stared outside the window with a slight smile on her face, the evening sunlight enhancing the nearly-red colour of her eyes, Asougi took the liberty of watching her.

It had only been a month since she joined this office. During this month Asougi, who never favoured working with anyone—being van Zieks’s apprentice was enough trouble—had somewhat grown used to her presence. She was useful with her legal knowledge, her wit and the influence she had over two powerful people, that being van Zieks and Holmes.

But even without that influence, Asougi often found himself reassured by her assistance.

“When you were training to become a prosecutor under Lord van Zieks—what was it like?”

The question fell from his lips before he realised. At first, Sulla didn’t react as if she hadn’t heard him. Then one corner of her lips quirked upwards. “Are you curious to compare your experiences to mine?”

Embarrassed, Asougi cleared his throat. One part of him indeed wished to learn from Sulla’s experiences to improve himself. But another simply wished to understand what she’d been through, her feelings and attitude—to understand her mind.

He decided to put all cards on the table.

“Frankly, today’s case has me doubting if I really should walk the path of a prosecutor.”

Sulla’s eyes widened. “What? What are you saying, Kazuma?”

“The system is imperfect—when our hands are tied, how can we possibly serve justice? You know, I sometimes wondered why you settled for being a paralegal when you were originally a prosecutor yourself, Karma. Now I’m starting to see why you wouldn’t miss this feeling of powerlessness.”

“So you’re claiming I chickened out, do you?” Sulla said this with a smile, so Asougi looked at her in shock. “Let me turn your question around. Do you miss being a defence attorney?”

He couldn’t answer that. Back then—according to memories so distant they might as well be a fabrication—everything was simpler. As an attorney, Asougi had a firm belief in what was right and wrong, and what his task was. But that person didn’t exist anymore. Perhaps all of his beliefs were never correct to begin with.

He sighed. “I just… I’m not sure I understand what being a prosecutor truly is about.”

“Remember what I said to Gina before? Both defence and the prosecution are essential to uphold justice. So don’t overthink what being one or the other is about. These are two sides of the same coin.” With that, Sulla smiled bright as the sun seeping through the windows. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re on a way to become a damn fine prosecutor.”

At her straightforward reassurance, Asougi couldn’t help but chuckle. “You only have Lord van Zieks for comparison, so that isn’t saying much.”

“It’s fine to have doubts, Kazuma. And to answer your question from earlier, whether or not I miss being a prosecutor…” Sulla let her gaze linger on Krimmet van Zieks’s portrait and smiled again. “Sometimes, I do long for those simpler times—but ultimately I would never want to give up what I have now. Besides, being a paralegal is a curious challenge. So far I’m having fun.”

These ardent words touched Asougi, clutched at his throat; he look away lest Sulla notice his emotional restlessness. He realised she just offered him guidance in a way that even van Zieks, his mentor and a senior in life, couldn’t.

In that way, Sulla truly reminded Asougi of Karma.

She looked over her shoulder, a playful gleam in her eyes. “By the way, something on your mind for the evening? I believe Iris is probably waiting at home with delicious food.”

“Yes, like I said, don’t let me stop you.”

“Not what I mean. Would you like to join us?”

Asougi hesitated. He couldn’t possibly imagine visiting Baker Street for leisure, especially not to satiate his appetite. But now, when Sulla was also a lodger in that place, the idea didn’t seem that bad.

Only now did he realise how hungry he was.

“Truth be told, I’m starving. But surely Miss Watson will mind an additional—”

“Nonsense, Iris is always prepared for a feast.” Laughing, Sulla grabbed her coat and purse. “Let’s go then—get our minds off work, because one can’t solve problems with an empty stomach. Tomorrow shall rise again, and we shall tackle it with all we’ve got.”

And so they left the Prosecutor’s Office. And when she laughed, leading the way, Asougi believed her.

Chapter Text

August 9, 1900

Cob Street, Wally Chonger’s Flat

Is this how most English bachelors tend to live?

First thing upon stepping inside, Asougi contended with chagrin that this flat closely resembled his current lodgings—a single room flat with enough space to be called high-end, seemingly furnished with everything a person would need to live comfortably, yet at the same time, with minimum signs of human presence.

Simply put, he flat lacked warmth. Nothing pointed at the lodger’s interests or occupation. And since the poor wretch who lived here had lost his life last night, this grim state of affairs bore few prospects of change.

At Asougi’s side, Iris wrinkled her nose as she looked around. “Oh, I hate this place. It smells of loneliness.”

“Does loneliness even smell?

“Of course it does! As expected of someone who broke off his engagement.”

Iris’s reaction hardly surprised Asougi. At the age of eleven, she was already a certified doctor, a published writer and a skilled inventor—all on top of being a fantastic homemaker to a certain detective. Hearing her radical opinion now, Asougi hoped she’d never set foot in his lodgings. Busy with work, he typically only returned there to spend the night.

In any case, the reason they arrived to this lonely flat today was to investigate the murder of the very man who happened to ‘live’ here—and the signs of what had transpired here last night pooled with scarlet on the floor in plain sight.

Asougi inhaled. The smell of blood assaulted his nose.

“So there you have it, Kaz,” chirped Iris, way too cheerful for a child visiting a murder scene. “Whatever it is you claimed to bother you in the morning, now’s your chance to investigate.”

“Oh, I intend to do that, Miss Watson.” Quite slighted at the insinuation, Asougi cleared his throat. They had barely crossed the threshold, so he took a large stride and finally stepped inside.

The whole thing had come about earlier this morning. Scotland Yard submitted a case to the Prosecutor’s Office, reporting that they had detained a young gentlewoman under suspicion of murdering her former fiancé. The victim, a gentleman in his thirties by the name of Wally Chonger, died by a stab to the chest in the middle of last night in his own home. He had recently broken off their engagement, which naturally caused the girl great anger and shame—in other words, a sufficient motive for murder.

Despite it being out of the norm, Sulla convinced the Yard to allow the prosecution to talk to Ann Svarowski, the lady in question. They paid a visit to the local prison, and Miss Svarowski obviously didn’t admit to murdering Mr Chonger. He might have broken off their engagement, but she was way too hurt and angry to bear the sight of him, or so she claimed.

However, after talking to Miss Svarowski, the seemingly clear-cut case suddenly started bothering both Asougi and Sulla.

The problem was—neither of them could tell precisely why.

As they returned to Baker Street to confer the next course of action, a fierce debate transpired: Asougi wished to thoroughly investigate the crime scene, while Sulla insisted on researching the circumstances of death. Their disagreement caught the attention of Holmes and Iris at home; eventually, it was decided that Asougi and Sulla would part ways so that each could investigate their own doubts.

While the two of them would often challenge each other’s views, this was the first situation when they so fundamentally disagreed on the course of investigation. Not that it was a bad thing. Once they decided to depart, Sulla said with a cheeky smile, “Let’s see who gets to the truth first!” and Asougi replied, “That’s a deal, then.”

Since the spot of Asougi’s assistant had temporarily become vacant, Iris jumped right in, hoping for an adventure. He had no reason to reject her, and she could provide precious scientific knowledge. And so Asougi and Iris left for the victim’s flat, while Sulla went off to talk to the coroner.

“It’s a good thing Sullie dragged you all the way to Baker Street in the morning. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to come with you. But still”—Iris emphasised her point with a pout—“you should visit us more often, Kaz!”

“Whatever for?”

“Because we enjoy your company, silly. Not only Sullie. Me and Holmesie, too.”

“Yet Mr Holmes is nowhere to be seen,” noticed Asougi. The only other people in the flat were two Scotland Yard officers in charge of the crime. Normally Gina Lestrade would be ordering them around, but she had an unexpected errand—with Sulla, no less.

Indeed, upon hearing his roommate’s decision to head her own way, Holmes had perked up and said something along the lines of, “Mr Asougi’s reasoning sounds intriguing. I might just join in!” To that, Sulla smirked: “Since it seems everyone is acting at their own convenience today, I’ll take Gina as company then.”

What had happened afterwards, Asougi wasn’t sure; Sulla had probably snatched Gina from her duties at the Yard. Meanwhile, as Asougi and Iris set off for Mr Chonger’s flat, Holmes promised to catch up with them later—but despite his announcements, he was missing.

Iris flashed a sheepish smile. “Holmesie will come eventually. He’s either investigating on his own, or… Well, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he got lost on the way.”

“Great,” sighed Asougi.

“Now…” Iris looked around. As if flipping a switch, she’d already forgotten all about Holmes. “I wonder what we might find here. I have experience from investigating with Narudie, so I know just what to do. Or do you need one of my inventions, Kaz?”

With a shake of his head, Asougi dismissed the idea. There were other suspicions he needed to clear first.

He approached the scene of carnage. From the information the Yard had been able to determine, Ann Svarowski had stabbed the man with a knife in the chest. Said knife currently lay on the table in the living room, secured by the police. At a glance, the tool bore no particular characteristics.

Other than that, the room appeared soulless. The surroundings of the bloodstain—a broken vase in the corner and a knocked chair—indicated a struggle.

“Look, the culprit must have stepped into the victim’s blood.” Iris’s voice pulled Asougi out of his reverie.

Obviously, no one could have missed the faint shoe prints that trailed straight from the pool of blood towards the door. Even when Asougi and Iris had first stepped into the flat, they needed to watch out so as not to mess them up.

“These don’t look like a lady’s shoes, but are quite small,” mused Asougi, kneeling down to examine the prints. “Anyone of a smaller posture could have worn them.”

“Do you want me to check whose blood it is, Kaz?” Beaming in delight, Iris waved around an invention that closely resembled a gun. “Just in case.”

“Is this why you decided to accompany me, Miss Watson? To have fun testing your inventions?”

He mentally scolded himself; now was not the time to start trouble with a young girl. It would be counter-productive and hinder his work—especially since he and Sulla had a competition about whose methods would solve the case first.

However, instead of taking offence, Iris only giggled.

“Oh, I already do that nearly every day. No, I followed you so that you wouldn’t feel lonely without Sullie.”

“Without Karma?”

At first, Asougi thought it a joke. But Iris’s brilliant, smiling face remained unfazed, and—unlike with Gina—he couldn’t find sings of being messed with. In other words, Iris was telling the truth.

“You and Sullie obviously crack cases and prosecute the bad guys like pros. And since you’re working together, no one can top the system between you two. But don’t worry, Kaz!” Still smiling, Iris leaned forward. “When the day is over, you’ll have plenty of fun adventures to tell her.”

Asougi turned away to avoid Iris’s gaze. “Why would I be worried? It’s just a one-time occurrence. Besides, you don’t realise the dark side of investigation yet.”

“Hm, is that so?”

“Do you know what stunt Karma pulled the other day?” Asougi gritted his teeth at the mere memory. “I was going to investigate a gentleman’s club—alone, of course—and she snuck in dressed as a man. Against Lord van Zieks’s explicit orders. Such irresponsibility…!”

Yet Iris’s eyes sparkled at the idea. “Wow, sounds exciting! Take me too next time!”

“Forget it, Miss Watson.”

The aforementioned incident wasn’t the first time Asougi had to deal with Sulla’s antics, but not to such an extent. He and Sulla clearly wanted to pursue different problems today. There was zero harm in doing things differently for once, and when they were done, the exchange of observations would only benefit them both.

As Asougi glanced at Iris’s smile and decided that, perhaps, it bore hints of teasing after all, he sighed.

Just as he was about to proceed to further investigation—

“Aha!”

A loud yell startled Asougi so bad he nearly stepped into the bloodstain himself. He didn’t even need to confirm Iris’s delighted gaze to know what it was. Obviously, behind him stood none other than Sherlock Holmes.

Asougi hurriedly gathered himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation before slowly turning to face the great detective.

“Mr Holmes. Where have you been?”

“A fantastic question, my dear fellow! I have only been waiting for you to ask.” Gracing the room with all his pompous glory, Holmes spoke in a voice so loud the glasses in the cupboard clinked. “As a matter of fact, I followed the bloody shoe prints outside. Curiously, they cut short at the nearest patch of grass right behind the corner—the culprit must have belatedly realised their mistake of getting blood on their shoes and wiped them there.”

“Sounds delightful,” muttered Asougi. “I can just picture you sniffing footprints like Miss Lestrade’s police dog.”

“Well I’ll be!” Meanwhile, Iris listened to Holmes in astonishment. “Don’t tell me you’ve already cracked the case, Holmesie?”

The detective smirked, his pipe in hand. “Indeed I did, and my investigation has led me to two conclusions. First: what triggered this murder was powerful emotional turmoil. Second: these bloody shoe prints tell us the absolute truth behind the case.”

As Holmes disclosed his two conclusions with a smug expression, Asougi could only blink. Shock and impatience assaulted him at the same time, resulting in a throbbing pain deep down his skull.

“Pardon me, Mr Holmes,” he said while rubbing his temple. “What exactly of your conclusions?”

“Pray, whatever do you mean?”

“If you didn’t realise—we already knew what triggered the murder. It was the engagement that Mr Chonger broke. Anyone would have been upset in Miss Svarowski’s shoes. Which doesn’t change the simple fact that the murderer had to come all the way here… in other words, the killing could have been premeditated.”

Holmes’s smile didn’t falter. “Brilliantly said, Mr Asougi. Everything you just pointed out is correct. Which is why”—he spun in place, nearly knocking over one of the Yard officers who had been eyeing him suspiciously—“may I present to you Sherlock Holmes’s Logic and Reasoning Spectacular? Let’s clear up the fog that shrouds this case!”

“Sherlock Holmes’s what?!”

Asougi tried to protest, but Iris elbowed him in the ribs.

What unfolded next astonished Asougi more than almost anything he’d witnessed in London to date; even the Yard officers in the room stood dumbstruck, goggling their eyes at Holmes. The man in question, an everlasting smirk plastered to his face, flicked his fingers and paced across the room as if he were dancing.

“You might think that the culprit planned the murder, as evidenced by the mere fact they arrived here in the middle of the night. However, the crime scene tells us the contrary.” He flicked his fingers again and pointed at the pool of blood on the floor. “These bloody footprints—had it not been for deep agitation, the murderer would have certainly known better than to leave them everywhere.”

“Do go on, Mr Holmes,” muttered Asougi.

“Now, kindly transfer your gaze to the signs of struggle all around.” The detective danced across the room towards the opposite side of the bloodstain. “The broken vase! The knocked chair! One can only imagine the gruesome scene that transpired here last night—namely, in all the hurt and regret caused by the broken engagement, the little tryst turned physical!” He painted the picture so vividly, clearly enjoying every minute of it. “As Mr Chonger resorted to violence to chase out the intruder, Miss Svarowski reiterated by grabbing the nearest knife and stabbing him. When she realised what she had done, it was already too late… Shocked by her own actions, she fled the scene, not even realising the bloody mess.”

“True. She wouldn’t have left the shoe prints if she’d noticed them,” Iris agreed, her sparkly eyes never leaving Holmes.

Finally, the great detective kneeled over the blood-stained floor.

“Now, as for the truth behind these shoe prints. Behold—they clearly weren’t made by women’s boots, but a pair of heavy, thick-soled working shoes. Indeed, a small size like this would fit Miss Svarowski. However!” Pointing his finger upwards, Holmes lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. “Notice how every left footprint appears darker and more smudged than its right counterpart. In addition, the left strides seem longer. What does this mean, do you think, Mr Asougi?”

“Me?” Not expecting being called out like a student during class, Asougi blinked. “Well, I believe—”

“Obviously, it tells us that Miss Svarowski enjoyed crossdressing!” Holmes smirked as if expecting praise for that remark. “She took great delight in donning male fashion—alas, her shoes of choice, at least, didn’t quite fit her. Perhaps neither did the other garments. Which is precisely why Mr Chonger broke off the engagement!”

With that, Holmes fell silent, motionless in that ridiculous pose with his finger pointing upwards. Opposite him, Asougi, Iris, as well as the two Yard officers present at the scene stared at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Iris was the first to break the awkward silence.

“Brilliant, Holmesie!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I’m sure Miss Svarowski will appreciate your allegations. You have a remarkable talent of making women your enemies.”

“Ah, dear Iris, your words sting so sweetly.” Holmes placed his hand over his chest.

“Now, Kaz.” She turned to Asougi. Her never-ceasing smile almost started to look scary. “You look like you want to say something.”

“What?” huffed Asougi, also quite uncomfortable with this whole ordeal. “Miss Watson, I refuse to comment on such nonsense. Besides, it had little to do with addressing my own doubts regarding the case.”

“Oh, are you sure about that? I saw that flicker in your eyes when Holmesie reached the shoe prints.”

Averting his gaze, Asougi glanced at the carnage again. Indeed, something did go off in his mind while Holmes was going on about his absurd conclusions. Something he said—it clicked.

As Asougi hesitated whether or not to say it, Iris’s attentive gaze never left him. “Ah, so you don’t know yet.”

All of a sudden, she approached Asougi, grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards where Holmes stood a while ago. Too surprised to protest, Asougi allowed her to guide him.

“See, this is the part where you point out certain… errors in Holmesie’s logic. As soon as you do that, all will become clear.” She flashed Asougi a reassuring smile. “Go on. Just trust your gut, and it will be fine.”

Still cautious, Asougi glanced around the crime scene. Yes, there was certainly something wrong with Holmes’s deduction. He hesitated anyway—not because of shyness to correct Holmes, but because he didn’t really want to take part in this clownery.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try at least.

“Let me start from the second conclusion then…” Mimicking Holmes’s flick of the finger, Asougi pointed at the bloody shoe prints. For some reason, the gesture brought him odd satisfaction. “It is true that the left prints differ from the right ones. But that doesn’t tell us anything about Miss Svarowski’s preferences—instead, I believe that whoever came here walked with a limp.”

“Ooh, a limp?” gasped Iris.

“Yes, they were limping with the right leg. Look, longer strides and more pressure on the left side indicate the stronger leg. Now, we visited Miss Svarowski in the local prison this morning and I didn’t notice her limp. Quite the contrary—she seemed quite restless in her detention as she kept strolling around the cell. Well, Mr Holmes?” asked Asougi, narrowing his eyes at the detective. “That shatters your theory.”

Light twinkled in Holmes’s eyes. “Alas, I’m afraid so. Then that begs the question: who came here last night?”

“If not Miss Svarowski, then obviously someone else. And I know who that is.”

“Oh? Pray, do tell us, Mr Asougi.”

Asougi took a deep breath and, trying his best to suppress the idiotic urge to bounce around the crime scene, sidestepped the knocked chair. For some reason, Holmes’s antics were contagious. He hoped he wouldn’t contract the idiotic part of this man’s brilliant mind.

“When me and Karma talked to Miss Svarowski in the local prison today, she said something that I didn’t think much of originally—that her father was even more outraged at the broken engagement than she was. Mr Guy Svarowski, I believe, desperately hoped that his daughter’s marriage would relieve him of his jewellery workshop, which would be entrusted to his son-in-law.”

Iris stared at Asougi, her eyes and lips forming perfectly round circles. “So… you mean…?”

Asougi inhaled deeply, feeling something arise inside him. He gave in to that urge and pointed his finger upwards.

“Wouldn’t the agitation of a devoted father and a frustrated artisan suffice? Wouldn’t it cause him to come all the way here and demand compensation for tainting his daughter’s honour and for ruining the workshop’s legacy? Granted, I have never met Mr Svarowski, but it makes sense. Well, what do you say, Mr Holmes?”

As Asougi triumphantly looked over at the great detective, he expected an offended or dismissive reaction. However, Holmes only laughed. He looked thoroughly entertained.

“Fantastic, Mr Asougi! That was a delight. Too bad Sulla wasn’t here to witness it. She’s going to lose it when I tell her—”

“Mr Holmes.”

“Aah, yes. Pardon me.” Holmes put his pipe in his pocket and produced a piece of paper instead. “Coincidentally, here is some information about Mr Svarowski I managed to acquire on my way here. A renowned jeweller, he has been suffering from a considerable limp in his right leg. Turns out Mr Chonger wasn’t the one to inherit his workshop after all.”

“What? Impossible!”

Snatching the paper from Holmes’s hand, Asougi eyed its contents only to be assured in his beliefs. But how did Holmes even know about the father beforehand? How did he manage to get the exact piece of information they needed to complete this particular deduction?

“Good job, Kaz!” resounded Iris’s delighted voice. “Now you two have reached the truth.”

It took Asougi a great deal of self-preservation to admit that perhaps Holmes wasn’t actually a complete pain. The detective, smirking smugly, sucked on his pipe and completely disregarded the gazes that Asougi, Iris, and two miserable Yard officers sent his way.

August 9, 1900

Forensics Laboratory

“Why did ya even string me along? That place always gives me the creeps.” Gina shuddered despite herself.

There was hardly anything unusual about the sight of two young women—one, a proper lady, and the other, a well-dressed adolescent—walking shoulder to shoulder across the bustling streets of London. They could have been sisters, or a teacher and student.

But plenty of people would be shocked to learn that one of them was a paralegal at the Prosecutor’s Office, and the other a Scotland Yard detective and a self-proclaimed inspector.

They were currently headed to the abode of the Yard’s coroner, which seemed to sour Gina’s mood. She did her best to hide a pout, but it surfaced anyway.

“Can’t handle a little blood?” teased Sulla as she glanced at her young companion.

“Nah, it’s the coroner. She’s off ‘er rocker, she is.”

Horror stories of how unsettling the forensics laboratory was, how the coroner would always hunt live specimen to experiment on— these overblown rumours had obviously reached Sulla’s ears before, but she never cared. After all, Asougi himself had visited Maria Goulloyne several times and didn’t think much of it. Besides, outside of the delegated autopsy times, there wouldn’t be any dead bodies or blood inside the laboratory.

That being said, Sulla couldn’t contain her curiosity about that legendary place. Unlike Gina, she walked with an excited stride, her head high.

It was shortly before noon, so the coroner could still be busy with the autopsy or other tasks. Nonetheless, Sulla had matters to discuss—things that bothered her about the murder of Wally Chonger.

“So… ‘ow are ya gettin’ by? Ya know… since yer old man’s arrest.”

An unexpected question pulled Sulla back to reality. When she peeked at Gina, the girl wasn’t looking at her, but somewhere in the distance. Her tone of voice lacked hesitation so typical when people touched sensitive subjects.

Not answering straight away, Sulla also allowed her gaze to linger. “Kind of you to ask, Gina.”

“That ain’t no answer.”

She sighed. With her fair share of difficult experiences, Gina could never be fooled.

To be honest, Sulla hadn’t thought much about what had happened. The rapid events that had unfolded three months ago—the Hunting Demon, the struggle, and then her father’s arrest—obviously shattered her soul into pieces. She kept holding on to them, pretending to be whole, until she’d mastered the art of treading carefully so that not a single shard would slip.

Except it seemed she had been only fooling herself, no one else.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never come to terms with it—I will never stop wondering what could have been had I been raised in a normal home.”

Gina’s expression grew complicated. “Yeah… I know just what you mean.”

“Most of the time, I make an effort not to think about it. To desensitise myself.” Sulla let out a snort. “Not the healthiest attitude, I imagine. But at the same time… it had to happen. I needed to realise the truth about my parents. Sometimes you need to forcibly open your wounds to stop bleeding.”

“Anyway, you have ‘Olmes now. And Iris. And van Zieks. And Soggy.”

Warmth spread in Sulla’s chest.

After all what had happened, after all the pain, the ones who had—quite literally—saved Sulla, were all the people Gina just mentioned. Had it not been for them, Sulla would have drowned in a dark abyss without a way out.

Now she had a warm place to return to, and people to hold dear. Most importantly, she’d gained a new sense of identity. Something to cherish about the name that she always used to reject.

The blade of the Asougi clan, Karma. Its fate had unravelled in the most peculiar way, and Sulla would forever be grateful to Asougi for opening her eyes. Each time he called her by that name made her grateful she’d lived to hear it.

Adjusting her cap, Gina finally looked at Sulla. Her eyes were full of determination. “An’ me. Ya also have me… if ya need me.”

“Of course I need you, Gina.” Moved to tears, Sulla flashed the girl a brilliant smile. “Isn’t this why I asked for your company today in the first place?”

Embarrassed, Gina looked away, but her rosy cheeks and glossy eyes indicated that this was the outcome she had been aiming for.

Afterwards, the two girls shared comfortable silence as they entered Scotland Yard. Heading for the coroner’s laboratory, Sulla once again glanced at Gina and was flooded with a wave of gratefulness. Gina’s down-to-earth attitude and her sense of humour, the connection they shared due to their different, yet similar experiences—all this made her a reassurance to be around.

Eventually, they reached a heavy door at the very end of the rightmost corridor. Without further delay, Sulla pushed the door and they stepped inside.

She knew what to expect—everlasting stench of death, sharp tools scattered around, and a grim atmosphere. But what caught her attention first was the coroner’s desk. Decorated with colourful yet creepy dolls, it reminded Sulla of the House of Horrors back at Madame Rozaic’s. That impression was only enhanced by a life-sized replica of a human skeleton in the corner.

Nonetheless, Sulla’s smile didn’t falter. The place had a peculiar charm to it.

The only problem—the coroner was nowhere in sight.

Clinging to Sulla from behind, scared out of her wits, Gina pulled her sleeve. “She ain’t ‘ere. See? We’ve come for nuffin’. Let’s go back and—”

“But someone is here,” noticed Sulla. “That sound. Can you hear it?”

They both fell silent, breaths bated, and strained their ears. Soon enough, a faint sound reached them—like metal brushing against metal.

Shink, shink, shink.

Gina yelped. She clung to Sulla even harder, gripping her arm as if her life depended on it. “I-I don’t like this! Let’s just go back, Sul!”

“Calm down,” insisted Sulla and gently peeled Gina’s hands away from herself. She took another step forward. “It’s going to be fine. It seems to be coming from there…”

In that moment, a person appeared in the darkest corner of the room, a corner so dark they wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Two metallic blades shone in the lamplight. Coupled with a horrifying mask and a white lab coat, it made for quite a scary sight—

Gina screamed.

As she hid behind Sulla, the creepy person slowly approached. After a moment of prolonged silence, Sulla put on her kindest smile and offered a greeting.

“Do I have the pleasure of meeting Dr Maria Goulloyne?”

The person lowered their blades. Setting them aside on top of the autopsy table in the middle of the laboratory, they pulled up the mask, revealing a youthful, heavily made up face of a girl.

The girl stared at Sulla for a moment. Sulla stared back, her smile never faltering.

Eventually, Gina also peeked out from behind. “Wot the Bleedin’ Nora, Doc?! Y-ya almost gave me a heart attack!”

“A pity,” Dr Goulloyne spoke for the first time, her voice devoid of emotion, cold like the metallic glint of her scalpels. “I missed out on some additional work.”

“W-work…?”

Although Dr Goulloyne’s face remained expressionless, Sulla could have sworn she saw hints of a smile. “Fresh meat. Lloyne would have liked that very much.”

Despite Gina trembling in fear, Sulla kept calm. This coroner girl had interesting hobbies for sure, but from what Sulla had been told, her professional skill was unmatched. She would be able to help them.

“Dr Goulloyne,” Sulla addressed the girl with a smile, even if it couldn’t impress her. “We’ve come here to ask for your expertise regarding a certain case. Have you by any chance already finished the autopsy of Mr Wally Chonger?”

Just then, Dr Goulloyne looked straight into Sulla’s eyes for the first time; it was so unexpected that even Sulla, who fancied herself a reasonable modern woman, felt chills run down her spine. The way this coroner looked at her—with interest, with fascination—made her feel like a rare specimen about to be dissected.

She wouldn’t though, right? Those metallic blades lay forgotten on the autopsy table after all.

And then Dr Goulloyne appeared right next to Sulla, making her jolt in surprise. She leaned over, her face mere inches away, raised her gloved palm and slid a finger down Sulla’s cheek.

“Hm… Exquisite skull structure. Cheekbones in particular.” She then swiftly took Sulla’s palm, her moves delicate like an expert surgeon’s. The sensation of her touch resembled a flutter of butterfly wings. “Your phalanges, too—long and slender. Such enthralling beauty.”

“Oh my!” Surprised, Sulla froze in place. “How flattering of you to say so, Doctor.”

“Would you allow Lloyne to examine you in more detail?” Not letting go of her palm, Dr Goulloyne stared into Sulla’s eyes again. “In return, I will answer every question you might—”

But before Sulla could reply, Gina forced herself right between them. She snatched Sulla’s palm out of Dr Goulloyne’s grip and extended her arms in a protective manner. “O-oi, cut it out, Doc! I mean, no, don’t cut anyfin’. But ya ain’t gonna examine ‘er, or anyone! We’re in the middle of a case!”

“Tch.”

With a click of her tongue, Dr Goulloyne turned her back to Sulla and Gina. She looked thoroughly disappointed, almost sulking. How old was this girl anyway? When she pouted, she looked more Gina’s age than when she threatened to cut people.

Eventually, Dr Goulloyne gathered herself. Still not looking in her guests’ direction, she jerked her chin.

“This morning’s autopsy, was it? Follow me.” And she walked up to her desk.

As they hesitantly followed her footsteps, Gina tugged on Sulla’s sleeve to whisper in her ear, “Ya’ve got nerves of steel. Ya didn’t even blink when she did that.”

Sulla replied with a smile, although her heart still hammered in her chest. “She’s an ally. There was nothing to worry about.”

Dr Goulloyne sat down in her chair. Gina had stopped clinging to Sulla, but remained on her guard. The two leaned over while the coroner took a document from the top of the pile on the desktop. It seemed to be the newest one she’d penned.

“Here. The autopsy report of Wally Chonger.” She handed it to Sulla. “That one was a true delight. Arrived in the dead of night, still warm. We developed an intimate relationship as Lloyne inspected him thoroughly, inside out.”

“Um… Yes, certainly, Doctor. Thank you very much.” Sulla accepted the document, her hand shaking ever so slightly. It was getting difficult to ignore the coroner’s creepy comments after being on the receiving end of her ‘affections’. “Let us see…”

Together with Gina looking over her shoulder, they read the document. Cause of death: damage to a neck artery. A puncture wound on the neck, 3 millimetres in diameter, 6 centimetres deep. Severe blood loss resulted in a rapid, but not instant death. An additional wound—a knife thrust to the heart—was inflicted after the fatal injury.

Surprised, Sulla exchanged glances with Gina. Both grew pale as a sheet.

“A puncture wound of 3 millimetres in diameter?”

“Maybe some vampire sucked the bloke dry…” Shuddering, Gina looked around with a timid expression, as if she was expecting blood-sucking creatures to jump at her from under the autopsy table. “Ya don’t fink one o’ ‘van Zieks’s bats done it?”

“Oh, come on. Lord Barok is no vampire and he doesn’t keep pet bats.”

“Well, Soggy claims otherwise.”

Despite the otherwise chilling atmosphere, Sulla had to cover her lips to stifle a giggle. Over the past few months, the young police detective would implement expert ways of provoking Asougi, which inevitably lead to endless bickering. However, every once in a while, they’d discover a common target to make fun of, van Zieks being their favourite.

Did Sulla ever end up the butt of the joke, too? Of course, she would never eavesdrop to find out. They were allowed to have their own relationship, and besides, Sulla enjoyed seeing Asougi get along with someone. He needed that.

Since he’d been to this laboratory before, what did he think of it? What about Dr Goulloyne? What would he make of this mysterious puncture wound if he was here now?

Speaking of which, something didn’t add up here. The wound—small in diameter yet deep—indicated the victim got stabbed in the neck with something narrow and long. But no such tool was found at the crime scene, and the supposed murder weapon, the knife, certainly couldn’t deal such damage.

“So let me recap—the murderer inflicted a stab wound with a knife to mask the original cause of death,” mused Sulla. “Is that correct, Dr Goulloyne?”

The girl nodded. “It wasn’t even well hidden. Any coroner worth their salt would easily discern that.”

“I see… But that’s precisely what’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Wot is, Sul?” inquired Gina. “Ya smellin’ a clue?”

Indeed, Sulla felt they were about to uncover something crucial—the very source of her uneasiness in the morning after they had talked to Ann Svarowski. She wasn’t sure where this reasoning would take her, but it was worth pursuing.

“For starters, the victim was murdered in his own flat, with only a bloody knife found next to him. If the knife wasn’t the murder weapon, then the killer must have taken it with them. Yet no blood was found on Miss Svarowski’s clothes, and her personal search certainly didn’t uncover any such items.”

“It’s unlikely it would anyway,” interrupted Dr Goulloyne. She had managed to take out another scalpel and was currently watching her own reflection in it. “This wound was done by a precise, fine tool. Not something just anyone would possess.”

“A fine tool?” questioned Sulla. “Do you have something in mind, Doctor?”

Putting the scalpel down, Dr Goulloyne sighed. “It’s not Lloyne’s job to investigate. I’m simply stating my observations.”

“Yes, but you are an experienced coroner. If you had to guess, what would you name as the murder weapon?”

Both Gina and Sulla stared at Dr Goulloyne with bated breaths. The coroner allowed herself to remain deep in thought for a moment, before turning away as if to assert her indifference.

“A tool used in some sort of fine craft. Watchmaking, jewellery—an awl, perhaps…”

Sulla jolted. Gina gave her a worried look.

“Wot is it, Sul?”

“Do you remember Miss Svarowski’s comment at the local prison?” Sulla hopelessly tried to keep her voice from shaking. “The broken engagement obviously upset her, but she said her father was even more outraged, because now there won’t be any heir to his jewellery workshop.”

“Aye, so she did. D’ya think she nicked the tool from ‘er old man’s workshop to stab the bloke?”

“It’s possible, but if we just turn our thinking around for a moment… doesn’t a different conclusion come to mind?”

Realisation slowly spread across Gina’s face.

“Blimey! You don’t mean…?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” With newfound determination, Sulla gripped the autopsy report. She turned to the coroner and bowed. “Thank you, Dr Goulloyne. You’ve helped us uncover an important detail. Do you mind if we borrow your report?”

The girl shrugged. “Take it. Lloyne was just doing her job anyway.”

Bidding a hurried farewell, Sulla grabbed Gina’s wrist and pulled her into a dash. Turning on her heel to throw a last glance at the coroner, Gina yelled, “Ta very much, Doc! Promise we’ll make a good use o’ it!”

August 9, 1900

In front of Prosecutor’s Office

As the evening approached, Iris and Holmes headed back home while Asougi decided to return to the office. He couldn’t wait to share the unexpected discovery with Sulla. Their little competition deserved a conclusion, and he had quite the confidence he would win.

However, just as Asougi was about to enter the building, a familiar silhouette glimpsed in the crowd on the other side of the street. When he looked over, Sulla was waving to him with Gina at her side.

Stopping in his tracks, Asougi felt a rush of excitement.

His body acted on its own accord. He dashed across the crowd, meandering between the groups of people, disregarding surprised yelps. Sulla noticed that and also started running. The two of them ran, bumped into people, sometimes lost each other out of sight. Neither stopped or slowed down.

They met halfway, short of breath. Wide smiles spread across their faces as they simultaneously announced at the top of their lungs:

“The father did it!”

And then, as if the spell was broken, they fell silent, staring at each other with surprise and astonishment. So both of them had reached the same conclusion—two different paths had led them to the same truth. Their shock slowly transformed into amusement. Two laughing voices echoed in unisono.

“So you two discovered it too?” asked Asougi, light-headed.

Sulla brushed a stray hair away from her face. “See, Dr Goulloyne determined that Mr Chonger didn’t die from a knife wound, but from a wound made by a very fine tool which injured his neck artery. And who else had access to fine tools, if not a renowned jeweller?”

“Remarkable! We noticed a peculiarity with the shoe prints on the scene. The culprit limped. With Mr Holmes’s slight help—or should I say lack of disturbance—we managed to narrow the suspects down to one person.”

“We need to submit the documents straight away! Request Miss Svarowski’s release and the prompt detention of her father. With such ample evidence, his trial should be a piece of cake.”

“So is our competition a draw then?”

“It would seem so.”

Sulla grinned at Asougi. Asougi grinned back.

For a while, they remained smiling at each other, disregarding everything else around, content with a job well done. After a whole day of working separately, they had both made considerable accomplishments.

Still, Asougi was looking forward to the trial with Sulla at his side. That was the proper state of affairs after all.

“By the way,” he spoke, remembering something. “That dance of deduction of Mr Holmes’s—what’s it all about?”

In an instant, Sulla’s giggle became a full-blown laugh. “Ah, so you had the pleasure of experiencing it for the first time. That’s just one of Holmes’s gimmicks. He’s been doing that since I met him… and from what I hear, even before that.”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, it’s quite fun, is it not?”

Asougi cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Maybe a bit.”

And so their laughing contest could have lasted an eternity if Gina hadn’t finally caught up.

“’Scuse me!” She disrupted the conversation in an overly dramatic way. When Asougi and Sulla turned to face her, she was glaring at them with her hands on her hips. “Sorry to barge in while yer ‘avin’ yer moment, but I got ‘ungry. Care to join me for some fish and chips?”

Her nonchalant suggestion sounded like she didn’t care if they actually joined or not—or like she’s made the utmost effort to sound that way. While Asougi doubted the logic of that action, Sulla only beamed.

“That sounds lovely. If I’m not wrong, the place Gregson used to frequent is quite nice.”

“Yeah, so it is. Are ya comin’ too, Soggy?” The exaggerated glare landed on Asougi next.

He shrugged. “Well, why not. In fact, I’ve never had fish and chips before.”

“Wot?! After a year of bein’ in London?!”

“Hey, leave me alone! That British cuisine of yours is not particularly renowned for its taste.”

“Say that again and I’ll have ya choke on—”

The door to the Prosecutor’s Office opened and Barok van Zieks exited the building, apparently having just finished work. When he noticed his two subordinates, as well as Gina across the street, he attempted to simply turn around and leave, but Sulla—completely disregarding Asougi’s and Gina’s argument—waved to him.

“Lord Barok!”

The man made a face. He clearly wanted to leave without talking to them, but for some reason Sulla possessed powers beyond human comprehension. This realisation caused Asougi enough satisfaction to ignore the tongue Gina was currently sticking out at him.

Albeit reluctantly, van Zieks approached the trio. He greeted them with a tip of his top hat, which he would always wear outside.

“Karma,” he addressed Sulla as the only other person to ever call her that. “Judging by your unruly conduct in the street, I assume this morning’s case has been solved?”

“Absolutely!” She beamed at van Zieks. “In fact, both me and Kazuma solved it separately. Miss Svarowski is innocent. It’s her father who killed the poor man.”

“I see. Well, please accept my congratulations—both of you. I shall be looking forward to the trial.”

Such a formal statement indicated that van Zieks was about to excuse himself and run away—this time for good. Before he could do that, however, Gina jerked her head at him.

“Oi, van Zieks. Wanna join us?”

The man froze in his tracks. “Forgetting the ‘Lord’, Miss Lestrade.” Most people would scramble under a gaze so cold, yet Gina didn’t even blink.

“Ah, right. Sorry, forgot ‘ow ‘igh and mighty ya are.” She shrugged. “So are ya comin’ or not?”

“Coming where?”

Stifling a giggle, Sulla decided to interfere. “We were just about to go eat fish and chips, Lord Barok. It would be our greatest pleasure to have your company.”

As van Zieks eyed Gina and Sulla, as if unable to comprehend their invitation, Asougi watched the scene with increasing amusement. He was almost sure van Zieks would decline. First of all, the man was clearly too important to spend time with subordinates after work. Second, fish and chips? No noble would ever steep so low as to eat the same food detectives of Gregson’s kind munched on.

So Asougi’s surprise was great when van Zieks thought for a moment and eventually nodded.

“In that case, allow me to accompany you. It’s been a while since I last indulged in food of this type.” He then looked over at Asougi, whose surprise must have been poorly hidden. “It is going to be your first time trying the staple of British cuisine, is it not, Mr Asougi?”

“Well… yes.” Calling it a ‘staple’ shocked Asougi too much to say anything else.

But van Zieks, too, said no more. With a nod, he gestured at the ladies; the peculiar ensemble set off with Gina leading the way. She and van Zieks quickly engaged in a one-sided conversation about Gregson and his questionable dietary choices. Overexcited, Gina couldn’t believe to learn that van Zieks had frequently accompanied the late detective to that particular fish and chips joint.

A few steps behind, Sulla listened on to their conversation with a slight smile. She glanced at Asougi, her gaze meeting his for a brief moment, and then her smile grew wider. Before Asougi could help himself, he returned it, relieved to be seeing it after a very long day.

Chapter Text

September 1, 1894

Prosecutor’s Office

Prosecutor in training, Sulla Coyell, stood in the hallway with a paper envelope in her hands. The door that had just closed behind her evoked a rumbling echo.

There was no one else in sight, so Sulla allowed herself to remain where she stood just for a while. First, she took a deep breath and exhaled. Her body continued to tremble from the intense conversation she’d held only minutes ago, but at least her mind was starting to cool down. After two more inhales, she brought the envelope closer to her face. Nothing was written on it, but the all-too-familiar seal left no doubts as to the author of the contents.

Her benefactor, Lord Barok van Zieks, had just announced to her that he would quit prosecuting.

When she’d asked, “For how long?”, he only replied “Forever, if need be.” That cut the matter short. Sulla couldn’t muster any more courage to ask why—especially not when she knew the answer all too well.

With a sigh, she unsealed the envelope and extracted a luxurious piece of paper with only one sentence written there in van Zieks’s elegant, slanted handwriting. She didn’t need to read it to know what it said. Naturally, with van Zieks’s decision to withdraw from the courtrooms, his only disciple would also be dismissed.

Lowering the hand along her body, Sulla stared at the ceiling. This couldn’t have been avoided, yet regret clutched at her throat. If only van Zieks hadn’t taken that feral case from yesterday, if only Sulla had protested, perhaps both of them wouldn’t have lost their place to belong now.

Her palm absently gripped a rapier attached to her waist. The sensation of cold metal instantly brought solace, if only temporarily. Sometimes she considered this rapier her soulmate, her sole companion in health and sickness.

“Look at you. Walkin’ free must feel good, eh?”

A harsh sneer brought Sulla back to reality; she released her grip on the rapier. Before her stood none other than Inspector Tobias Gregson, an indispensable serving of fish and chips in his hand. His sight irked Sulla. She knew this inspector all too well—after all, he was the very man who’d led the investigation regarding the death of Sulla’s mother.

Gripping the notice from van Zieks, Sulla glared at Gregson. “My charges were dropped. I have every right to walk free, Inspector. Did they not teach you this when you joined Scotland Yard?”

“Oi, not so fast, sunshine!” It used to be ‘miss’ some time ago—back when Sulla was only van Zieks’s disciple and not a defendant in a murder case. “Try to taint Yard’s good name and see what happens!”

“It doesn’t need tainting if an inspector is walking around calling good people murderers.” Sulla crossed her arms. “Haven’t you heard of the assumption of innocence? I am no murderer and the court has explicitly said so yesterday.”

“Hah! That’s where you’re wrong.” Waving his fish and chips around, Gregson continued his fervent assertion. “The court refused to announce a verdict—nothin’ less, nothin’ more. In my book, you’re still guilty.” He looked at Sulla with such repulsion that it actually hurt. “Your own mother. How could you have poisoned her?”

For a moment, tension hung in the air as Sulla and Gregson glared daggers at each other. She dearly wanted to shout everything out loud—about her painful family history, about her relationship with her mother, about the real circumstances of her death. All those details would have surely surfaced the previous day in court had van Zieks not sought his last resort. Only that had prevented Sulla’s guts to be spilled there and then.

But instead of shouting, Sulla shrugged and turned on her heel to leave. After all, as much as taunting the inspector could prove entertaining for a brief moment, it couldn’t close the gaping wound in her heart.

Before Sulla could walk two steps, however, Gregson stopped her. “Wait. Why are you not at van Zieks’s anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his disciple or somethin’?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why, you…!” Clearly, Gregson was used to always getting answers to his questions. “I’ll teach you the way to talk to a Yard officer, I will. No bleedin’ murderer is going to say such thing to my bleedin’—”

“Now, now, Gregson. Your bad habit of jumping to conclusions is showing.”

Both Gregson and Sulla froze in their tracks, turning their heads to look at the unknown party who just interjected. Next to the inspector stood a tall, lanky man wearing a coat and a deerstalker hat; a small girl—four, maybe five years old—clung to his waist. She was staring at Sulla with large eyes like she understood exactly what was going on, almost uncomfortably so.

“Holmes, you!” yelled Gregson and pointed an accusatory finger at the man. “What on earth? Weren’t you supposed to be investigatin’ a crime scene?”

“I happened to have an urgent errand to run at the Prosecutor’s Office.” Dismissing Gregson’s concerns, the man spoke. He had an upbeat voice, but every word hid a layer of mystery. “More importantly, I happened to overhear you calling this young lady some unflattering names.” He then looked at Sulla and smiled. She fidgeted under his gaze, feeling exposed even though his eyes remained friendly. “Ah, yes… I seem to recall now. You must be the lamentable suspect in the case my friend Gregson has been working on in the past few weeks.”

Startled, Sulla couldn’t utter a sound. These two had been acquainted.

Gregson scoffed. “Judiciary, what else? Van Zieks pulled some strings and she walks free. Clearly, corruption runs deep in every authority in this country.”

“Take that back!” The inspector’s words finally pulled Sulla out of her daze. “How dare you call Lord Barok corrupt.”

“Well? What else is he if he lets a murderer continue to prosecute people?”

“Watch out or you might find yourself choking on that fish and chips.”

While Sulla and Gregson argued, the little girl clinging to the mystery man’s side pulled on his sleeve. “Holmesie, why is Gregsy so upset? Isn’t it clear that such a nice lady wouldn’t have killed anyone?”

“Quite right, Iris,” replied the man, patting the girl’s head. “Now I see everything for what it is. Excuse me!” he interrupted the heated exchange, even though Sulla and Gregson were nearly ready to have each other’s throats. “My dear fellows, why don’t you leave this verbal sparring for later? Looking at you, young lady, I can draw three conclusions.”

“Excuse me?” Sulla threw the man a suspicious glance.

“Oh no, there he goes…” mumbled Gregson in defeat.

“Oh yes, there he goes!” exclaimed the little girl with delight in her eyes as she stared at him with utmost awe.

The mystery man savoured all of their reactions. He tapped his temple, a knowing smile blossoming on his lips. He was clearly enjoying the sense of anticipation from his audience. Sulla felt a tingling in her spine, as if she was about to witness some sort of chilling performance; she simply couldn’t take her eyes off the man.

Once he spoke, her premonition materialised in the most extraordinary way.

“First of all: you didn’t murder anyone, my dear madam. Second: you are no longer a studying prosecutor. And third: the name you claim for yourself is not the one that was given to you.”

“Wha…?”

Dumbstruck, Sulla nearly dropped the notice from van Zieks. For a good while, she stared at the man, wide-eyed and jaw-dropped, as he savoured her shock with visible amusement.

How did he know?

Just in that moment Gregson cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Stop showin’ off already, Holmes. At this point, you might as well have pulled that deduction from your bottom. This lass here?” He pointed at Sulla. “She’s guilty as sin.”

“Ah ha ha! But you need to change your perspective, my dear fellow.” The mystery man didn’t humour Gregson’s allegations for a second. “If only you decided to look at the case from a different angle, you’d see my—”

“Who are you?” demanded Sulla.

Unfinished words hung in the air; slowly, the mystery man raised his head and looked at Sulla from under the rim of his deerstalker hat. The prolonged gaze only lasted a few seconds, yet Sulla found herself unable to move a finger. In the next moment, the man smiled.

“The great detective, Sherlock Holmes. At your service, Miss Sulla Coyell.”

Air escaped her lungs in an involuntary, abrupt exhale.

Sherlock Holmes. She’d heard—albeit vaguely—stories about a certain investigator in London. He was calling himself a great detective and managed to solve cases that even the Scotland Yard couldn’t. Although Sulla’s perception was definitely tainted (looking at Gregson, she’d hardly believe in Yard’s abilities), she was starting to see where the fame of Sherlock Holmes came from.

All of what he deduced about her was true. Termination of employment, the alleged murder, even her name. Above all, he believed her innocence—or rather, claimed to have concluded that she didn’t murder her own mother.

Even though this man’s conduct was egregious, Sulla felt a faint sense of security. Whatever caused him to reach such conclusions, she would cling to any ally, no matter how flimsy.

“How?” That was the only thing she could utter. “How do you know so much?”

“Observation, my dear madam. Kindly note the beautifully written letter in your hand.” As soon as Holmes pointed that out, Sulla belatedly attempted to hide the paper behind her back. “The notice says you are dismissed from Mr Reaper’s tutelage, taking effect immediately. Now why would he do such a thing? Obviously, because he is withdrawing from the courtrooms himself.”

“What?!” exclaimed Gregson, shocked to the point of almost dropping his fish and chips.

“I concur!” Sulla tightened the grip on the notice. “How can you be so sure? He’s only made this decision today. No one but me and the Chief Prosecutor have been informed as of yet—”

“Simple deduction. When analysing yesterday’s case, one can clearly observe how Mr Reaper went to great lengths to save your life—to prevent a verdict of both guilty and innocent. That of course has its own consequences, as displayed by my colleague, Inspector Gregson.”

Glaring at Gregson, Sulla was met with a scowl. Indeed, after such a peculiar trial, most people would mimic this inspector and consider her guilty, no matter the verdict or lack thereof.

“But… how do you know Lord Barok didn’t just fire me because of those murder allegations? You can’t have a studying prosecutor be a subject of gossip, can you?”

Holmes shrugged. “If that much were true, he would have fired you immediately after your mother’s death—in fact, he wouldn’t have taken up your case in the first place. The famous Mr Reaper prides himself in taking up high calibre cases, doesn’t he? Government corruption, authority abuse, and so on. A mere case of poisoning a parent lies quite outside his usual expertise, I would say.” Sucking on a pipe he produced from his pocket, Holmes smirked. “One can only realise: he did all of what he did with your best interest in mind, Miss Coyell. As such, he wouldn’t have dismissed you unless he was leaving the job himself.”

Dumbstruck, Sulla held her breath. This detective read her like an open book. Even Gregson looked shocked, though he probably missed a lot of personal nuance related to the Coyell history.

“See?” The girl at Holmes’s side pulled on his sleeve again and pouted triumphantly. “Holmesie’s deduction is the best in the world.”

Swallowing hard, Sulla slowly emerged from her amazement. “Alright then, let me ask you one last question, Mr… Holmes. What proof do you have of my innocence?”

This time Holmes’s smile faltered only a little. Noticing something amiss, the little girl looked up at him; he flashed her a reassuring smile. The next moment he straightened his back to look at Sulla again, his face bearing an expression of seriousness that immediately set off alarms in Sulla’s head.

“Ha!” scoffed Gregson. “See, you can’t even think of any proof. My point stands. She’s guilty!”

“Be quiet, Gregsy!” The little girl hissed at him so commanding that the inspector immediately fell silent. “Don’t try to interrupt. This is important.”

“Well, Mr Holmes?” enquired Sulla. Deep down she was expecting that her innocence couldn’t be proven after all.

“You mother’s life,” he finally uttered, holding the rim of his hat low so that his eyes remained obscured. “Even though Mr Reaper forced the trial to end before that could become public, I allowed myself the liberty of investigating. Professional curiosity, so to speak.”

“You… did what?”

“Sure enough, my suspicions were affirmed. And if your mother chose such a tragic end only to incriminate her own daughter, then I had an inkling you would be renouncing the name she gave you. That’s how I knew how to address you, Miss Sulla Coyell.” Then, Holmes finally looked her in the eye. “Did I miss anything?”

With bated breath, Sulla shook her head. “No. You did not.”

Not having the slightest idea what Holmes was talking about, Gregson was sweating bullets while the little girl continued to glare at him to keep silent. Nevertheless, Sulla didn’t pay them much attention. She kept staring at Holmes who had just laid her soul bare, uncovered the darkest depths of her soul—and for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to hate him for that.

“From the start, I insisted that Lord Barok leave my case. I’m no important figure like the other people he’s prosecuted, so I figured that the Reaper’s curse would spare me even with an innocent verdict.” With a sigh, Sulla recollected the events engraved in her mind. “But Lord Barok insisted. Not only because my father asked him, but because he wanted to save me,” she said quietly, as if to avoid the grand walls of the Prosecutor’s Office from overhearing. “Indeed, I am ever so grateful for how he looked over me… but now it’s become too much for him. He’s leaving the job, and I wonder if the price was really worth it.”

For a moment, Holmes said nothing. He simply sucked on his pipe, allowing the heavy silence to hang in the air. Gregson and the little girl also ceased their staring contest, while Sulla remained watching the floor. It’s not like she had better places to be; now that she’d lost her reputation and her job, chatting with some sort of genius detective was as good of a pastime as any.

But then the little girl at Holmes’s side pulled away from him and approached Sulla. Her big, knowing eyes stared up right into hers as she tugged at Sulla’s skirt.

“Blaming yourself isn’t good. Mr Reaper did what he thought best to protect you.”

“S-sorry?” Sulla blinked, then looked over at the great detective. “Is she your daughter, Mr Holmes?”

The man but chuckled. “I prefer the term ‘roommate’. Anyway, her name is Iris. And I would suggest you take her words to heart—at the age of five she’s already displaying quite incredible powers of deduction herself, helping me in numerous crime investigations.”

“You bring a five-year-old along to crime scenes…?”

“Let’s not concern ourselves with unimportant details.” With an exaggerated wave of his hand, Holmes grinned. “The point of the matter is, even a child can see that you should not take the blame for Mr Reaper’s decisions, Miss Coyell. He decided to prosecute you and he decided to leave the judiciary. You are not to bear responsibility for that.”

Cornered by Holmes and then Iris, Sulla felt as if she was falling down a bottomless pit. The detective’s eyes saw right through her, but even this child looked at her with such terrifying perceptiveness. Perhaps she’d had a wrong idea about herself all along. Perhaps she’d always been wearing her true nature on a sleeve, except she hadn’t realised that herself.

“I…” Not without hesitation, Sulla bowed her head. “Allow me to thank you for your kind words, Mr Holmes. And thank you, Iris.” She kneeled to the girl and patted the small head. “You’re one excellent tiny detective, aren’t you?”

Iris puffed out her chest. “Holmesie says that his ways are rubbing off on me. I’m not sure what that means though.”

A grunt resounded. Inspector Gregson, arms crossed, glared at Holmes with an impatient expression.

“Sorry to cut your fun short, but we had an agreement, Holmes. Crime scene investigation, remember?”

“Ah!” In an instant, Holmes’s face dropped. “How very true, my dear fellow. Time does fly by when you conduct more interesting deductions.”

“More interesting?” Raising an eyebrow, Gregson glanced at Sulla. Clearly, he couldn’t understand why Holmes would find her more interesting than a crime scene—and Sulla had to agree. “In any case, are you goin’ or not? Because if you are, you’d better drag your ass over there now.”

“Ah ha ha!” Holmes’s laugh exploded so suddenly that Sulla flinched. “Indeed, the great detective’s schedule is ever so busy. Now, Miss Coyell—since I suspect you have plenty of free time, why don’t you accompany us?”

“What?” exclaimed Sulla.

“What?!” exclaimed Gregson. “Surely you’re not planning to have a murderer—”

“I should think this may become an interesting experience for you,” ignoring Gregson completely, Holmes wagged a finger. “Only this morning, a murder happened in the London County Council. Such a simple case, yet Scotland Yard can’t ever progress without my help.”

“Yes, they never can!” Iris repeated Holmes’s gesture, wagging her own finger.

“Grr… Holmes, you’ll pay for that…”

Even though Gregson gritted his teeth, audibly protesting against having his job slandered and a supposed murderer invited to a crime scene, no one paid him any mind. When Holmes and Iris explained the circumstances, Sulla realised that they were quite serious. For one reason or another, this strange man—who had just happened to analyse all of Sulla’s past—decided to invite her for an adventure.

What could go wrong?

At least she would keep her mind off certain troubles.

“I’d be delighted to accompany you, Mr Holmes. If you’ll have me.”

“Fantastic!” Holmes responded with a handshake so energetic he nearly ripped Sulla’s arm off. As she rubbed the joint, the detective swiftly turned around to lead the way. “Let us go then, my dear fellows! The crime won’t solve itself!”

“Yes, it won’t!” cheered Iris.

As they followed behind, Sulla exchanged glances with Gregson. For the first time that day, the inspector looked away in a manner that seemed less annoyed with her, and more exasperated at Holmes.

September 1, 1894

Spring Gardens, Administration Office

The victim—a middle aged, balding man—lay slumped in the chair before his desk, a gilded paper knife sticking out of his neck. Blood in huge quantities covered most of his body and desktop, some even sprayed to the window curtains and the floor.

In other words, this crime scene presented a rather grim sight.

Sulla shifted uncomfortably on her feet. As a former prosecutor in training, she’d grown somewhat used to morbid crime descriptions, but this was the first time she’d witnessed a violent death image in person. Even though, according to Holmes, the murder took place only this morning, the room had already started to stench. Covering her nose and mouth, Sulla fought dizziness that assaulted her.

“Are you sure this really is a good idea to bring Iris around crime scenes, Mr Holmes?”

Holmes looked away, sweating slightly. “It’s no easy feat being a lonely gentleman these days. Believe me, I’d leave her at home if only she had someone to stay with.”

“Hey, I’m perfectly fine!” Indeed, Iris replied with such vigour that Sulla couldn’t help feeling concerned for her childhood innocence. What else had she seen if she was this energetic next to a murdered body? “Holmesie can’t leave me at home. Without me, his deductions are incomplete—he always says so.”

“Quite right, Iris, quite right.”

Meanwhile, Gregson impatiently tapped his feet. He still bore a sour expression, clearly dissatisfied by having Sulla here at all.

“So you really want to keep this rascal around, Holmes?”

“She’s here as my assistant for the day. I trust that’s no problem, my dear fellow?”

“I don’t recall becoming your assistant—” Sulla wanted to protest, but one glance at Gregson told her all she needed to know. The inspector would surely escort her out if not for Holmes’s presence. She cleared her throat. “That’s right. I’m with Mr Holmes.”

“Civilians messin’ around my crime scene…” Gregson grimaced. “But fine, have it your way. I’d love to see you solve this.”

“Pray, have I ever let you down, Gregson? Give us thirty minutes. You shall see for yourself,” hummed Holmes with a self-satisfied smile.

Rolling his eyes, Gregson sighed and turned to the door. Apparently, he’d grown fed up of the detective’s company and was dying to leave.

“I’ll be outside guardin’ if you need me.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Sulla alone with Holmes and Iris in this cramped office stinking of blood.

This room was the workplace of one of numerous clerk offices in the Spring Gardens, a man called Shaw Zeke. For a while, Sulla didn’t dare move. Holmes was already preoccupied with some sort of observation as he examined the paper knife in the man’s neck via some strange goggles. Meanwhile, Iris kept her distance and watched Holmes’s actions with a gaze akin to a teacher satisfied with their best pupil’s work. The odd relationship between those two remained as much of the mystery as the crime at hand.

A good five minutes passed and Holmes still kept on his work, whatever it was. He seemed to completely forget the presence of his ‘assistant’ whom he assigned mere moments ago.

Perhaps this awkward situation would last forever if Sulla didn’t decide to break the silence.

“Frankly speaking, Mr Holmes,” she spoke up, “I’m not sure what sort of assistance you need. The only thing I may be of use is to take Iris somewhere more appropriate until you’re done.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Immersed in his element, Holmes replied without looking at Sulla. While he was wearing his strange goggles, his face looked rather terrifying. “Tell me, Miss Coyell, what do you know of the premises we are currently in?”

Taken aback by the sudden question, Sulla blinked. “Of course, we’re at the Spring Gardens, the headquarters of the London County Council. Why?”

Instead of answering, Holmes tapped his cheek with his finger as if pondering about something.

“Yes… The case is now quite clear to me.”

“What?” demanded Sulla. “You must be joking. You’ve been here for five minutes!”

“Ooh, there it goes! Holmesie’s dance of deduction!” Iris, who had been admirably silent for a five-year-old until now, suddenly jumped up. She tugged on Sulla’s sleeve to urge her. “You can’t miss it! Once you witness it first hand, you’ll understand.”

“What did you say? Dance…?”

Flabbergasted, Sulla watched Holmes. He lifted the goggles off his face and pointed a triumphant finger upwards.

“Aha! In ten seconds from now, we shall bear witness to an enlightening revelation. Miss Coyell, would you be so kind as to step aside from the door? Yes, just two steps to the right. Thank you. Now…”

Everything in the room visibly froze, including time; both Holmes and Iris remained in place, knowing smiles on their lips, waiting for whatever it was that Holmes had announced. Sulla stared at them dumbfounded, not understanding any of it. She’d started to regret coming here. This great detective might be a bright man, but above all, he was mad.

It was a mistake to think someone like him could give her a lost reason—

Sharply after ten seconds, the door opened.

Startled, Sulla felt her heart almost jump out of her chest. But the open door revealed no spectre, no murderous maniac, but a regular clerk—a short, suited man wearing rimmed glasses.

Upon noticing three pairs of eyes staring at his arrival, the man produced a handkerchief to wipe his sweating forehead. “Ah, p-pardon me. The inspector outside gave me permission to enter.”

“Mr Holmes,” narrowing her eyes, Sulla nudged the detective. “What was it that you said about an enlightening revelation?”

But Holmes remained silent. With a hardly sincere smile plastered to his face, he watched the man enter the room, sweating profusely under three suspicious gazes.

“P-please, do not mind me. I urgently need to retrieve some very important documents from Shaw’s cabinet. It should take but a minute.”

“Why of course, my dear fellow. The cogs of bureaucracy never stop spinning even when there’s a dead body by the desk!” exclaimed Holmes with disturbing energy, considering a dead body indeed lay by the desk.

The man adjusted his glasses with an apologetic expression. “Quite so, I’m afraid. Poor Shaw, he isn’t even cold yet.”

Listening to the peculiar exchange, Sulla decided to cut in.

“Do you work here, sir?”

“Yes, miss.” Wiping his forehead again, the man bowed his head. “My name is Jim Cutter. The news of Shaw’s murder shocked me this morning… But the work we do here must keep going. And you are the investigators searching for his killer, I presume?”

“Indeed we are!” asserted Holmes. His sudden yelling could make another person drop dead here, thought Sulla. “I am the great detective Sherlock Holmes, and these two are my brilliant company.” Quite a company then, considering it was a five-year-old girl and a freshly fired almost-prosecutor.

“In that case, please ignore me and do go on with your tasks. If you don’t mind, I really need to get these papers.”

Sulla didn’t think much of it as she watched Cutter reach for a large cabinet that hugged the wall. Even though the man just told them to go on with the investigation, three pairs of eyes continued to watch his every step. That must have stressed the poor guy, who almost dropped a large file right on his feet. It took him a great deal of reflex to save it; after skimming through the papers, he finally produced a section he wanted.

“There it is, thank heavens.” He looked embarrassed by how much time and energy it took him. “S-sorry for disturbing you again. I shall excuse myself now.”

However, as soon as Cutter turned to leave, Holmes went for it again.

“Hold it!”

“Goodness!” Clutching his chest, Cutter yelped. Sulla was counting seconds until he’d finally scatter his precious documents on the floor. “You nearly caused me a heart attack, dear sir.”

The detective, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care about the distress he was causing. “Mr Cutter, would you be so kind to stay for a while longer? I believe I need to show you a deduction of mine.”

“A deduction, sir?” asked Cutter, visibly troubled in addition to his already nervous countenance. “Not to doubt your crime-solving capabilities, but I’m afraid I really need to go back to work…”

“I insist.”

Since Holmes’s tone wouldn’t take no for an answer, Cutter attempted looking for help in Sulla or Iris, but neither made a move to do so. With a heavy sigh, Cutter adjusted his grip on the papers, wiped his perspiring brow again, and nodded.

“Perfect!” Holmes clapped his hands together. “So for you, Mr Cutter, I have two conclusions. First: you have committed a wrongdoing. Second: you and the victim connected over said wrongdoing.”

Stunned silence fell.

For a brief while, every movement in the room appeared in slow motion. Cutter started shaking uncontrollably, his eyes trembling and forehead dripping with sweat. Iris grinned with pride at this supposed deduction. The great detective himself remained smirking, but his eyes never left the nervous wreck of the clerk.

Sulla couldn’t believe her own eyes.

Was Holmes spot on? Again?

But what sort of wrongdoing did he mean? Surely, not the actual crime that had taken place in this room?

“W-w-what are you talking about, good sir!” Finally gathering his voice, Cutter managed to speak. “A wrongdoing? I have been working in this council ever since its establishment, always most diligently…”

Instead of answering, Holmes walked up to Sulla. He patted her back in an overly familiar way, which would have certainly arisen her outrage, if not for the words he spoke next.

“Would you lend me a hand here, assistant?”

“What? I have no idea what you…” Sulla tried to backtrack, but at the same time Iris pushed her from behind.

“Come on, Sullie! This is the best part!”

“Well said, Iris! So, Miss Coyell, I invite you to join Sherlock Holmes’s Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!”

Just like that, the crime scene became the stage to quite a peculiar dance.

Holmes clapped his hands yet again and sprang across the room, landing steps away from Cutter. He pirouetted in place only to stop, snap his fingers and tap the rim of his deerstalker hat.

“Mr Cutter, you have entered this room allegedly to retrieve some documents urgently needed for your job. That is a blatant lie!” When Cutter flinched, Holmes snapped his fingers again and pointed at the file in Cutter’s hand. “Pray, take a good look at the very top document in this pile. It says ‘Contract of purchase’ and seems to deal with some… large property in central London.”

“Ah!” Cutter immediately tried to hide the papers behind his back. “S-so it does, good sir…”

“Now, you try to deceive my eyes, but a glance suffices to notice how your name is signed on this very document. Why would a clerk in the London County Council urgently need some purchase documents at such a time?” Glancing over at Sulla, Holmes grinned. He was very clearly enjoying the whole escapade. “Naturally, you have been dealing with private matters during your working hours! That is the nature of your wrongdoing, Mr Cutter.”

“Huh?!” Sulla inadvertently let out a gasp.

However, in a blink of an eye, Holmes had already moved across the moon, dancing around until he reached Shaw Zeke’s desk. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the gilded knife sticking out of the man’s neck.

“Now, moving on to this poor fellow’s demise… Even if you have been dealing with dubious transactions during work, such documents have no reason to find themselves in your colleague’s room. Unless, perhaps… you have been planting them here in case someone were to search your own room, Mr Cutter?”

Colour drained from Cutter’s face. “T-that’s absurd! I’d never—”

“Perhaps, by some cruel twist of fate, late Mr Zeke found those documents and learned about your excursions. He threatened to reveal your secret to the management—which would surely end your prosperous career in this respected establishment. A fight ensued… one that had a dramatic conclusion in this very office room.”

Suddenly, Sulla jolted. Her heart raced as she stared at Holmes explaining his reasoning to Cutter and uneasiness tugged at the back of her brain.

What Holmes was saying had truth to it—but at the same time, she couldn’t help a sense of incompleteness. Or maybe a feeling of being on the wrong track, when only a small push could straighten the road to the destination again.

Iris noticed Sulla’s restlessness and pulled her sleeve. “If you have something to say, do it,” she whispered. “That’s the whole point of it.”

Sulla hesitated for a little while longer, but the more she stared at Iris, the more convincing the girl’s smile became. She made up her mind.

“Mr Holmes, may I?”

Looking over at Sulla, Holmes looked like he was trying very hard to contain himself. Why exactly, she had no way of knowing. “But of course, Miss Coyell! We’re all ears.”

Taking a deep breath, Sulla stepped to the centre of the room. She threw a final affirmative glance at Holmes. What was it that he had been doing all the time? Snapping his fingers?

Frankly, she felt silly, but she raised her hand and imitated the gesture.

As if a switch had been flipped, her mind went into a state of incredible clarity. All of a sudden, she knew exactly what to say.

So Sulla smiled—and did just that.

“Mr Holmes, you claimed Mr Cutter’s wrongdoing was engaging with private dealings on company time. I don’t believe that’s quite correct.” She trotted over behind the man’s back and pointed at the papers he’d been trying to hide. “Indeed, what he came here to retrieve is a contract of purchase for some large property. But Mr Cutter himself appears to be signed as a selling party, while the purchasing party is the London County Council.”

“Oh?” Holmes narrowed his eyes. “Do go on, my dear madam.”

“Now, I might be wrong, but if I remember correctly…” Letting her thoughts trail, Sulla recalled information deep from within her mind. “Yes, as a prosecutor in training you often associate with all kinds of authorities. Only last year, the London County Council decided that their current headquarters, the Spring Gardens, was too small. This contract of purchase in Mr Cutter’s hand might be part of expanding their territory.”

“So… so what if it is?” stammered Cutter, wiping his forehead out of habit. “Like I said, these papers are related to my job. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Ah, but you’re the clerk in these premises,” Sulla continued her train of thought. She wasn’t sure if she was making sense, but as long as Holmes was listening, she would speak. “And yet you’re listed as the selling party in this contract. It makes me believe you’ve committed fraud.”

“F-f-fraud?”

“Indeed. Because when you sell your property to the very party you’re employed at, the supposedly professional purchase becomes your personal gain. It’s dishonest.” Glancing at Cutter, Sulla nodded to herself. “I should know grey areas in the law like that, I was a prosecutor. In training, admittedly, but still.”

“Quite right, Miss Coyell!” interjected Holmes. “Please, continue.”

Encouraged by the detective, Sulla allowed her gaze to flicker over to the dead body by the desk, then to Cutter again.

“As to the connection to the tragic death that took place this morning… Rather than being partners in crime, I believe Mr Zeke and Mr Cutter struck a deal.”

Cutter gasped. “What?!”

“Perhaps Mr Zeke was not as honest as we originally expected. Perhaps he approached you, Mr Cutter, to demand part of the money you gained in the transaction in exchange for silence.” Sulla had no proof to her claim, but found that entirely believable. “However, that sweet fortune appeared way too tempting to part with. So you silenced Mr Zeke… in order to keep all the money and prevent the secret from spilling.”

As Sulla finished her reasoning, the three other people in the room stared back at her with amazement. She fidgeted, unused to such attention. She now understood why Cutter acted so nervous a moment ago, while searching for his urgent papers.

A sudden sense of panic crept up her throat. Surely, Holmes would find great offence in being corrected. No doubt he would first ridicule Sulla for her erroneous conclusions, then chase her out, and that would be the end of her little adventure.

However, much to her surprise, both Holmes and Iris were grinning triumphantly.

“Bravo!” Iris was the first one to start clapping. “Fantastic job, Sullie.”

“Well done, Miss Coyell. A fine deduction, that was.”

“N-n-nonsense!” intercepted Cutter, his voice and body still shaking as a leaf. “Y-you can’t go around accusing people. Where’s your proof?!”

“Proof?” repeated Holmes as if he had no idea what the word meant.

“The paper knife,” replied Sulla without hesitation. “Just look at the handle sticking out of this wretch’s neck. If the knife belonged to Mr Zeke, the engraved initials would say S.Z.—but they say J.C. instead. Honestly,” Sulla sighed. “Couldn’t you have used Mr Zeke’s knife, Mr Cutter? At least that would have given the police something to think about.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Holmes; he was already at Zeke’s desk, rummaging through the drawers. “It appears that Mr Zeke possessed no such tool. But frankly, proving guilt is the prosecution’s job—which just so happens to have no connection to us.” He shot a knowing gaze at Sulla. “It’s a good thing our friend Gregson is stood just outside this door, making sure no one comes in here… or leaves, is it not?”

That was it. Cutter realised the terrible position he found himself in, and was now glaring at Holmes and Sulla, fists clenched along his sides. His gritted teeth caused an unpleasantly loud sound.

As Sulla shot a glance at Holmes, she did not anticipate further complications. They’ve found out the culprit; they’ve concluded their investigation. That had been their task after all—Holmes’s task, to be precise. Even now Sulla wondered why on earth this detective would invite her to join in.

But now it was finished. A brief dream of wilderness concluded.

Except the next moment Cutter threw the papers in Sulla’s face and dashed to the door.

“Huh?!”

As the papers descended to the floor like ash, Sulla witnessed an unexpected sight. Cutter violently pulled the doorknob. The door got thrown open, hitting Inspector Gregson on the other side and making him fall over. A surprised gasp pierced the air. Regaining his composure, Gregson scrambled to his feet, but Cutter, who never stopped running while creating a distraction, had already became a small figure at the end of the hallway.

“Wait! Police!” yelled Gregson and gave chase after the man.

“Aah…” hummed Holmes as he stepped towards the door to Shaw Zeke’s office to peek outside. “There we have it. Well, Gregson should be fine on his—”

“Hold it, Mr Holmes!!”

Before the detective could even blink, Sulla yelled at the top of her lungs. Surprised, Holmes froze with his hand reaching for the door; without a second thought, Sulla pushed him out of the way to run after Cutter and Gregson.

“Sullie, what do you plan to do?!” From behind, Iris’s voice resounded, but Sulla had no time to reply.

Disregarding the fact that she was leaving Holmes and Iris at the crime scene, she dashed across the hallway in the Spring Gardens. A few people yelped as she passed them by a narrow margin, boots clacking and clothes swishing. Soon enough, she caught up to Gregson, who was already panting wildly.

“Too much fish and chips, eh, Inspector?!” she shouted over her shoulder.

“Now just you wait, you little…!”

They stumbled outside of the building—Sulla first, Gregson barely keeping up behind—and then to the street. A commotion ensued in the crowd as Cutter tried to push forward, to blend among the city folk. Gritting her teeth, Sulla followed suit.

Her palm reflexively gripped the hilt of her beloved rapier at the side. She truly didn’t want to resort to that, but—

“Jim Cutter! Stop where you are, or I’ll stop you by force!”

Obviously, Cutter never stopped. Having pushed through the most dense crowd, he suddenly turned a corner into a desolated alleyway. If he escaped her sight, Sulla would never catch him. She’d always perceived office clerks as crooked, scrawny men who got exhausted if they had to climb up too many stairs, but clearly, Cutter wasn’t like that.

In the dark alleyway, Cutter realised how close the chase got. He glanced over his shoulder and hissed like an animal; his sweating forehead almost begged to be wiped. At this point Sulla could almost catch the hem of his suit jacket if she reached out.

This was her only chance to actually prevent him from escaping.

“I told you to stop!”

With a swift move, she unsheathed her rapier—and swung it.

Even though the movement didn’t last more than a second, to Sulla it felt like an eternity. The swish of her rapier. Cutter’s scream. Shreds of clothing fluttering in the wind before her eyes.

Slowly releasing the grip on her rapier, Sulla stared wide-eyed at what she had done.

Initially she’d only planned to scare the man into stopping. Yet he was standing there, holding onto his undergarments to keep them from sliding down to his ankles, glaring daggers at her, miserable shambles of his trousers scattered on the cobblestone pavement.

“Now look what you’ve done, you wench!” he yelped, his rimmed glasses lopsided on the bridge of his nose. “How can I walk, let alone run when even my smalls won’t stay on?!”

“Yes, that was kind of the point,” Sulla uttered. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. As she slowly exhaled to release the tension and lowered her rapier, a terrifying realisation came over her.

This whole chase, catching the fugitive criminal—it thrilled her.

“A d-d-devil! Satan incarnate!” Quite unexpectedly, Cutter produced a rosary from the scraps of his suit trousers, put it around his palms and started praying in a loud voice. “Save my soul, Our Lord in Heavens! For I have sinned! Guard me from the red-eyed devil!”

Stunned beyond words, Sulla tried to ignore the discomfort arising inside.

Eventually, the rest of the company caught up: Gregson struggling to hold his lungs down, while Holmes carried Iris piggyback style. The little girl was beaming radiantly; she must have had a blast on his back.

Having finally composed his breath, Gregson handcuffed Cutter, mercifully allowing him to hold onto his undergarments. The inspector then turned to Sulla with a bitter expression. “I suppose words of gratitude are in order. You might be a dirty murderer, but you helped us prevent one from gettin’ away.”

“I killed no one, Inspector,” asserted Sulla. He shifted uncomfortably when she looked him in the eye. “I never did.”

Mumbling under his breath, Gregson excused himself to deliver the suspect to prison. Once he and Cutter left the alleyway, Sulla sighed. It was only now that she realised how much of a stressful situation she put herself into.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Holmes, pulling Sulla back to reality. “That was quite a performance, I must say.”

She grimaced. “Sorry for interrupting your deduction spectacle. I just felt like some details needed… pointing out.”

“Certainly so, Miss Coyell. But I’m talking about this performance here. You quite magnificently prevented a criminal from escaping justice!”

“And you did it by cutting his undergarments with this.” Having descended from Holmes’s shoulders, Iris marvelled at the rapier attached to Sulla’s waist. “What a beautiful weapon! I had no idea it could be put to such use.”

“To be honest, neither did I.” With another sigh, Sulla shook her head. She was starting to feel dizzy; she just wanted to go home and forget all about today’s events. “Listen, Mr Holmes… It was a pleasure to accompany you. I apologise for the mess. If there’s anything else I can—”

“Moment!” yelled Holmes, as seemed to be his habit. When he did that, no one dared to move a finger. “Miss Coyell, I must enquire. Do you enjoy seeking out the truth?”

He surprised Sulla. Her mind went blank.

“Excuse me?”

“Pray, is it not why you began practising law in the first place? To find out the truth?”

“Well… Maybe so.” Sulla attempted to find aid in Iris, but the little girl only listened on with a small smile. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? My law career is over.”

“But the pursuit of truth doesn’t have to be.”

Sulla blinked as she stared back at Holmes. Whatever was he trying to insinuate?

Just then, Holmes tapped his temple and grinned. “What do you say to joining a great detective in pursuit of the truth then? No formal qualifications needed. All you require is an invitation—one that I have just extended to you.”

“Come on, Sullie! Say yes!” Iris excitedly pulled on the hem of Sulla’s skirt. “This will be so fun! You have to agree!”

Shocked at the sudden proposition, Sulla felt her jaw drop. Holmes’s eyes, twinkling, remained unreadable, but they betrayed excitement and anticipation. This had to be a joke, a prank of some sorts—if their short company could be any proof, this man certainly wouldn’t be above such stunts.

And yet his smile and Iris’s didn’t look like a joke.

Did the great Sherlock Holmes just recruit Sulla to be his assistant?

Carefully, as if to shield herself from disappointment, Sulla reminisced the days at van Zieks’s side. Secure days full of a sense of objective, relentlessly working to make a difference in the future. Those were good, nostalgic days.

She’d definitely miss them. And no matter what Holmes was offering, it would never be the same.

But as she watched the detective’s smile widen, Sulla got struck by a sudden resolve. She could get used to it. Perhaps she could even grow to enjoy this man’s company and his bizarre methodology.

“Before I answer, Mr Holmes… Earlier today you mentioned an urgent errand at the Prosecutor’s Office. Was this true?”

Holmes chuckled. “Of course it was. Morbid curiosity proves a detective’s most valuable asset… as well as his greatest curse.”

“Eh?”

“What he means to say,” interjected Iris, “is that he got worried about Mr Reaper.”

As Holmes averted his gaze, perhaps in embarrassment, Sulla had to hold back a smile. She’d never expected some mercurial detective to keep tabs on the Reaper of the Bailey, let alone check up on him after a particularly arduous case. What did Holmes think when he learned of van Zieks’s withdrawal? His face betrayed nothing, yet Sulla’s instincts told her there wasn’t purely professional motives behind that.

“Alright, Mr Holmes.” Inhaling deeply, Sulla made the decision. “Since I hate idleness, I would like to accept your offer, please.”

“Brilliant! Most exquisite!”

“May I add, however… Should a criminal try to escape in the future, I would dearly love to be of use to remedy that.” Her palm caressed her rapier.

Instantly, Holmes’s cheeky smile froze. Sulla’s heart sank—now he would surely dismiss her, a lady should not be brawling out on the streets with a rapier and cutting some criminals’ undergarments!

But Holmes reached for his deerstalker hat and tipped it, as if offering a greeting.

“Only next time, it would be advisable that you find something else to cut rather than their lower garderobe, Miss Coyell. Their hair, perhaps?”

Such was the very moment Karma Sulla Coyell realised Sherlock Holmes’s mentorship would be the exact opposite of Barok van Zieks’s. She would experience completely different things and learn things beyond her wildest imagination. All would be different except for one thing—an unquenched desire to uncover the bottom of a case.

So she laughed before accepting Holmes’s handshake, joined by Iris’s cheering.

She wasn’t sure what she was getting into. But for the time being, it would suffice.

Chapter Text

February 4, 1901

The Old Bailey, Defendants’ Antechamber

For the second time in her life Sulla’s heart wouldn’t calm down before the trial.

Last time it had happened, she was accused of the worst crime known to humanity—taking the life of her own mother. Anyone would be restless with their life on stake, with their reputation tarnished for the whole London to see. This time, she was simply working. Yet despite having done this many times, Sulla remained restless.

On the seat by the courtroom door sat a stocky middle-aged woman. Gaze glued to the wall, she didn’t even blink, let alone shoot a glance at her defence attorney. Frankly speaking, this woman frightened Sulla. Instead of taking a seat beside her, instead of speaking out, she was currently gazing outside the window on the opposite side of the hallway.

That’s not how things were supposed to happen—that’s not the type of a relationship an attorney should have with their client. Besides, Sulla wasn’t even an attorney. Yet today she found herself standing in the defendants’ antechamber, representing a person who was almost certainly guilty.

Everything fell out of order.

It all had started three days ago, when van Zieks approached Sulla with a simple yet shattering announcement: “A murder trial shall take place next week in the Bailey. As of current, no attorney has taken up the defence. I have recommended your services, Karma.”

At first, she thought it a mistake. The case was supposed to be prosecuted by Asougi, with her as his long-standing assistant. But for some reason, disregarding her lack of experience, disregarding the short notice, van Zieks had asked her to act as the defence.

She fully intended to refuse. After all, she took pride in being Asougi’s paralegal.

But then something stirred in Sulla’s mind. She remembered the apprenticeship under van Zieks years ago, she remember the few independent trials she’d prosecuted. It would be a lie to say she didn’t miss acting as a full-fledged lawyer. Besides, the prospect of opposing Asougi sounded thrilling. She’d been the first witness to his growth after all.

Perhaps by appealing to her vanity, on the very same day van Zieks received an approval—Sulla would defend this client.

Now, minutes before the trial, she was starting to regret this decision.

Three days wasn’t long, but after tiresome and thorough preparations, Sulla grew certain—her client was, without a doubt, guilty of murder. Not just any murder, but infanticide. Her guilt was glaringly obvious, so painful that it heaved on Sulla’s shoulders, making it hard to breathe.

Meanwhile, the woman continued to stare at the wall with an empty gaze. No nervousness, no sign of remorse or regret clouded her wrinkled features. How was Sulla even supposed to defend someone like that? And why would van Zieks get her into such a mess in the first place?

There had to have been a reason, but Sulla failed to notice it.

Just then, a sound of footsteps resounded in the hallway. As a pair of heeled boots appeared in Sulla’s field of vision, she turned away from the window to stand face to face with the prosecutor in this case, Asougi Kazuma.

“Could I have a word with you, Miss Coyell?”

A formal greeting, appropriate to the circumstances. His face was stern, shoulders broad and squared; Sulla knew how focused and calculated he became just before the trials. His whole personage radiated relentless determination in pursuit of the truth.

Watching him like this brought her indescribable comfort each time she stood by her side in the courtroom, but it also seemed to soothe her strained nerves now, in direly different circumstances.

Excusing herself from her client (who still didn’t look in her direction), Sulla followed Asougi to the farthest end of the lobby. They talked quietly, so as not to disturb the solemn spirit of the Old Bailey.

“You shouldn’t be here,” whispered Sulla.

“It’s okay. No rules prohibit the acting prosecutor from greeting their opponent before the trial.”

Biting her lip, Sulla dropped her gaze to the floor. It was certainly part of van Zieks’s plan to implicate both of his subordinates as opposing sides in these proceedings. She got lured by the vision of experiencing Asougi’s prosecuting from the other side, but now—face to face with him—it was starting to fill her with dread.

In comparison to Sulla, Asougi seemed to be taking it pretty well.

“What is it?” His voice resounded a tone softer. “Are you nervous to make your courtroom debut after so many years?”

Sulla failed to laugh. “Nervous? I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“What an unladylike statement.” Asougi rolled his eyes. “Are you scared of losing to me?”

“No way!”

“Then why do you look so bewildered? Honestly, you remind me of Naruhodou during his first trial.”

His curt approach, just as he was questioning the witness in the courtroom, wouldn’t take any excuses for an answer. The prodigy prosecutor possessed the key to unlocking anyone’s deepest secrets, and Sulla Coyell was no exception.

“When Lord Barok offered me this opportunity, I gave in to the temptation. I wanted to challenge myself—to see if I still have some of that lawyering spark in me. It didn’t matter that I’ve never acted as a defence before.”

“Well, I used to be a defence attorney, and look at me now.”

“Yes, that too… I thought: ‘Surely, if Kazuma could do it, why couldn’t I?’ A foolish sense of pride got the better of me.” With a sigh, she shook her head. “Serves me just right.”

They both discreetly glanced at the defendant sitting next to the courtroom door. The woman must have realised their gazes, but she remained motionless, staring at the wall.

Then Asougi shrugged, his face turning even fiercer. “This is hardly the most sinister case we’ve witnessed. Both of us should be used to cruelty now.”

“Maybe so, but—I am the one conducting the defence here.”

Silence fell for a brief moment. Indeed, no matter how much horror a lawyer sees during his lifetime, the burden feels twice as heavy when you’re carrying the unmistakeable guilt of your client.

“Remember when I asked you about your prosecuting experience, Karma?” All of a sudden, Asougi turned away from Sulla and towards the window. “You said both the defence and the prosecution were sides of the same coin. Now I see that you were right—regardless of the circumstances.”

Sulla looked at him in astonishment. “Have you ever been in my situation before?”

“Yes.” His gaze lingered outside the window, in the same spot she had been watching. “I was still a greenhorn who couldn’t comprehend the complexity of justice. During the trial, I struggled, I resisted, I grasped at straws. I wasn’t angry or scared of losing. I simply refused to accept the fact of representing a bad person.”

“And… what happened?”

Letting out a snort, Asougi turned back to look at Sulla. “When I inevitably failed to get a not guilty verdict, I blamed myself for a clumsy defence. It didn’t even cross my mind to think otherwise.” A bitter smile danced across his lips, one so rare on him. “Frankly, I’m not sure what sort of advice I was going for just now. Make of my story what you will. Just let me say this: you told me not to overthink prosecuting or defending. So now put your money where your mouth is and show me what you’re made of. If you blunder, I won’t feel satisfied by such an easy win.”

“Hey! I’ll have you take those words back!”

Before Sulla had realised, Asougi was smiling in her face. Not with cheap provocation, not with arrogance—he simply smiled as if holding back amusement.

“That’s it. You’re finally acting more like yourself.”

To that, Sulla had no answer. In some bizarre way, Asougi had expertly disarmed her innermost doubts and anxieties. He’d been in her exact position before, and their connection felt stronger because of it.

All of this was his own way to support her.

Suddenly self-conscious, Sulla spun on her heels. “Don’t count on me to make it easy for you, Prosecutor Asougi. Everyone deserves representation and a fair trial, and I’m going to assure this happens today.”

“Obviously. Wouldn’t expect any less from you.” Traces of a smile still on his lips, Asougi checked the time. “Alright, I need to get going. We’ll see each other very soon.”

His gaze lingered on Sulla for a moment, like he was meaning to add something, but no further words were spoken. He excused himself with a curt nod and headed for the exit to the defendants’ antechamber.

Just as Asougi was leaving, he passed someone in the doorway. The two men acknowledged each other with an intense stare; it only lasted a minute before Asougi left, and the newcomer entered. Sulla’s heart raced when she realised the tall, imposing figure belonged to none other than her mentor and employer.

“Lord Barok!”

She trotted over to him—the man who caused everything, yet who’d also saved her so many times in the past. Now she could only stare at him, hoping to penetrate the massive walls around his heart to receive the answers she desperately longed for.

Van Zieks looked around the lobby before his gaze landed on Sulla. “It seems you’re plenty prepared, judging by the unexpected visitor.”

“He just wanted to greet me.” Sulla felt the need to explain herself. “But anyway, are you sure about this, Lord Barok? Your presence will inevitably fuel gossip.”

“Gossip is no concern of mine.”

To that, Sulla could only sigh.

Of course Barok van Zieks would never back out of his word, least of all of one given to his subordinate. He’d promised to accompany her, so he showed up. Still, the whole situation was so unreal that Sulla couldn’t wrap her head around it. Perhaps she was starting to lose her mind.

Sulla Coyell, the defence attorney, and Barok van Zieks, her legal assistance.

This would certainly prove one of the most memorable trials in the history of the Old Bailey.

“Thank you. It’s a reassurance to have you here.” Even if he was the one who’d recommended her in the first place.

As they waited for the trial to begin, Sulla couldn’t stop boring holes in the side of van Zieks’s skull, while van Zieks himself kept staring in the distance. The defendant, too, hadn’t moved an inch since sitting down; the two of them resembled stone statues, perfectly still, detached, unaffected.

If only Sulla could boast a similar level of composure.

February 4, 1901

The Old Bailey Courtroom

“In the name of His Majesty the King, I hereby declare this court to be in session. I now call upon the counsels for the prosecution and the defence to declare their willingness to proceed.”

Sulla’s first trial as a defence attorney set off with a bit of discomfort—His Majesty instead of Her Majesty. Not even three weeks had passed since the Queen’s death and it would be a long time before Sulla got used to the change.

Across the courtroom, Asougi’s burning gaze kept her on her toes. “The prosecution is ready, My Lord.”

“The defence… is ready, My Lord,” Sulla managed to utter.

Standing behind the defence’s bench revealed a new, intimidating perspective on this courtroom. Many years ago, she’d stood here as the accused. Looking back now, Sulla only vaguely remembered the dread, the despair and the hopelessness, but her current state of mind wasn’t at all unlike it.

On her right stood van Zieks, his face stoic regardless of the circumstances. On her left sat the defendant.

The judge shot Sulla a prolonged stare. She nearly broke out in a cold sweat at having this powerful glare directed at her personally.

“Miss Coyell, is it? It’s been a long time since I last heard about you.”

The things he’d heard couldn’t have been anything favourable. “Yes, My Lord.”

“To think that you’d stand behind the bench again—as the defence at that. I wonder if the case of your mother has finally been solved?”

Sulla flinched. Did this old judge really remember that trial? She glanced across the jury and realised—much to her horror—that all the gazes were glued to her, full of scrutiny, condemning her for the crime she’d never been completely absolved of.

She gripped the desk, her legs threatening to give way from underneath. The mantra in her brain screamed red alert: I can’t do it. I can’t do it. Please let me leave. Please let me leave.

“And you, Lord van Zieks?” Not acquiring any sort of coherent reply from Sulla, the judge addressed van Zieks at her side. “Your presence on the defence’s side shall go down in history as the most unexpected event, dare I say. Am I to understand you favour one of your disciples more than the other?”

The man once called the Reaper of the Bailey merely offered a curt bow of his head. “This trial lies in both of their capable hands. My lack of experience with the defence is surely known to everyone present—you can rest assured it won’t impact the proceedings.”

In other words, he didn’t stand by Sulla’s side to favour her over Asougi, nor to offer her any substantial legal help. He stood there to bear the responsibility of dragging his terrified paralegal into the case, and as moral support.

“If I may,” interrupted Asougi. The jury reluctantly turned to look at him. “The defence’s background is of no importance to this case. As long as she is capable of defending her client, I see no point in pursuing the old rumours or questioning her co-counsel.”

The judge adjusted his wig, perplexed at Asougi’s comment. “Why, Mr Asougi. I certainly never expected to hear such words from you.”

“As Lord van Zieks’s disciple, I take pride in upholding the values I’ve learned from him.”

The whole courtroom went quiet in awe. No one expected the young Japanese prosecutor to express his loyalty to van Zieks so openly. Sulla, too, gave him a wide-eyed look. He merely nodded, as if cutting the prattle short was every prosecutor’s first duty.

“Very well.” Having composed himself, the judge continued the proceedings. “Let us begin the trial then. Mr Asougi, the prosecution’s opening statement, please.”

Without further ado, Asougi reached for a stack of documents on his desk—no doubt, well researched and prepared, even without the usual help of a paralegal. Taking one from the top of the pile, he read the contents out loud.

“The defendant, Kate Linen, murdered a month-year-old baby in cold blood.” Straight to the point, concluded Sulla with a chill down her spine. “She earned a living by baby farming—essentially adopting unwanted infants for a fee. Sometime last month, Mrs Linen acquired custody of a baby girl from an unmarried mother by the name of Donna Stringer. Last week, said baby was found dumped in the Thames.” Asougi made a short pause to amplify the point, his stern expression briefly turning to the defendant at Sulla’s side. “Scotland Yard conducted a microscopic analysis of the wrapping paper around the body, which led them to uncover the name and address of Mrs Linen. The prosecution shall present ample evidence and witness testimony to prove that Miss Linen maliciously murdered the baby to pocket the adoption fee.”

Icy silence fell in the courtroom, the cruelty of the crime far too horrible to comprehend.

Feeling a shiver run down her spine, Sulla glanced to her left, and was met with a perfectly emotionless stare from Mrs Linen. The woman remained calm, almost inhumanely so, as if the prosecution’s assertion meant nothing to her.

Sulla averted her gaze. Defending this woman was a mistake. Why did she agree? Why did van Zieks even suggest such an asinine idea?

The judge wiped his forehead, also struck by Asougi’s words. “What’s the defence’s stance?”

Having studied under the best prosecutor in London, Sulla knew the British law inside out—in other words, she possessed every skill necessary to conduct this defence. She braced herself; van Zieks couldn’t (and wouldn’t) save her his time. No matter the outcome, she needed to do this with her own abilities.

“The defence’s assertion is this, My Lord.” She took a deep breath before allowing herself to drift. “The death of the child is, no question, a tragedy. However, Mrs Linen’s guilt leaves a lot of room for doubt. The child could have died of natural reasons or have been thrown into the Thames by someone else. It is the defence’s assertion that the cause of death was not malicious murder by Mrs Linen.”

Her opening statement proved much shorter, much less confident than Asougi’s. In the courtroom, the charisma of the counsel mattered as much as their words; when it came to that, Sulla could never compete with Asougi.

And it’s not like she had to. The jury had already started assuming. She didn’t need to hear their whispers to guess what.

This lass over there—just remember the case from seven years ago. She killed her mother and now she’s defending a murderer. Look at the Reaper at her side! People of her kind flock together, don’t they?

Across the courtroom, Asougi listened on with his arms folded.

Each word stung; Sulla wished the earth would swallow her. As a paralegal, thick skin was a given, but this was too much. She couldn’t bear feeling so exposed for everyone, bare against their lashing tongues, as if she herself was the one being judged—

Asougi hit his desk with his fist.

The sudden sound startled the jury, and Sulla flinched too. The whispers died down in an instant. Even van Zieks glanced at his disciple, perhaps to question his motives.

“If I may, My Lord,” demanded Asougi. “The prosecution wishes to summon the first witness now.”

“Ah… Yes, yes of course.”

No one dared to further comment on Asougi’s ruthless measures.

As Sulla watched the bailiff exit the courtroom to bring the witness, her gaze briefly met Asougi’s. She had an inkling who the prosecution’s first weapon would be. The testimony would determine the crucial facts—and she would need to find holes in it.

⚖︎

Clad in oversized, well-maintained but clearly old clothes, the young woman barely made a presence for herself in this grand courtroom. She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve as she took the witness stand. Her puffy eyes, the paleness in her face—everything indicated deep-seated misery.

“Please state your name and occupation for the court,” asked Asougi.

The woman wiped her face with a handkerchief before speaking up. Sulla had to strain her ears to even hear that quiet voice. “Donna Stringer. I work as a barmaid.”

“What’s your relation to the defendant?”

“Around mid-January, I… I entrusted my daughter to this woman.”

The reply drowned in muffled sobs as Miss Stringer brought another handkerchief to her face. The jury immediately resumed their hushed, angered whispers; Asougi couldn’t ask for a better witness to sway them even if he tried.

“A natural course of events,” van Zieks spoke for the first time since the judge had addressed him. Arms folded, he gazed at the state of the courtroom with a stern, Reaper-like frown. “I take it you’re not surprised, Karma?”

She smiled wryly. “No, I’m not… Although I admit, lack of surprise doesn’t lift my spirits in the slightest.”

Every prosecutor worth their salt would bend over backwards to bring the most damning witness possible. Asougi wouldn’t make an exception just because his rival today happened to be a person who typically assisted him.

“Wrong approach. You have personal knowledge of prosecuting—and of Mr Asougi,” pressed van Zieks. “Use it wisely.”

His words shocked Sulla; she wasn’t expecting advice, let alone before the first duel. But before she could decipher the riddle, Asougi—an expert warrior both in fencing and in wits—already dealt the first strike.

“Now, Miss Stringer. The court would like to hear about what happened over the past month.” He paused, as if hesitating whether to specify. “About the adoption process and your interactions with the accused.”

Suppressing her sobs, Miss Stringer nodded. While having to relieve the painful memories, she appeared completely on the prosecution’s side. It didn’t surprise Sulla—despite all his fierceness, she’d come to learn that Asougi possessed an irresistible charm.

“Alright, so where do I start…” Miss Stringer looked around for help, but Asougi simply nodded to encourage her to speak. “As I already explained to the police, I’m not married. Having a daughter was a great blessing, but also a luxury. Weeks after her birth I realised I couldn’t afford to k-keep her.” Tears fells down her cheeks. She must have loved the child despite her difficult situation. “Then I noticed a newspaper advertisement—an offer from Mrs Linen to take in a healthy baby girl for a mere ten pounds upfront.”

“Did you not find it suspicious?” inquired Asougi. “You stated yourself that childcare is costly. Most people would require a weekly fee for continuous labour.”

Miss Stringer shook her head. “Frankly, it did strike me as strange, but the woman insisted on a one-time fee. After some back-and-forth I grew desperate—in the end, I paid her the price she wanted. But parting ways with the little one was hard, so hard. I couldn’t help myself and wrote to Mrs Linen on the same week, thanking her and asking how my daughter was doing.”

“What did the accused reply?”

“That’s the thing—there was no reply.” This time the sobs muffled her voice into an incoherent mess. “I waited a week before sending another letter, also without a reply. At some point I decided to visit her, but she’d apparently moved lodgings and I lost all point of contact. And then the police came, they asked me to confirm the… the…”

“The identity of the body,” finished Asougi.

Further testimony seemed impossible because Miss Stringer broke down crying. Several juries also pulled out handkerchiefs and the courtroom was filled with the sound of sobs and blowing noses.

“Counsel for the defence.” The judge, also moved to tears, addressed Sulla. “Perhaps it would be common courtesy to skip the cross-examination? Let this poor woman get some peace.”

“No, My Lord!” Frustration bubbled inside Sulla. By pushing for the cross-examination, she was going to become the bad guy. “Even if Miss Stringer is suffering, she has testified, so the defence has a right to conduct the cross-examination. I fully wish to exercise that right.”

“But what do you hope to achieve? Surely, pestering the witness will hardly bring us closer to the truth?”

With that, Sulla had to agree. But she didn’t voice this agreement; she only shook her head and pierced the judge with a determined stare.

“We cannot know unless we try. So please. Allow me to cross-examine the witness.”

Wiping his forehead, the judge sighed. “Very well, Miss Coyell. Let me just warn you: I shall not tolerate pointless questions. Is that clear?”

“Yes… My Lord!”

Sulla straightened her back as if to dream her feigned confidence into reality. This would be the first cross-examination in her life, yet her mind was completely blank—even the panic had dissipated, replaced by a complete emptiness.

“Karma,” whispered van Zieks, his eyes glued to the witness. “Tread carefully. If you misstep, the jury will rule.”

Of course, she knew. The common folk’s emotionality was something she and Asougi had frequently made use of during their trials. This time it would become an obstacle in Sulla’s path, and she would need to learn how to bypass it.

She took a deep breath.

“Miss Stringer,” she called out and realised with content that her voice wasn’t shaking. “Your letters to Mrs Linen received no reply. And when you attempted visiting her at home, she didn’t live there anymore—is that correct?”

“Y… yes. That’s correct,” replied Miss Stringer, anxiously fiddling with her handkerchief.

“And she didn’t mention any plans of moving when you two conducted the adoption?”

“No.” The woman sniffed. “At first I thought Mrs Linen was simply too busy to reply, but after the second letter—after visiting her home and not finding her there—it all felt like she hid this fact from me on purpose, to escape my sight.”

Sulla perked up at that comment. The slightest tugging at the back of her mind one second, and the next her lawyer’s instincts went haywire like one of Holmes’s malfunctioning machineries. This was her chance—Miss Stringer’s phrasing could be twisted to the defence’s advantage.

Slowly, as if to prolong the moment, Sulla pointed a finger forward. She relished in the feeling for a briefest second before exclaiming:

“Objection!”

The time seemed to stop in the courtroom. In that moment, Sulla held all the cards. She noticed the judge’s astonished expression, the jury’s distrust, Mrs Linen’s indifference, the witness’s distress. But she also saw van Zieks’s grimness and Asougi’s half-smirk.

The last time she yelled this small word in the courtroom must have been many years ago, back when she was still van Zieks’s apprentice. Everything was different now, including her position, even her side in the courtroom. However, the feeling of power never seemed to change.

The judge shifted in his seat. “C-counsel? Do you have something to say?”

“I do, My Lord,” asserted Sulla, her finger still pointing forward. “I’m sorry, Miss Stringer, but your claim of Mrs Linen’s escape is nothing but speculation.” She folded her arms. “Quite the contrary, I believe the accused’s change of residence provides us with a perfect explanation why her actions bore no malicious intent.”

“Interesting,” interrupted Asougi. His smirk was gone, and the fierce prosecutor had returned. “Do enlighten us about this supposed explanation.”

Any other debuting attorney would panic when facing Asougi’s intimidating demeanour. Sulla herself felt her heart race and her palms sweat. But she wouldn’t chicken out—if anything, she decided to let this fuel her determination.

“First of all, the letters. My client couldn’t have replied if she never received them, which seems to be the case here. Now, you may question why Miss Stringer was never informed of the new address… But let’s consider Mrs Linen’s situation for a moment.” Sulla flicked the paper with her finger. “Her original residence was hardly impressive. She was struggling. Perhaps the finances grew so dire that she had to move to a cheaper place basically overnight. Isn’t it logical that she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to reach out to Miss Stringer?”

With that, Sulla relaxed a bit. At least she just made a decent point. Her relief only lasted a moment, however, when Asougi slammed his desk again.

“Sorry, but my learned friend’s assertion is absolutely nonsensical.”

“W… What?!”

“If the defendant was struggling financially, why did she adopt an additional child? That’s absurd—unless she killed the baby shortly afterwards, of course.”

“Objection!” Sulla stuttered out. Each misstep could strangle her defence now. “She could absolutely support herself on baby farming. A lot of women do.”

“Heh.” With a smirk, Asougi tapped his temple. “Indeed they do. In fact, the accused had multiple children in her care, as evidenced by numerous childcare items and children’s clothes found in her house—her actual house, not the one where she pretended to live when she met Miss Stringer. However, does the defence not realise the implications?”

Cold sweat trickled down Sulla’s spine.

“An abundance of baby items, but not enough babies,” repeated Asougi. “Clearly the defendant has been murdering these infants for a while.”

“Aaagh!”

The courtroom bustled. As Sulla gripped the edge of her desk to somehow recover from the damage, the jury’s voices shot at her like venomous arrows.

“How dare she badger a grieving mother?”

“Preposterous! The defendant’s guilt is clear as a day!”

“This defence counsel, no wonder she’s called a demon. Solidarity of murderers!”

“Ordar! Ordaaar!” The judge slammed his gavel, seemingly to contain himself rather than to actually enforce silence in the courtroom. “What is the meaning of this, Mr Asougi? Does the prosecution intend to pile more crimes on the defendant’s shoulders?”

Nodding, Asougi pulled out another document. “Unfortunately. This woman has accepted a worrying number of babies during the past year—along with the adoption fees, of course. What simpler method to ensure she can pocket all the money than to have the children die as soon as possible?”

“N-no!” exclaimed Sulla, but her voice drowned in the uproar.

Every juror’s hand fidgeted above their desks, ready to cast a damning vote. The judge continued gripping his gavel for dear life. At Sulla’s side, van Zieks watched the situation unfold with his arms crossed and no intention to intervene.

As the realisation dawned on her, Sulla held her head in her hands. There was no way to refute the prosecution’s allegation. The image of gory murders reminded her of Jack the Ripper, whose chilling memory remained fresh among the Londoners.

She didn’t dare to look up while anticipating the final blow—but it never came.

“Won’t my learned friend raise her head?” Asougi spoke instead.

“What…?”

Shocked, Sulla slowly unpeeled her hands away from her face. Opposite her, Asougi’s eyes burned with resolve.

“The way you conduct herself in this courtroom, those mannerisms… They are really a splitting image of the man beside you.”

Sulla’s gaze flickered towards van Zieks, who watched Asougi but remained silent. “What do you mean?”

“Lord Barok van Zieks, one of the most renowned prosecutors in London—his influence on you is apparent to every person watching this trial right now.” With this, Asougi looked over the jury and the gallery. Hushed whispers slowly died down under his gaze. “And if I’m any authority to talk, now is the perfect time to utilise his infuriating persistence.”

A snort escaped van Zieks’s lips. His disciple tended to express respect in a very roundabout way.

Still, Sulla had no idea where Asougi was going with this claim. She’d never even realised how much van Zieks rubbed off on her—she never developed a habit of pouring wine or smashing hallowed chalices, after all.

But Asougi was clearly talking about something innate. Infuriating persistence? Should she raise an objection now, in the direst of times, despite not having the slightest idea how to turn the tables?

“Hold it!”

All of a sudden, a voice cut through the air like a knife.

Sulla froze. She didn’t connect the dots at first, considering she’d never heard this voice before. It came from her left. And as she turned around, there was no mistaking.

The defendant, Kate Linen, stood up.

“May I please say something, My Lord?” she spoke for the first time during the trial, and for the first time since Sulla had agreed to represent her. Her wrinkled face and stocky built could well deceive desperate mothers or emotional jurors, but her eyes—blue and icy like a freezing storm—concealed a layer of calculation.

Taken aback, the judge cleared his throat. “The defendant may speak.”

Mrs Linen’s gaze briefly flickered to the side. Perhaps Sulla was imagining things, but it seemed like the corner of her lips twitched.

“I admit to murdering Miss Stringer’s baby girl.”

“W… what?!”

Numerous people yelled in shock at the same time: Sulla, the judge, all of the jury. Even Asougi lost his composure and glared at the defence with visible dismay. The next second an animalistic cry pierced the courtroom—it was Miss Stringer who attempted to lunge at Mrs Linen before the bailiff seized her.

The situation collapsed into complete disarray.

The judge smashed his gavel, although it barely rose above the grieving mother’s continuous screams. “Ordar! Ordar! Bailiff! Escort Miss Stringer outside, please.” Only after the woman was removed from the courtroom, he took a few deep breaths and wiped his sweating forehead. “Defendant, why are you admitting guilt after the prosecution has revealed important evidence?”

Mrs Linen clasped her hands together in prayer. “Because my Maker in Heaven will judge me fairly for my deeds. He sees through the dark veil that blinded me when I committed these atrocities.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snarled Asougi.

Inhaling deeply, Mrs Linen lowered her connected palms. She looked around the courtroom, but her gaze never landed on who was supposed to be her biggest ally.

“My Lord, I used to be admitted to a mental asylum. They released me as my health improved, but it pains me to realise their decision might have been premature.”

“Wait, are you—”

But before Sulla could stop her client from undermining their case, Asougi relieved her of this task by punching his desk. “This is absurd! The defendant is claiming insanity to escape responsibility.”

“Objection!” Even though Sulla felt similarly, she also hit her desk and pierced Asougi with a sharp gaze. “My Lord, we need to examine the possibility my client just brought to light. A mentally ill person can’t bear full responsibility for her actions!”

Yet Asougi only smirked back. Sulla’s blood froze in her veins; every frail sense of security seemed to crumble right from under her feet.

“Perfect timing, my learned friend. The prosecution happens to have a witness prepared to testify about this matter.”

“W-what…?” Sulla could barely believe it. “Another witness?”

“Who are you talking about, counsel?” asked the judge.

Before replying, Asougi took a prolonged look at Mrs Linen. In a briefest of seconds, the woman shifted in her seat.

“The daughter of the accused.”

Sulla’s heart raced. At her side, van Zieks’s expression grew even sterner. “Behind the first hurdle lies another, taller one. That’s how we settle things.”

Unfortunately, he was right. The prosecution would always calculate the best order of witnesses, pick the most impactful moment to have them testify. Finding herself on the opposite side, Sulla finally understood just how formidable that tactic was.

“Very well.” With a smash of the gavel, the judge dropped the curtain on the first turbulent part of the trial. “The court shall take a short recess. We shall resume the proceedings in fifteen minutes.”

⚖︎

The course of the trial left Sulla restless and fidgety as she strolled back and forth in the defendants’ antechamber. All attempts to talk to Mrs Linen proved futile—she wouldn’t explain her sudden confession nor express opinions about the upcoming testimony. In other words, the defence had absolutely no means to prepare.

Frankly speaking, Sulla was growing angry. Angry at the woman’s uncooperativeness, at herself for struggling—and at van Zieks for his everlasting composure she couldn’t seem to imitate. Had Asougi really claim she took after her mentor? It sounded like a poor joke.

The recess ended soon and as everyone returned to the courtroom, another young woman took the witness stand. Similar in age to Miss Stringer, she carried herself with dignity so unfitting the grim atmosphere of the trial. A worrisome look she offered towards her mother did not spoil her beautiful features.

Asougi began his questioning. “Please state your name and occupation.”

“My name is Nancy Linen,” the answer came without a hint of anxiety or hesitation. “I work as a governess in my master’s household.”

“You’re the daughter of the accused, correct?”

“Yes.”

From Sulla’s experience, this young woman was the perfect witness for the prosecution: down-to-earth, only answering the questions asked, no unnecessary comments, no difficulties. It would be incredibly hard to discredit someone like that.

“I assume you’re familiar with the case, Miss Linen?” asked Asougi, checking his documents. “Your mother currently stands accused of infanticide.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Nancy remained calm. “And that is precisely why I decided to testify today. Because I feel what I have to say might be of utmost importance.”

Sulla stopped herself from sighing. Things couldn’t get any worse.

The jury’s opinion seemed firm on the guilty verdict, but their fidgeting fingers still hadn’t cast the votes. Despite all the bias, they wished to hear the daughter’s spicy testimony—for their personal curiosity, if nothing else.

“In that case, Miss Linen”—Asougi pointed his finger at the defendant—“please tell the court about your mother’s admittance to a mental asylum two years ago.”

“Y… yes.”

For the first time, Nancy displayed a bit of hesitation. Her lip quivered, but she didn’t look at Mrs Linen anymore.

“We used to live in Taunton until two years ago. Mother earned a living by caring for infants for a fee. Since I still lived with her back then, I often felt like she took in way too many babies than she could care for.”

“Did you ever interact with the children?”

“Not particularly. I worked long hours and mother never allowed me to help her out. Besides, having no children of my own, I concluded my impressions must be exaggerated and that mother was faring remarkably well. At least I believed so until someone else also expressed their doubts.”

“What do you mean by that?” inquired the judge.

“Well… As you’re aware, some children are born weak or sick. Mother had to bury several such babies who passed away from natural causes. But then a doctor complained about the number of death certificates he’d filled out for her—more than appeared natural.”

Nancy paused for a moment, exchanging glances with Asougi.

“Not long afterwards, mother announced that we would be relocating to London. I followed her and fully intended to focus on helping her out this time—you see, I believed the deaths could have been prevented—but before any of this happened, she was admitted to a mental asylum for a year. This shocked me, and I had to look for a new job in London. This is how I became a governess.”

“In other words… the accused conveniently disappeared in a mental asylum shortly after someone noticed her suspicious actions.”

“I couldn’t say for sure, sir—but it certainly might appear that way.”

“Objection! That’s leading!” protested Sulla with a slam of her desk. “You should know better than to resort to underhanded practices, Prosecutor Asougi.”

But he simply shrugged. “Underhanded? All I did was confirm the facts with the witness. Is the defence already out of ideas?”

“Absolutely not! You—”

“Ordar!” yelled the judge, accentuated by the slam of his gavel. “Before the counsels engage in a pointless quarrel, how about we proceed with the cross-examination? You’re ready, I take it, Miss Coyell?”

“Y-yes… I apologise, My Lord.”

Slightly embarrassed with her outburst, Sulla thought for a moment. Confirming the notes she had taken during the investigation, a question popped in her mind.

“Miss Linen, you used to live with your mother in Taunton. After relocating to London, she got admitted to a mental asylum and you two went separate paths. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“According to what you said earlier, Mrs Linen was released after a year. What was her mental state like upon discharge?”

Nancy shifted on her feet, suddenly uneasy. “I’m sorry—we’ve had no personal contact since her admittance two years ago. We drifted apart… as it happens.”

A hush resounded among the jury, who apparently pitied this young woman despite her dignity and good standing. After all, she had a supposed murderer as a mother.

But Sulla’s instincts sharpened again. This witness wasn’t lying, at least not consciously—yet the blatant contradiction stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Objection!” She consulted her notes for the second time, before producing a piece of evidence, a neatly written letter. “Miss Linen, you claim to have had drifted apart with your mother in the past two years. In that case, what do you have to say about this?”

“What’s that?” Nancy’s eyes widened.

“Ah, so you’ve reached this far.” In comparison, Asougi didn’t seem surprised.

“Miss Linen,” repeated Sulla. “You kept written correspondence with your mother during her stay in the asylum. This is one of the letters you wrote.”

Only then did Nancy finally comprehend. She slowly regained her composure, much to Sulla’s dismay.

“Well, it’s not quite as significant as you make it sound. It’s true that I wrote a letter to mother. However, we didn’t correspond regularly, and our contact ceased after my letter.”

“Oh, is that so? I’m not surprised,” hummed Sulla as she unfolded the letter. “What you wrote—it’s quite full of anger. To quote: ‘While I wish you well, I shall strive not to see your face again, mother. Let me live in peace and hopefully you can also achieve yours.’” She accented the passage with a pause before addressing the witness again. “In other words, Miss Linen, you and your mother had a fall-out.”

Nancy remained silent, not confirming nor denying Sulla’s words.

“Where is my learned friend going with this?” responded Asougi in her stead. “The witness mentioned growing suspicious regarding the accused’s baby farming business and the supposed mental illness. It’s only natural she would want nothing to do with her.”

“Are you sure that’s the real reason? Did something else not happen between them—something that would cause the daughter to testify against her mother?”

“The background of the two women was checked, but no such conflict was discovered. Unless you have the evidence to support your claim…?”

“I—”

Sulla’s voice got stuck in her throat, her palms suddenly sweaty. The current line of reasoning was a complete bluff; she was only pursuing it to gain time, to prevent the jury from swaying towards total animosity.

But the next second all of her hopes turned to dust.

“My Lord!” the foreman exclaimed, raising his hand. “This has been one exhausting trial. As me and my comrades believe no further facts can be brought to light, we have reached a verdict.”

“Already?” asked the judge in surprise.

“Yes. This defence counsel—she’s been trying hard to cast doubt, but to no avail. We trust the testimony completely. The woman in the dock is faking mental illness!”

The foreman glared at Sulla, who squirmed under his gaze. It wasn’t her fault; she was just doing her job! But as the judge nodded at the foreman, she tried to protest, yet her voice just couldn’t come out.

Fear clutched at her throat. Even though she’d realised the doomed case from the start, she let everyone down. Her client, van Zieks, Asougi—and herself.

With a perfectly synced slam, the juries cast their votes and the scales swayed towards the guilty side.

The judge hit the gavel. “It seems we have finally uncovered the regrettable truth behind the tragic death of a child. Do the counsels have anything to add?”

Asougi shook his head. Sulla gave no reply, frozen in place.

“Miss Coyell?”

Her mind ran. She had to raise an objection—she should conduct a summation examination. This outdated practice could end up humiliating her whole career, but there was simply no way she could just let it go—

At her side, van Zieks shook his head and she couldn’t comprehend it anymore.

Seeing the defence’s lack of response, the judge only sighed. “In that case, I hereby declare the defendant, Mrs Kate Linen… guilty.”

The final slam of the gavel resounded in the courtroom like an exclamation mark. Afterwards, there was only silence.

Sulla released her breath.

February 4, 1901

The Old Bailey, Main Entrance

Upon leaving the Old Bailey, Asougi walked straight into the welcoming committee consisting of Holmes, Iris and Gina. He mentally winced—their troublesome company after a tiring trial sounded absolutely thrilling—but said nothing.

“So? So?” Brimming with excitement, Iris jumped up to his side. “How did it go? Who won? Where’s Sullie and Lord van Zieks?”

“Probably still wrapping up the formalities,” lied Asougi.

In fact, he knew very well what the unexpected defence team would be doing at this time—van Zieks receiving an earful from Sulla. And no one could blame her for demanding answers, such a stunt was a lot, even for the Reaper.

Had it been anyone else, Kate Linen’s case could have easily broken them. But Sulla would be fine. After letting out her hurt and frustration, she’d understand the lesson van Zieks wanted to teach her.

“Now, be honest, Mr Asougi,” demanded Holmes with a smug smile. “Did you struggle having Sulla as your opponent?”

“What do you think?” retorted Asougi. “Of course I did. She latched onto every tiniest bit of doubt. I can only imagine what she could achieve if her client wasn’t such a scumbag.”

His words were harsh, and Gina and Iris exchanged worried glances. Everyone knew just what sort of impossible task Sulla had had to face today. Still, in Asougi’s opinion, she’d exhausted all the existing options with the usual skill and grace.

After some time, Sulla and van Zieks finally exited the Bailey to join the commotion. The girls greeted her with a hug, and Asougi was relieved to notice she didn’t look so miserable anymore.

“Mrs Linen got transferred to the condemned cell,” said van Zieks, as if to give closure to this horrible day.

Iris and Gina dropped their jaws in shock.

“So… that means…?”

“You won, Kaz?”

Asougi shrugged. “Obviously. This case couldn’t have been more clear.”

“But… what about Sullie? Aren’t you sad?” Instead of congratulating Asougi, Iris turned to Sulla. She barely held back the tears welling up in her eyes. “It was your first defence after all…”

With a bit of a forced smile, Sulla patted the girl’s head. “It’s fine, Iris. From the very start, I knew my client had committed this terrible crime.”

“So… why did you…?”

In that moment, Sulla glanced at van Zieks with a tiniest bit of exasperation.

“As it turned out, Lord Barok has been acquainted with the man who employs Nancy Liner,” she explained. “He approached Lord Barok, asking for a favour—to recommend a defence in the trial. After learning about Nancy’s life story, he grew suspicious that Mrs Liner, when left to her own devices, could try to implicate her daughter as an accomplice.”

“Wot a roundabout way to bail someone out,” Gina snorted. “Although it must suck, to know yer mam nearly got away wiv iron girder.”

“But you certainly took some pleasure in this act of mercy, didn’t you, Mr Reaper?” Holmes leaned over towards van Zieks, elbowing him playfully. “Pitting two of your disciples against each other—what a show!”

Van Zieks grunted. “I did nothing of the sort. It was simply a favour for my acquaintance.”

As the two men went back and forth, Sulla’s giggle caught Asougi’s attention for the first time that day. She turned a total opposite from her pale, anxious self in the courtroom.

Deciding to ignore the commotion, Asougi offered her a hand.

“It was an honour to face you, Karma.”

At first, she looked startled, but then slowly accepted his handshake. “Likewise. Experiencing just how formidable a prosecutor you’ve become from the other side… it pleases me to think I might take at least part of the credit for that.”

“You certainly do. Not only you. So does Lord van Zieks, Mr Holmes… Miss Watson and Miss Lestrade too.” Looking around the five other people gathered outside the Bailey, Asougi smiled. “All of you.”

Smiling back at him, if a bit weakly, Sulla held Asougi’s hand for a while, longer than he was expecting. When she finally released it, her reddish eyes gleamed with their warm, familiar twinkle.

“Now!” exclaimed Holmes, his voice a loud rumble. “Why don’t we move along? Iris has prepared a true feast back in our flat and everyone’s invited!”

Gina stomped her foot. “Oi, ‘Olmes! How about ya move yer ass for once?! Aren’tcha ashamed of yerself?!”

“Why, Miss Lestrade, come and see for yourself. There will be three different types of meat.”

In an instant, Gina stopped yelling and wiped her watering mouth. Iris laughed, ushering everyone to go. Even van Zieks followed with visible reluctance, as he couldn’t possibly reject the girl when she pulled him by the hand.

The group scrambled across the streets of London and headed for Baker Street. Following them, Asougi spoke up to Sulla in a low voice:

“Forgive my insolence, but I do hope you’re not planning to switch to being an attorney full-time.”

“What do you mean?” she grinned at him.

“Because I couldn’t ask for a greater paralegal.”

She giggled, the colours returning to her cheeks. Without a reply, she strolled after the group to chat Iris and Gina up, and to bicker with Holmes.

Watching her skip along, Asougi let out a chuckle. Soon enough, she’d stand by his side behind the prosecutor’s bench again—and she would be wiser from today’s experience if, in the future, a similar challenge presented itself.

Chapter Text

October 6, 1901

221B Baker Street, Holmes’s Suite

When Asougi stepped into the lodgings of the great detective, everyone else—Holmes himself, Iris, Sulla, van Zieks, and Gina with Toby on her lap—were already engaging in a lively discussion over one of Iris’s special blends.

Asougi hated being late, mainly due to the attention that such a discourteous action inevitably attracted. As soon as the chatter died down and five people’s attention turned to him, Asougi covered his abashment with a cough, and stepped inside.

“Pardon my lateness.” First things first, he felt the need to explain himself. “I would have arrived together with Lord van Zieks, had some unexpected circumstances not delayed me.”

“Ah, Mr Asougi!” Rising from his seat, Holmes nearly knocked over the tableware. “The main guest always arrives last, it would seem. Iris, could you bring another teacup?”

“Sure thing.” The little girl beamed at Asougi. “Good to see you again, Kaz.”

Asougi absently wondered what even made him the main guest, but they didn’t allow him the time to ponder that problem.

As the additional teacup was brought and Asougi—forced to sit between Gina and Sulla—got served his tea and cake, the atmosphere in the room returned back to the usual hustle and bustle. Quietly sipping the tea, van Zieks was the only one to remain silent in the commotion, at least until Iris asked him his opinion on the matter, evoking particular bewilderment in the man as he geared all of his manners to meet the young girl’s expectations.

Asougi also intended to eat and drink in silence, but naturally, this company would always turn his plans to nothing.

“Say, Soggy!” Gina elbowed him, almost making him drop his cake. “While ya were late, Iris served ’er ‘andmade brownies. Ya’ve never eaten chocolate before, ‘ave ya?”

“Have you lost your mind?!” Only barely managing to save the cake, Asougi scolded Gina. “Besides, stop calling me that, Miss Lestrade. Soggy is what your pet dog becomes under typical London weather.”

“Hah! Toby’s the finest police dog. Ya can’t ‘old a candle to ‘im.”

As if in agreement, Toby tried to climb from Gina’s lap to Asougi’s. His large eyes and a lolling tongue indicated great affection. Asougi didn’t usually mind the dog, but bringing an animal to a meal overstepped quite a few boundaries in his mind.

“Do you mind?” When Gina stopped Toby from running off, Asougi forced himself into composure. This time’s tea blend tasted particularly nice. “So anyway, what did you say about brownies?”

Gina shrugged. “Ya’ve missed out by bein’ late. Too bad!”

Even though it was just a childish jab, Asougi couldn’t help feeling actual regret. Gina possessed a remarkable ability to get under his skin. It was true, he hadn’t had chocolate before—this particular curiosity never reached Japan while he was there, and while in London, Asougi had other matters to care about.

He’d be lying to claim he wasn’t curious about the taste. And to think he missed out only by being late!

However, before he could truly sulk at the missed experience, Sulla nudged him on his right.

“You’re in luck, Kazuma. I saved you a piece.” She offered him a plate with a piece of brown confectionery on it.

This time Asougi spectacularly dropped a piece of strawberry shortcake on his pure-white uniform. Seeing this, Gina burst out laughing while Toby attempted to climb Sulla’s lap next; only Iris had enough sense to pass a napkin. He cursed under his breath. Everything seemed to go wrong today.

“I—” He had to clear his throat again. First and foremost he cleaned himself with the napkin; it was going to leave a stain, but at least his pride was only barely bruised. Asougi finally accepted the plate from Sulla. “Thank you for this, Karma. Some people just enjoy kicking someone who is down,” he said, glaring at Gina. “So Miss Watson made this herself?”

“With Sullie’s and Ginny’s help!” corrected Iris. “Besides, how many times do I need to tell you to call me by my name, Kaz?”

“At least once more, Miss Watson.”

He took the bite from the brownie. The texture was unlike anything he knew: heavy, earthy, and sweet. The sweetness exploded in his mouth.

“Woa, look at ‘is face.” Gina tried joking again, but this time van Zieks reprimanded her.

“Let the man eat in piece, Miss Lestrade.”

“Yah, fine…”

Everyone in the room went quiet, savouring Asougi’s reactions as he savoured the brownie. One bite was not enough, he simply had to take another right afterwards. And then the third. As he went for the fourth, he was disappointed to discover he’d already wolfed down the whole piece.

Washing it down with the tea, Asougi sighed in bliss. “That was lovely, Miss Watson. I think I now understand why the West has gone crazy over chocolate.”

The little girl laughed, clearly pleased with the praise. “I’ll make more for you next time then.”

“Personally, I find caramel much more stimulating, if you ask me,” interjected Holmes.

“Good thing no one asked.” Sulla quickly shut him down before he could go on a whole rant about sugar intake. She turned to Asougi, peeking into his face with the same attentiveness, even though he was no longer devouring a piece of brownie. “So? Why were you late?”

Finally the big question came. Asougi sweated slightly. He knew they would want to know—it’s not like he planned to hide it anyway. Nonetheless, sharing personal matters like this wasn’t in his nature, not even among his closest co-workers in the past few months.

Mentally bracing himself, Asougi reached for his pocket and retrieved a thick envelope. He raised it for everyone to see. “Earlier today, I received a letter from Naruhodou.”

“A letter from Narudie?!” Iris gasped. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? What did he write?!”

Allowing himself only a brief moment of hesitation, Asougi unfolded the letter. Gina and Sulla on his two sides immediately leaned closer, hoping to steal curious glances into the contents of the letter. But even though Gina had made considerable progress with reading, and even though Sulla was an extensively educated gentlewoman, neither would be able to read it. After all, it was written in Japanese.

The unfolded letter was so long it fell on Asougi’s lap. He skimmed through the contents once more and pondered how to best convey the meaning to the occupants of this room. He finally opted for the simplest way.

“Both Naruhodou and Judicial Assistant Mikotoba are in good health. They have successfully defended yet another client, and Naruhodou is almost done with his post-graduate law degree. Which is the main reason why he wrote,” Asougi paused to choose his next words. “He is inviting us all to Yokohama, to attend his graduation ceremony in March next year—”

Before Asougi could finish, his voice was drowned out by a general commotion. Everyone (save for van Zieks, perhaps) gasped. Iris and Sulla clapped their hands. Gina cheered loudly. Holmes stood up, nearly knocking the tableware again.

“Did you all hear, my dear fellows?!” he exclaimed at double his usual yelling volume. “The great detective shall visit the faraway land at long last! It has been our intention for almost two years now to finally pay Mr Naruhodou a visit, right, Iris?”

“For sure!” A reaction befitting a child, Iris was already on cloud nine. “That’s so exciting! We’ll see your country with our own eyes!”

“And it is high time I finally met Kazuma’s esteemed friend.” Sulla nodded with feigned seriousness, though her twitching lip betrayed joy. “I can’t believe I am the only person here who hasn’t yet! The man is close to a legend in my eyes now.”

Asougi rubbed his temple. “Mr Holmes, could you please sit down? I haven’t even reached half of the letter yet.”

Unfortunately, it seemed Asougi would never reach half of it, because everyone’s attention turned fully to the trip to Japan. Quite frankly, Asougi supported their reaction—the letter didn’t come as a surprise, considering he and Naruhodou kept regular correspondence, but the invitation certainly did. It excited him and scared at the same time. After all, it’d been quite a while now.

Just then, van Zieks cleared his throat and spoke for the first time addressing everyone.

“By inviting ‘us’, does he actually mean all of us in this room?”

Several bated breaths resounded. No one wanted to be excluded, but Asougi knew why van Zieks would doubt Naruhodou’s hospitality. After all, Holmes and Iris had hosted Naruhodou in their own home at one point, it would make sense to invite them. But with the rest—especially the two prosecutors—he shared a rather turbulent history.

Yet there was not a shred of doubt in Asougi’s mind. “I have been exchanging letters with Naruhodou for nearly two years now. He does mean all of us, my Lord.”

“He would know,” said Sulla with a smirk. “Each time a new letter arrived, Kazuma would always, without fail, take an early break and leave the office for some privacy to read the letter. Later on, focused on writing a reply, he wouldn’t even hear me screaming into his ear.”

“Hey! Stop blabbering!” Asougi retorted at her defensively. “Well, I won’t deny that. Correspondence with Naruhodou has been my rock, so now it’s my turn to see him get a degree. In law at that. If this doesn’t prove that I was right about him, what does?”

Once upon a time, Asougi told Naruhodou ‘You’re destined to become a lawyer’. He meant it, but he never expected those words to turn into such a powerful prophecy which influenced the fate of so many people. Their paths twisted and turned, led them into unexpected corners. But only now Asougi could confidently assert that it turned out for the best.

“So?” He folded the letter and put it back in the envelope before glancing once more over the faces of his companions. “Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to watch Naruhodou’s big moment?”

“Absolutely, Mr Asougi!” yelled Holmes, dancing around.

“Absolutely, Kaz!” cheered Iris, dancing with him.

“Well, it would be discourteous to decline,” mumbled van Zieks over his teacup as if to shield himself.

Only Gina was so stunned she could barely speak. “Blimey! Japan’s so far away! An’ I can go there with y’all?”

“Certainly, Miss Lestrade.”

“Hell yeah!” She jumped up and joined Holmes and Iris in their weird dance. “We’re gonna make some trouble! Didya ‘ear, Toby?” She lifted the dog and spun him around like a little kid.

Asougi sighed. “Bringing pets on steamships is forbidden. At least make sure no one trips over him, will you?”

His mind was already giving him terrifying visions of three British crazies raising hell in the Empire of Japan. Their actions could have terrible consequences, maybe even affect the treaty between the two nations—

“Stop panicking. They’re overjoyed,” came Sulla’s voice at his right. She watched their celebratory dance with fondness. “It’s going to be a blast for them.”

Surprised, Asougi raised his head. “Well, you don’t seem quite as happy as them. Or you’re hiding it extremely well.”

“Oh, I am overjoyed alright.” She raised her head and looked at Holmes’s ceiling, dirty from the smoke from various explosions this apartment had witnessed. “After all, this could be the moment you promised me last year.”

Asougi’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time; he had to restrain himself from showing a reaction. His heart raced. Of course, he could never forget the promise he’d made to Sulla shortly after their first meeting, after learning her history and the reason she had renounced her first name.

When the time comes—when you visit Japan to reclaim your beloved blade—may I please… accompany you?

“Don’t get your hopes up,” scoffed Asougi. His feigned indifference couldn’t convince anyone, least of all Sulla. “We’ll celebrate his graduation, nothing else. I am not quite sure this will be the right time for that yet.”

“Well, it’s human to be uncertain. But you know what?” Sulla winked and her face lit up like a candle. “I’m going to trust my instincts on this one. Come on, perk up!” She nudged his side. “It’s a joyful occasion, after all.”

Asougi fruitlessly tried suppressing a smile.

December 27, 1901

SS Coral, Dining Area

The quiet of his own cabin should have been soothing. It only made Asougi restless instead.

He attempted to nap, tossing and turning in the bed, until he finally threw the covers to the floor and got up. This place was unbearable—unbearably peaceful.

It had only been a few hours since they boarded SS Coral, a steamship in Dover, bound for Yokohama. After a very early morning and quite an uncomfortable train journey to reach the port, everyone settled in their cabins. Due to fatigue, they had promised to meet at dinner in the evening and order lunches to their cabins instead.

Sitting up on the bed, Asougi brushed dishevelled hair away from his face and sighed. He couldn’t bear staying alone in his private cabin any longer that absolutely necessary. Not when the loneliness reminded him of the first time he boarded a steamship.

Almost exactly three years earlier, Asougi had embarked on the journey from his homeland to the Great British Empire, to meet his destiny. That journey had proved disastrous and miraculous all at the same time. He ended up becoming a phantom, a nameless man with no memories, guided by nothing but the fate’s siren song.

Looking back now, Asougi felt like it all had happened a whole eternity ago. He could barely remember the man he used to be and the events that led him to this place. He actually wanted to forget—only the solitude of his cabin inevitably caused unwanted memories to resurface.

This time Asougi wasn’t embarking on any sort of fateful journey. His demons had been exorcised during that secret trial two years ago. This time he would simply be returning to his homeland after three long years.

Concluding that he wouldn’t get any rest no matter how he tried, Asougi got up and left his cabin. Despite the group agreeing not to meet for lunch at this time, he made his way to the dining area. Even separated from his tripmates, at least he would mingle with the other passengers, to ensure this time would truly be different.

SS Coral had much more cabin room and accommodations that the accursed SS Alclair. It was also, obviously, more expensive, especially considering how last time Asougi’s travel expenses were covered by the foreign exchange program. Thankfully van Zieks had offered to cover half the cost for all of their group, including a special permit for Toby. Gina and Holmes in particular were extremely pleased with that.

The dining area dripped with luxury, dozens of gallant gentlemen and elegant ladies consuming their refreshments at opulent tables. It was a lively sight that immediately soothed Asougi’s strained nerves. As he scanned the area for a free seat, he was surprised to notice two familiar faces.

It was Holmes and Iris, chatting vigorously at a table for four. Even though Asougi pretended not to see them and searched for another seat, they spotted him straight away. Holmes waved at him with a wide smile.

“Great timing. Mr Asougi! Come, join us!”

With a sigh, Asougi gave up. He’d nearly forgotten how long this voyage could prove due to Holmes’s company.

“What are you conspiring this time, Mr Holmes?” He approached the table and took a seat. “Judging by your mysterious smile, you can’t be up to any good.”

Hearing that, Holmes and Iris exchanged knowing glances. Yes, they were definitely plotting something. Asougi regretted even asking.

But Holmes answered anyway. “Ah, how nice of you to ask. You see, we’re conspiring a birthday surprise for Sulla.”

“Right.”

Asougi shrugged, thinking that would be the end of it.

And then the meaning of Holmes’s words struck him.

“Wait, what?” Perplexed, Asougi blinked repeatedly. The sight of Holmes’s and Iris’s smug faces remained unchanged. “What do you mean, birthday? Today?”

“Yes, today!” Iris crossed her arms with a pout. “I usually throw her a party at home, but this year we obviously had other plans. So to make up for that, me and Holmesie have just asked the crew to throw her a special celebratory dinner later this evening.”

Asougi felt panic creep up his throat. “And you couldn’t have told me earlier? I would have chosen a later date for our voyage. Or at least I would have remembered to prepare a gift…”

“You know, Holmesie actually forgot himself,” sighed Iris.

“Pray, the great detective’s memory tends to fail.” Shameless as he was, Holmes tried to absolve himself of all guilt.

“But it’s Sullie of all people! How could you have forgotten?”

Holmes rubbed his temple. This time he actually looked apologetic. “Point taken, Iris. Believe me when I say I do not take pride in the current situation. And this is precisely why we’re throwing this dinner for Sulla later, right? We have just finished pestering—I mean pleading with the cooking staff.”

Asougi suppressed a sigh. One could always expect the worst with these two.

He tried to remember what they did last year around that time. Surely he wouldn’t have missed Sulla’s birthday? And then he recalled that last December he fell down with a cold due to the wretched London weather and couldn’t leave his lodgings for a week, right on time for Christmas. The Baker Street team visited to feed him warm soup despite his protests—but he was too weak to chase them away. So even if they’d mentioned Sulla’s birthday party, he wouldn’t have noted that information.

“Looks like I will need to run an errand once we stop in the next port,” he decided. “I hope I can hastily find something that Karma will like for her birthday.”

“Ah! So you are a true gentleman, Mr Asougi. Now…” Holmes leaned over, his voice just above a conspiring whisper. “We’re counting on you to keep our little plan a secret from Sulla until the dinner is served. Which is”—he glanced at the clock—“at 6 pm. Are we in the clear?”

Asougi scoffed. “I can keep a secret, rest assured, Mr Holmes.”

“Is that so?” With a smirk, Holmes narrowed his eyes. “This great detective is of an opinion that Sulla can read you like an open book.”

Before Asougi could protest—after all, he wasn’t that obvious!—Holmes and Iris received their ordered lunch. Of lack of better things to do, Asougi also ordered a meal for himself. They didn’t serve chicken, thank goodness. Afterwards he confirmed with a crewman that SS Coral would next stop in Dunkirk the next day. Hopefully he would be able to find a gift there—and hopefully, Sulla would not mind the delay.

⚖︎

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, with Asougi not encountering any of his friends anywhere on the ship. They were probably resting in their cabins or—in Holmes’s case—creating trouble (although the man himself would certainly call it ‘solving cases’).

Half an hour to six, Asougi arrived in the dining room. Not surprisingly, he noticed van Zieks already occupying their appointed table, sipping reddish liquid from a glass. Asougi rolled his eyes; he’d seen far too many smashed hallowed chalices not to have a visceral reaction at the sight of wine now.

He sat across the older prosecutor and nodded his head in a greeting. “You’re early, My Lord.”

“So are you, Mr Asougi.”

“You never struck me as the type to celebrate people’s birthdays.”

After a moment of silence, van Zieks set down his drink. When he raised his gaze to look at Asougi, the air seemed to freeze. “You must feel emotional to return to your homeland after such a long time. Is that not so?”

Talk about a smooth change of topics. If for nothing else, Asougi had to respect van Zieks for his commanding abilities.

His mentor was never the type to strike small talk, least of all about personal matters. Yet somehow, Asougi felt that it wasn’t idle chatter to pass the time—it was a genuine attempt to close the distance between the two of them, however small of a step it would prove.

“I am.” After a prolonged silence, Asougi nodded. “I feel happy to return, to reunite with my friends whom I haven’t seen in so long. And I believe they will also be happy to see you, My Lord.”

Van Zieks snorted. “A bold assertion.”

Indeed, a formidable prosecutor visiting the very country he used to loathe, invited by none other than his Japanese rival himself, and accompanied by his Japanese disciple—it all sounded like a bad joke. The irony would make Asougi laugh had he not experienced cruelty of fate himself.

Afterwards the conversation died down; neither of them wanted to risk crumbling the fragile peace. Eventually Holmes, Iris and Gina arrived in the dining area. Sensing the imminent chaos, van Zieks quietly said to Asougi, as if to conclude the matter:

“I do look forward to whatever awaits us in your country, Mr Asougi.”

As Holmes and the two girls took their seats, rescuing Asougi from the awkwardness of being left alone with van Zieks, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be grateful or not.

“I see that you are already engaging in pleasant conversation,” said Holmes, who apparently knew no restrain. He wore his best suit and bowtie for the occasion. “This is going to be a fantastic celebration! I’ve informed every fellow passenger to join in.”

“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten to actually invite the birthday girl?” doubted Asougi. Knowing Holmes, it wouldn’t be unheard of.

“Fret not, my dear fellow! She doesn’t have the slightest idea what we’re planning, but she will arrive at six sharp. I assure you.”

“Blimey, but this ship is really somefin’!” Gina looked around with her jaw dropped. “Toby fell asleep on the bed within seconds, and I ain’t never seen a restaurant so bleedin’ huge! I bet the food they serve is all fancy.”

“You’re really excited, aren’t you, Ginny?” laughed Iris. “I wonder what sort of tea blends they have…”

The chatter transformed into white noise in Asougi’s mind as he watched the clock. Three minutes until six, two, then one. He was anticipating Sulla’s arrival so intently he nearly forgot it was an appointment, not something set in stone.

Finally, two minutes after six, Sulla appeared at the entrance to the dining area, looking fresh and crisp as ever, almost as if they hadn’t left London at 3 am this morning. Instructed by Holmes, two members of the dining staff greeted her with a bow, while the third one brought a tray of champagne. Then, the entire staff around the room announced loudly:

“Happy birthday to Miss Sulla on her 28th birthday!”

Everyone in the dining area—including the other guests—clapped loudly. Sulla accepted the glass of champagne, but as Asougi stared at her face, he realised it wasn’t an expression of surprise. More like amusement.

Did Holmes actually mess up and give away the secret?

The mystery was soon explained once Sulla joined the group at their table.

“Happy birthday, Sullie!!”

Both Iris and Gina discarded their seats to offer Sulla a congratulating hug. The men were more restrained and simply shook her gloved hand, Holmes much more expressive with his words than van Zieks, who simply mumbled a “Congratulations” under his breath.

Asougi came forward the last. His first reaction was to bow, as was customary in his homeland. “Best wishes on your birthday, Karma. Although I regret not hearing anything about it before from Mr Holmes—”

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Sulla with a grin. “I knew from the start he’d forgotten.”

The detective nearly dropped to his knees. “You did?!”

Sulla took a sip of her champagne as she sat down. The dining staff set the rest of the champagne on the table and started serving appetisers.

“Well, I clearly saw that you were plotting something as soon as we boarded the ship, Holmes. Later on everyone was supposed to stay in their cabins, but I actually snuck out and kept an eye on you. Your actions were quite telling, you know,” she explained.

While Holmes tried to recover from the shock, Iris shrugged at him. “You had it coming, Holmesie. Next time make a memo of the people you care about. Anyway!” She pulled out a small package and offered it to Sulla. “This is from me and Ginny. We prepared it together.”

“Wait, Iris!” Holmes was still protesting. “You mean to say you prepared for this and never told me?”

Even van Zieks facepalmed. “You had it coming.”

Ignoring the commotion, Sulla unpacked the gift from its careful wrapping. What lay inside was a small plush mascot depicting a fox with red eyes and a rapier at the side. It was smiling—smirking, even—and pointing a clawed paw forward as if yelling ‘Objection!’.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Sulla, surprised and moved at the same time. “Is this me?”

Gina nodded proudly, her hands on her hips. “Iris ‘as shown me them other mascots she made of ‘er friends. We thought this would make a nice gift. Pretty neat, innit?”

“Absolutely! It’s so adorable!”

Sulla set the mascot on her lap. Even though it was a cute animal plushie, the resemblance was undeniable.

Then van Zieks gifted Sulla a new leather belt for carrying her rapier. As it turned out, only Asougi and Holmes couldn’t give Sulla anything. However, Asougi had somewhat of an advantage—after all, he never had any idea in the first place, while Holmes had forgotten.

They spent a joyful evening over a remarkably tasty dinner. And upon arriving in Dunkirk the next day, Asougi found a jewellery stall in the port. He ended up gifting Sulla a ruby brooch; Holmes tried persuading him to pass it off as their joined gift, but Asougi categorically refused.

February 20, 1902

Port of Yokohama, Quayside

Stepping onto the Japanese soil for the first time in over three years, Asougi expected overwhelming emotion. In reality, his companions made such a ruckus he simply couldn’t afford any prolonged reverence on the matter.

As the passengers were leaving the steamship, the men would typically step down first to help the ladies. Van Zieks offered his hand to Gina while Holmes attempted to carry Iris on his arm and failed miserably—after all, she was no longer a child, but a girl approaching adolescence. Watching their stunts, Asougi quickly followed suit and offered his palm to Sulla.

And then the six of them stopped in their tracks, disregarding the fact that they were blocking the path. They gazed upon the sight before them—and even though Asougi, unlike everyone else, wasn’t seeing it for the first time, he was struck by it all the same.

They had finally arrived in Japan.

What first hit Asougi’s nostrils was the scent of the sea. As per usual in an insular country surrounded by the ocean, it lingered in the air and clung to the skin. Then he started noticing small details—people’s clothes, the buildings, even the way the roads were paved. Everything looked so familiar, yet so different to what he remembered at the same time. He was truly back.

People were moving in all directions like a swarm of bees. It would be very easy to get lost, so the six of them held close. They allowed themselves a few minutes of stillness, watching the busy port of Yokohama and local residents greeting their families or visitors.

But of course, the peace couldn’t last for long.

“My first impression is,” Holmes spoke up, lifting his finger as if to assert something of great importance, “that the Japanese way of clothing proves quite a fascinating sight! The mysterious kimono, so foreign to my alien eyes. Indeed, I should try to wear one myself…”

“Why don’t you focus on the problem at hand, Mr Holmes?” Asougi hissed through his teeth. “Search for Naruhodou or the Mikotobas in the crowd. They should be expecting us.”

“’Oddo is here? Where?” Gina perked up, looking around the crowd. “Oi! ‘Oddo!”

“Don’t yell, Miss Lestrade. We don’t want to make a scene.” Van Zieks clearly dreaded the prospect of attracting attention in Japan of all places.

Surprisingly, it was Sulla who spotted Naruhodou despite never having met him.

“Aren’t they over there?” She pointed her finger towards the far end of the port, where the crowd grew thinner. “Your spiky-haired friend. I think I recognise him from the photographs you’ve shown me, Kazuma.”

Asougi cast a doubtful glance in said direction. He wasn’t actually expecting Sulla to be right, especially from such a long distance.

Yet there could be no mistaking. They were there.

The man in a black student uniform with a sword attached to his hip, accompanied by a girl wearing a floral kimono. At least a few more people at their side. In exactly that moment, they noticed the visitors and started waving; cheering voices resounded across the port.

“Narudie! Suzie!”

Unable to contain herself anymore, Iris simply dashed into the crowd, with Gina following suit as Toby barked happily. On the opposite side, Susato did the same, and so did Naruhodou despite his age. The rest followed at a walking pace, until both ensembles finally met in the very middle of the port, surrounded by hundreds of people, yet not really noticing them.

Behind Naruhodou and Susato appeared Professor Mikotoba, and Asougi was surprised to see Inspector Hosonaga, Susato’s friend Haori, and even the famous author Natsume Souseki behind. There were also some of his and Naruhodou’s former classmates in a sea of black uniforms. Both groups mingled, greeting each other. Van Zieks and Holmes shook Mikotoba’s hand as he busied himself petting Iris’s head; Gina threw herself at Susato, while Haori was abashed by the dashing sight of a ‘young English inspector lady’, which in turn attracted Hosonaga’s attention. Several Yuumei University students chatted Sulla up, starstruck by her gentlewomanly presence, but she started questioning them about Asougi’s school days instead. Everyone and anyone had so much to say to each other after months and years of absence.

A bright smile on his face, Naruhodou made sure to greet each of the visitors personally. “Mr Holmes! Lord Van Zieks! You’ve really arrived!” Both young girls clung to him in a surge of emotion. “Iris, Gina. How I have missed you! Toby, please don’t jump on me—ah, Toby—”

“Of course we did arrive, my dear fellow!” Fumbling with his pipe, Holmes put up the smuggest grin he could muster, which inevitably meant that he was also emotional. “Curiosity for the world is a great detective’s bread and butter.”

Van Zieks remained stoic. “It pleases me to see you in good health. And you too, dear madam.” He bowed at Susato.

Amidst all the chaos, Asougi stayed behind. He didn’t feel the need to insert himself untimely—in fact, he desperately wanted more time to choose the right words, but miserably enough, none came to mind.

It was too late anyway, because Naruhodou finally approached Asougi. For a prolonged moment, the two of them simply stared at each other as if not believing this was truly happening. Then Naruhodou offered his hand to Asougi—and pulled him into an embrace.

“Welcome home, my friend.”

Like magic, Asougi’s uneasiness vanished in an instant. All of a sudden, everything felt exactly alright. Everything that had happened, the turbulent water under the bridge—that was all in the past. They were here now, both changed men, both the best versions of themselves.

They patted each other on the back. Once they pulled away, Asougi shot Naruhodou a confident smile. “Yes, I’m finally back. Back after all this time.”

“Kazuma-sama!” exclaimed Susato at Naruhodou’s side. She looked on the verge of tears. “I can scarcely believe it!”

“I feel the same. Thank you for looking after him. And you, Naruhodou—thank you for looking after her.”

Both their gazes fell on the esteemed blade, Karma. As Naruhodou patted the hilt with a smile, the red headband fluttering in the sea breeze, Asougi’s chest tightened.

Forgetting all about the world around, the three of them proceeded to exchange pleasantries in Japanese. But then Sulla nudged Asougi, interrupting the conversation that she had no way of understanding.

“Hey, don’t you think you should finally introduce us, Kazuma?” she teased in English, casting curious glances at Naruhodou and Susato.

“Ah!” Susato gasped, also somewhat starstruck, and switched to English. “You must be the paralegal Kazuma-sama wrote so much about.”

“He did?”

“Of course I did, what do you think?” Asougi retorted. “I promised myself to be as open with my growth as possible. That included describing our cases in detail. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, then proceeded to do the honours. “This man here is my best friend, Ryuunosuke Naruhodou. And she is his judicial assistant, Susato Mikotoba.”

Sulla beamed. Naruhodou shook her hand in a Western manner, while Susato simply bowed.

“Sulla Coyell. It’s great to finally be able to meet you both. You’re about to graduate with a degree in law, Mr Naruhodou?” mused Sulla much to Naruhodou’s embarrassment. “Quite admirable. Kazuma has really been singing praises about your lawyering skill. You’re almost a legend back in London.”

“Ah, he’s exaggerating…” Naruhodou scratched the back of his neck.

“And you’re his sister?” Sulla smiled at Susato.

“Not by blood, but I am honoured to be called that. Thank you so much for taking care of Kazuma-sama, Miss Sulla.” Susato bowed again, twice as deeply this time. “Ever since I decided to continue being Naruhodou-sama’s judicial assistant, I worried about Kazuma-sama’s path. It is my greatest relief to see him do so well.”

Asougi rolled his eyes. “I don’t need anyone to look after me. Karma is my co-worker, not guardian.”

“Exactly, don’t worry about him! He’s the greatest prosecutor I have seen—next to Lord Barok, of course.”

The comment caused Asougi to snap at Sulla, who laughed in unison with Susato and Naruhodou.

The commotion lasted and they would have likely continued to chat at the port forever if Mikotoba hadn’t attracted everyone’s attention with a particularly loud cough.

“Now, my dear friends!” he announced in English. “Why don’t we let our guests check in, freshen up and unpack after the long trip. An hour from now, me and my daughter will be hosting dinner at our house. Everyone is invited.”

Loud cheers pierced the port, loudest by Holmes.

As the group set off for the ryokan where the visitors were about to lodge, Naruhodou whispered to Asougi, “You’re on a first name basis with your paralegal?”

“A long story,” sighed Asougi. Sooner or later he would need to summarise that story to him anyway.

⚖︎

The dinner at the Mikotobas’ brought Asougi back by many years. Nothing could compare to the homely food which he’d often find himself longing for over a miserable plate of an English breakfast. Alcohol was also served, and Holmes got tipsy in a heartbeat as he proceeded to reminiscence the old times with Mikotoba. Iris listened on with embarrassment and fascination in equal amounts.

During the party Naruhodou announced that his graduation would take place on Friday, March 21. It was swiftly decided that Asougi and the others would return to London shortly afterwards.

Once every plate got cleaned off, everyone scattered around the city. The locals desperately wanted to show the guests around, placing bets who would manage to take them to the most interesting places, show the greatest attractions, and generally amaze them the most. They split into groups: Mikotoba invited Holmes and Iris to a local research facility, Naruhodou took a stroll with van Zieks along the coast, while Susato introduced Gina to local street markets.

Asougi didn’t care about the stupid rivalry, but it was Sulla’s first time in Japan, so he wanted to make a proper impression on her. They ended up taking a walk around the city centre to help the delicious dinner settle.

“So?” asked Asougi as they strolled. “How do you enjoy Japan so far?”

“It’s remarkable! I never imagined a foreign land could be quite so different to what I know.” As per usual, Sulla paid attention to everything; her comments would often point out details that Asougi himself had never thought to notice. “The way people carry themselves, the way they speak. It’s… How should I put it?” She searched for the right word. “Full of harmony.”

Asougi knew just what she meant. Similarly, when he’d first arrived in Britain he found the common disposition way too straight-forward.

“Ah, but your cuisine blew my mind. Did Miss Susato have a hand in preparing that incredible dinner? I don’t think I can go back to British food, except for maybe Iris’s cooking,” she laughed.

“Fully agreed.”

Before Asougi realised, his feet guided them to the Imperial Yuumei University campus. They stood in front of the gates as Asougi was suddenly struck with an overwhelming wave of nostalgia.

Even though Sulla couldn’t read the university sign, she recognised the place. “Is it where you used to study law?”

“Yes. And this is where Naruhodou is going to get his post-graduate degree.”

“You know, back at the port, I talked to some of your fellow students. One of them shared a funny anecdote from back when you were a first year—a speech contest of sorts?”

Asougi groaned. “Was it Yamanashi? It had to have been.” The passage of time could never heal the scar from losing to Naruhodou that summer. “You don’t know Naruhodou that much yet, but I hope you’ll get to during our stay here. And that any future ‘anecdotes’, as you call them, you hear from me of him.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. I found that story quite endearing,” giggled Sulla, gazing at the university gate. “Are we going inside the campus? For a trip down the memory lane?”

Asougi hesitated for a moment; there would be no harm in going inside, in seeing how much things have changed or not. But then he decided against it. A shy idea had sprouted in his mind when Sulla brought back the story of the speech contest, and he couldn’t bear to face it just yet. After all, in only a few weeks they would all cross the threshold of this campus to witness Naruhodou’s big day.

“No.” Shaking his head, Asougi offered Sulla his arm with a half-smile. “Come on, let’s go. The evening is still young, and I plan to show you as much as I can before you’re completely exhausted from the trying day.”

March 4, 1902

Supreme Court of Judicature, Prosecution’s Lobby

“What a grand place,” mused Sulla, looking around the lobby. “One can clearly feel this is the place of grand ideals.”

“Hardly. Our justice system is still leagues behind the British one,” replied Asougi with his arms crossed. He remained unfazed, even though it was also his first time in this particular side of the courthouse. “At one point in time, I formed quite a lot of criticisms about the Japanese legal system. After all, it was my wish to reform it.”

Sulla stopped in her tracks. “And now it isn’t?”

“This country has Naruhodou now. I’m leaving its future in his capable hands. There’s nothing I could achieve what he couldn’t.”

Originally a defence lawyer, Asougi’s twisted fate caused him to become a prosecutor. He’d prosecuted numerous trials in Britain since then, but he’d never expect being permitted to prosecute a case in Japan. He used to act as the defence attorney in this very court many years ago after all.

Yet he and Naruhodou inevitably had to meet in court. Both of them knew it. And the local judiciary, having heard of Asougi’s accomplishments in Britain, had allowed him to take up a case as the acting prosecutor—a case with Naruhodou as the defence counsel. Then they spent a week familiarising themselves with the case, investigating, until the date of the trial got announced.

At long last, the two of them would face in the court.

“It’s too bad I can’t go inside. I should dearly like to assist you as usual—or at least watch your duel.”

Asougi sent Sulla a firm glare. Even though she and Susato had accompanied their lawyers on the investigation, the outdated rule of no women allowed in the courtroom meant that both counsels would enter the battle on their own.

“Yes, regrettable indeed. But perhaps it’s for the best this time. Both of us will fight relying on our own skills only.”

Nodding, Sulla leaned back in her seat. She didn’t look offended at Asougi’s assertion. “I get it. You’re that type of person after all.”

Shortly before the beginning of the trial, a bailiff entered the Prosecution’s Lobby, informing of a visitor. Leaving Sulla in the lobby, Asougi excused himself. Much to his expectations, it was Professor Mikotoba.

The man greeted Asougi with a content smile. “So it finally happens, doesn’t it? Look how far you’ve come, Asougi-kun.”

“Thank you, Professor. You wanted to see me?”

With a nod, Mikotoba produced a document and showed it to Asougi. It bore a familiar official stamp.

“There was very little time left, so I pulled some strings as you requested. As a result, you have been granted a special permission. Once we submit the necessary paperwork, you should be accepted just in time for the next month.”

A wave of relief washed over Asougi. At least that was one less worry on his mind before the fateful trial. “Thank you very much, Professor. Words can’t express how indebted I am to you.”

“And I am glad to see you embark on this path, despite all circumstances. I have no doubt that you will emerge an even more skilled lawyer than now.” Mikotoba peeked into Asougi’s expression for a moment. “So have you told the others your decision yet?”

Asougi hesitated. That was something he had yet to think through. He knew he would need to share, sooner rather than later, but for now all of his focus was on today’s proceedings.

“No, I have not. At the very least I want to wait until the outcome of my trial against Naruhodou.”

“So be it.” Mikotoba nodded. “If you ask me, I believe you’re about to achieve grand things, my boy. And whatever you may require, I will lend you a hand.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“Now go. The trial is about to begin.” He laughed heartily. “I am looking forward to witnessing your skills. Both of you.”

Bidding Mikotoba farewell with the deepest bow, Asougi returned to the Prosecution’s Lobby. Much to his surprise, Sulla had vanished. He hoped she would at least wish him good luck; she wanted to watch the trial so badly after all.

Nevertheless, nothing could cloud Asougi’s confidence now. He would face Naruhodou. And regardless of the outcome, the two of them would finally realise their destiny.

He proceeded to the courtroom. Once both counsels stood behind their benches and the judge—someone young, a new face—opened the proceedings, Asougi’s gaze met Naruhodou’s across the courtroom.

Both men smiled at each other.

For the first time in years, Asougi felt as if the sun had finally broken through the heavy clouds in his heart.

“The defence is ready, Your Excellency.”

“The prosecution is ready, Your Excellency.”

⚖︎

After the verdict, Naruhodou and Asougi were greeted by quite a crowd cheering for them outside. They both found themselves shaking many hands and receiving many congratulations. Some newspaper journalists even wished to interview them, claiming that this trial would be ‘The start of the new era for Japanese legal system’.

As it turned out, the female part of the ensemble couldn’t help themselves and sneaked into the courtroom to watch the proceedings. Apparently, Susato had mastered the art of male disguise with Haori’s help. Each of them—including Sulla, Iris and Gina—donning male school uniforms and hair hidden under student caps, looked quite ridiculous.

“Two law practitioners committing illegal acts to have their way. How adequate,” van Zieks jabbed at Sulla and Susato.

“You were an accomplice, Lord Barok. After all, you didn’t give us away,” protested Sulla with a smug expression. “Just because we’re both women shouldn’t make us miss such an important event.”

“Quite right!” exclaimed Susato. “It was an incredible trial. I could barely contain my emotion while watching the two of you.”

Despite all the excitement from a moment ago, Asougi had to agree with his mentor. “Why don’t you all visit a washroom and take off this silly disguise? You’re an eyesore.”

“Don’t be so rude, Kaz!” pouted Iris. “Holmesie even said I could pose as a young great detective in this outfit.”

“At least they’re not posing as my cousins this time…” added Naruhodou.

There was a ton of laughter and joy, and then the commotion moved to the Mikotoba home again, where the girls finally returned to their regular selves.

As the evening approached, Holmes, van Zieks, Gina and Iris gradually left to rest for the night in their lodgings at the ryokan. Only Asougi and Sulla remained by Naruhodou’s request.

“Asougi. Could you and Miss Sulla spare me a moment? You too, Susato-san, if you please.”

“What’s that?” asked Asougi, but the friend explained nothing. He simply guided them outside to the Japanese-style garden behind the house, sent off by Professor Mikotoba’s knowing gaze.

The sun was already setting, illuminating the garden and casting long shadows. The solemn atmosphere aroused anxiety in Asougi. Naruhodou was his best friend, but he was also a clumsy, honest, indescribable man. Whatever caused him to act like this had to be very important.

Naruhodou looked Asougi in the eye, expression stern. And then he reached for his hip, producing a sheathed Japanese sword for everyone to see.

Asougi’s eyes widened.

“What’s the meaning of this, Naruhodou?”

The stern expression in Naruhodou’s face remained unchanged. “Let me put this plainly: I’ve taken care of Karma for a long time now. Now it’s time for her to return to you.”

“What? Have you gone mad…?”

“Kazuma-sama!” pleaded Susato, her voice trembling. “You performed so well in the courtroom today. Please hear Naruhodou-sama out.”

Forcing himself to silence, Asougi lowered his gaze on the sword. Karma, the soul of the Asougi clan. As ever, a red headband was wrapped around her sheath, and as ever, it soothed him just to gaze upon her. How dearly he’d missed her. Even now he longed to just reach out and take her from Naruhodou’s hands.

But did he really have a right?

Sulla peeked over Asougi’s shoulder. “So this is Karma… What a beautiful blade.”

“Take it, Asougi.” With that, Naruhodou presented it forward. “That’s the way it should be.”

Asougi swallowed hard to regain control over himself. He peeked into Naruhodou’s eyes for confirmation, only to find unshaken resolve. As always, this man’s strong will could never be rivalled. Asougi envied him for that.

Feeling everyone’s eyes on himself, Asougi slowly stepped forward. He extended his hand, letting it hover over Karma as he hesitated. If only he’d possessed Naruhodou’s resolve, he would never hesitate, surely.

So Asougi decided to find that resolve within himself.

Breath hitched, he slowly accepted the sword. The familiar feel of the sheath, the beautiful glint of the hilt. She lay perfectly in his hands, as always, as if they’d never parted. He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the realisation that this was really happening. No one dared to speak or even breathe; time itself seemed to stop.

Conflicting emotion flooded all over Asougi. He wanted to unsheathe her, to hold her to his chest, to attach her to his hip all at the same time. He ended up remaining motionless. And then, like a divine illumination, he realised the only thing he had to do now.

He turned to Sulla.

“A Japanese man’s sword is his soul,” he said, offering Karma to her just like Naruhodou did to him only moments ago. “Would you do the honours?”

Her face was thick with emotion. “Are you sure? I’ve never handled a Japanese sword before.”

“That’s the way it should be.” Mimicking Naruhodou’s words, Asougi nodded firmly. He had started to understand what real resolve felt like. “You’ll be fine. She wants to meet you.”

Asougi knew. He was not the only one whose soul had been fractured, as illustrated by Karma’s broken tip. Sulla’s had, too.

Carefully, as if handling a fragile treasure, Sulla took the sword from Asougi. She caressed the sheath and the red headband, curiously analysed the pattern on the hilt. And then, despite all the emotion, she firmly gripped the sword and unsheathed it. Her stance radiated resolve as well as she held Karma in both hands.

When she gazed at her own reflection in the crystal clear blade, it appeared she was truly seeing herself for the first time.

March 21, 1902

Imperial Yuumei University Campus, Auditorium

Graduation day witnessed blossoming cherry trees in Yokohama for the first time that year.

Among the swarm of black-clad students, Asougi and the group stood out like sore thumbs. Their foreign faces attracted glances; certain people recognised the former star student of law, others shared hushed whispers about the famous detective Sherlock Holmes and what possible reason he could have to grace this facility with his presence.

Upon receiving his honorary diploma, Naruhodou gave a speech in the name of all his fellow graduates. Asougi bitterly concluded that the man’s speeches were as milquetoast as ever—but at least flawlessly pronounced.

And despite the bittersweet feeling in his throat, Asougi felt joy. Watching Naruhodou complete that chapter also cemented Asougi’s own decision.

After the ceremony everyone offered their obligatory congratulations while Naruhodou paraded his newly acquired attorney armband. However, he later folded it and placed carefully in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to wear it?” questioned Asougi. “You’re officially a lawyer now. Display it proudly.”

“Yeah, I’m going to wear one on each arm,” replied Naruhodou with a brilliant smile. For some reason, emotion stifled Asougi’s throat.

As everyone were about to venture for a celebratory dinner at the Mikotobas’, Asougi stopped in his tracks. Now was the proper time to share what had been heaving on his mind ever since arriving back in Japan.

“Mr Holmes, Lord van Zieks, Karma.” He addressed the adults in the group, although Gina and Iris also immediately looked at him. “I have something to announce, if you don’t mind.”

“Pray, do enlighten us, Mr Asougi,” said Holmes smugly, sucking on his pipe.

“Due to certain plans I have made… I will not be returning to London with you.”

Silence fell as if everyone were expecting it to be a joke in the next moment. When no punchline happened, several throats gasped in shock. Especially Naruhodou and Susato exchanged surprised looks, whereas only Holmes and Mikotoba remained calm.

“You’re going to stay in Japan, Asougi?!”

“But… but… We will miss you!” protested Iris. “Right, Ginny? Lord van Zieks?”

“Don’t ask me…” Van Zieks folded his arms, avoiding a straightforward answer.

Meanwhile, Gina grew actually angry. “Oi, wot’s all this, Soggy? Explain yerself!”

“I must concur,” agreed Sulla with a frown. “Why so suddenly? And for what reason?”

Asougi paused for a moment, allowing his hand to rest on Karma’s hilt. Naturally, everyone would be shocked or even hurt by his decision. Perhaps he could have handled it better, tell them sooner. But now was now and all he could do was to push forward. His mind was made up; he knew what he wanted to do.

“As you all well know, I used to be a student of law at Imperial Yuumei University, precisely where my friend Naruhodou has just graduated today. But my study was suspended for two long years due to my stay in London. During our visit here in the Empire of Japan, after asking Professor Mikotoba for help, I was allowed to resume my studies in the beginning of the upcoming school year in April—to complete my third and final year.”

A surprised murmur resounded among the group.

“As a matter of fact, I had my suspicions,” mused Holmes with a mysterious face. “After all, my great friend Mikotoba is bad at keeping secrets from me.”

“So you knew all along, Holmes?”

“Why, of course I did! It’s elementary for a great detective to obtain information of that calibre!”

“So you want to complete your degree,” said van Zieks to his disciple, ignoring the banter.

Asougi nodded. “I haven’t decided yet what to do after graduating. My life is equally attached to London now as to my homeland. Perhaps more. But for now… I would like to reach the goal that used to guide me for the majority of my life.” He glanced at Naruhodou. “Do you hold it against me that I announced my decision on your big day?”

“Not at all.” Naruhodou shook his head with a smile. “I’m proud of you, my friend.”

Suddenly Sulla stepped forward.

Seeing her frown and hands on her hips, Asougi nearly froze. All these months of having her as his aide, he never dared to imagine how terrifying her fury would be if directed at him. “So I’ll need to find another prosecutor back in London? And you didn’t think to tell me earlier, Kazuma?”

“Listen, it’s not like that—”

“Not like that? Rubbish!” She crossed her arms, visibly upset. “You’re always so stubborn, so goal-oriented that you lose sight of everything else. Are you expecting me to just find a new prosecutor to assist? Purchase one at the market, maybe?!”

“No, that’s why I want to ask you to stay in Japan with me!”

He nearly raised his voice, so everyone heard him. The surroundings went quiet as a mouse. Taken aback, Sulla stared at Asougi; only then it struck him what he had said—and why.

He inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself. “Karma. Would you be so kind to hear out a fool’s request? In private,” he added, eyeing Holmes in particular who was making stupid faces.

“Why the formality?” Sulla remained on her guard. “You’re scaring me, Kazuma.”

“There is nothing to be scared of.” At least not in that sense, because internally he was trembling. “Just… please. I only ask for five minutes of your time.”

Not without hesitation, Sulla agreed.

The ensemble went ahead to the Mikotoba house as Sulla and Asougi stayed behind. They strolled under the alleyway of white and pink cherry blossoms which filled the air with a sweet scent. In Asougi’s opinion, that was the best season to spend in Japan.

“So? What was it that you wanted to discuss?”

Wariness remained obvious in Sulla’s eyes, but Asougi wouldn’t be deterred. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, only his words—his main weapon in court—suddenly wouldn’t come out.

“Like I mentioned before, I intend to get my degree in law,” he started carefully.

“And that’s a good thing. You were forced to suspend your university life due to circumstances outside of your control.” Sulla’s voice seeped with poorly hidden frustration. “To be clear, I support your pursuit of education. But I just can’t accept that you’d announce it so… so casually, without thinking of how it would affect me!”

“Well, this decision came sudden for me as well,” admitted Asougi. “Except I absolutely did consider how it would affect you.”

“Oh really? And what of your consideration?”

Narrowing his eyes, Asougi looked straight into Sulla’s eyes. It was that look that finally caused her wariness to break and lean into his words instead.

“After carefully analysing my situation, I decided that finishing my studies is the correct step to take. At the same time, I do not plan on severing myself from the life I have in London. You have been instrumental in my growth as a prosecutor and as a person. It would be no exaggeration to say that without you, I would have never recovered my blade.”

Indeed, retrieving Karma definitely counted among most important moments of Asougi’s life. It meant his fractured soul would be complete again—unless another part of him returned to the other side of the world.

“So I’ve concluded that I simply cannot let you go, Karma. When I asked you to stay, I was completely serious.”

Sulla took a while to comprehend he wasn’t actually joking. “Excuse me? I don’t have any Japanese qualifications in law and I don’t speak the language. Women are not even allowed in court. What do you suggest I do here?”

“Marry me.”

“What?!”

Heavy silence fell. For a good moment, Sulla stared at Asougi with such shock written all over her face that despite his considerable composure, he started to fidget.

That was a huge gamble. By proposing like that, Asougi would be asking Sulla to alter her whole life. International marriages in Japan were still a young institution, and the laws proved particularly inconvenient towards women. Not only that—Sulla could get terribly offended, reject him, and sever their friendship forever.

But Asougi had to take that gamble. If there was a chance of keeping Sulla with him, he would take it. He wouldn’t falter under a woman’s intense gaze, not even hers!

“Listen, I know that’s a lot to ask. We come from different cultures. This is your first time in this land. You’d need to give up your British citizenship.”

“Oh blast me,” muttered Sulla.

“Unfortunately, that’s our law.” And it was probably one of the toughest conditions to stomach. “But I plan to grow as a prosecutor while I study. I’ve got savings, Professor Mikotoba will help me secure housing. And when we return to London, you wouldn’t need to live at Mr Holmes’s place anymore.” Gripping Karma’s hilt, Asougi pleaded with his ancestors’ spirits to give him the courage. “You may decline, I will not blame you. But I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try.”

Finally Sulla recovered. Her face transformed from shock into earth-shattering realisation.

“So you’ve gone crazy.”

“Wha—I have not! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Marriage is serious business, Kazuma. You’re not even courting me!”

He blinked in confusion. “Can’t I marry you without courting you first? We don’t have much of a courtship culture in Japan, so—”

“That’s not the point!” exclaimed Sulla. “Do you even love me?”

Asougi’s heart hammered in his chest. He’d never actually considered that. He asked for her hand in marriage, but how did he really feel about her?

Instead of replying, he reached for Karma and unsheathed her, demonstrating the meticulously crafted blade.

“Do you see this broken tip?” he commanded. “It cannot be fixed. This flaw will always represent the fracture in my soul and what I came through.”

“It doesn’t make her any less beautiful though.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “You could say that this blade represents me with all my imperfections. However, I believe I have now found the piece to supplement this broken tip.” He watched Sulla with a piercing gaze. “That’s you, Karma. So please, marry me and make me complete.”

Just like that, he sheathed the sword back. There was nothing left to be said.

For a very long while, Sulla remained silent and motionless. It was a lot to take in as she bit on her lower lip. Then, she slowly exhaled. Once she looked up at Asougi again, her eyes looked glossy, but she held herself with admirable composure, befitting an English gentlewoman.

“Very well. I will marry you.”

Ground gave way from under Asougi’s feet. It was his turn to question her seriousness. And then a huge, unrestrained smile stretched on his lips as he stepped forwards and grabbed Sulla’s palms.

“Ah, I'm so happy! I will arrange for a wedding straight away—"

“Now slow down a little, hot-head.”

Asougi nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Professor Mikotoba’s voice. As they both turned around, Naruhodou, Susato, Holmes, Iris, Gina, and even van Zieks were peeking out from among the blossoming cherry trees. In front of them stood Professor Mikotoba, expression stern.

Apparently Asougi’s and Sulla secret tête-à-tête ended up completely overheard.

“Asougi-kun, as much as I want to congratulate you, cool your head down a little. Rushing into things is hardly the smart move, especially in serious matters like marriage. There are formalities to take care of first.”

“Professor…!” Abashed, Asougi felt the tip of his ears burn. He cleared his throat as Sulla giggled at his embarrassment. “Yes, absolutely. I shall arrange everything.”

“But, wow! Asougi, you surprised me!” marvelled Naruhodou, his eyes sparkling wildly. “You kept me on the edge of my seat to the very end. ‘Is he going to say it or not? Well, is he?’, I wondered—”

“Shut up, Naruhodou.”

“My goodness, I never imagined it possible!” exclaimed Susato. “Kazuma-sama, getting married… Ah, I might cry.”

In the end, even though Asougi intended to keep the whole marriage situation discreet, they ended up celebrating both graduation and engagement in a joint party. Not much of a drinker himself, Asougi joined in to Holmes’s and Mikotoba’s sake drinking contest. He felt like he deserved to unwind after all these nerve-racking events.

March 30, 1902

Port of Yokohama, Quayside

“Have a safe journey, everyone!” Close to tears, Susato tried to get Iris to stop clinging to her. “Now, dear Iris, you must let go. Your steamship is about to leave.”

“But I will miss you so much! Remember to drink the tea blend I have left for you!” sniffled the girl as she slowly peeled herself away from Susato.

“We will, don’t worry. You’ve left enough to last us a whole year,” laughed Sulla.

The group returning to Britain now consisted only of Holmes, Iris, van Zieks and Gina (plus Toby). On the other side, Naruhodou, Susato and Professor Mikotoba offered their best wishes, with Asougi and Sulla bidding farewells as a union.

A few days earlier Asougi had petitioned to the local authorities to approve their marriage and have Sulla registered in his koseki. In compliance with the current laws, she renounced the British nationality and chose a Japanese name for herself: Chisana, meaning ‘a thousand truths’, to harmonise with Kazuma’s ‘one truth’. Of course, in her daily life, she’d still go by Sulla.

The approval from the authorities arrived only the previous day. Afterwards, the Mikotobas arranged a small celebration—far from a traditional wedding, but Susato and Haori both insisted on dressing Sulla in a kimono just for the day. During the party, Karma, Asougi’s sabre from London and Sulla’s rapier were displayed in an arrangement. Three blades, just like in the Asougi family crest.

And now they would say goodbyes to the people who’d watched them grow, true to a Japanese saying ‘Every meeting is the beginning of a parting’.

“Best of luck in your endeavours, Mr Asougi,” said van Zieks to his disciple. “Just so we’re clear—you are not dismissed from my tutelage. I will be anticipating your return.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Then it was Sulla’s turn. They all knew she held van Zieks in great regard, almost like a father figure she lacked among her relatives. “May I, Lord Barok?”

With a nod, he allowed her to speak.

“First of all, I would like to thank you for watching over me for so long. I am eternally grateful.” She bowed her head. “And this is not a goodbye for long. You may have a complicated history with this nation, but having worked with Kazuma for such a long time, I don’t think you will hold this against me?”

Van Zieks sighed, a shadow crossing his features. “To be frank, I do not completely agree with this country’s policy of international marriages. You should not be giving up your nationality just to marry. However, if that is what you wish, then I have no doubt you will be happy at Mr Asougi’s side.” He then gave Asougi a meaningful look. “Look after her.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Now, Holmes.” Turning to the great detective, Sulla smiled at him with less momentum than usual. “I’ve left quite a mess in the room in your attic. Would you mind clearing it out for me?”

Inspired by Sulla’s bridal attire, Holmes was currently donning a proper Japanese kimono that he snatched from Mikotoba’s closet, and waving around a kiseru instead of his usual pipe. Since Holmes was at least ten centimetres taller than Mikotoba, his ankles were hilariously showing from under the garment.

Holmes assumed a fake serious expression. “Hm, that won’t be necessary. I believe we should leave your room as it is—just in case you divorce Mr Asougi and come back to your roots.”

“Keep your nonsense to yourself, Mr Holmes!” grumbled Asougi. “One doesn’t talk about divorce the day after the wedding.”

“Why, of course, my dear fellow.” Holmes seemed to ignore the outburst completely. “Still, we shall keep Sulla’s room untouched. Right, Iris?”

“By the way. ‘Olmes,” interrupted Gina. “I won our bet, ya owe me a shillin’.”

The smile froze on Holmes’s face.

“Bet? Pray, what could you be talking about, Miss Lestrade?”

“Don’t play dumb. We ‘ad a bet, an’ I won. Gimme my shillin’!”

“Wait, what’s this about?” inquired Naruhodou, clearly confused.

“See, me and ‘im placed bets about when you guys”—she jerked her head in Asougi’s and Sulla’s direction—“would get together. ‘Olmes claimed it would be after returnin’ to London. But I was like, nah, Soggy can’t last that long. It would be durin’ the trip.” A smug smile adorned her lips. “An’ I was right, so I win.”

“You… you placed bets about us?” uttered Asougi in sheer disbelief. “Where did you get such an asinine idea?

“Come on now, Soggy. Ya couldn’t be any more obvious with yer affections if you wanted to.”

As Asougi facepalmed, everyone else laughed—though he couldn’t hold it against them.

“So what are your plans now, Sullie?” Mercifully, Iris changed the subject. “I don’t believe you’re going to simply sit around while Kaz is busy studying, are you?”

“Of course not.” Sulla smiled, petting the girl’s head. “For starters, I plan to learn Japanese. Hopefully Mr Naruhodou or Professor Mikotoba will be so kind as to help me find a good tutor.”

“Naturally!” exclaimed Naruhodou, already eager for someone to study his culture. “We have many fine professors at Yuumei. Perhaps I can even tutor you personally.”

“Now don’t get ahead of yourself,” retorted Asougi. “Whatever you could teach her, I could as well.”

“And then I would like to learn all about the Japanese justice system. Not in a formal way, like Kazuma—not yet, at least—but I’m sure some opportunities await me here,” finished Sulla with a grin. “And if they don’t, I will make them!”

“I’m sure you will. You always have,” mumbled van Zieks under his breath.

In that moment, a loud, rumbling whistle resounded through the port from the steamship, beckoning the passengers to board. Final goodbyes were said, and the four British visitors—four people whose life became so entangled with Asougi’s in the past years—stepped onboard. Iris and Gina made sure to wave back from the main deck, van Zieks and Holmes keeping close behind them.

As the steamship slowly drifted off, Naruhodou, Susato, Professor Mikotoba, Sulla and Asougi watched it melt into the orange evening sky.

“Ah, I miss them already.” Waving back even though they couldn’t possibly see her anymore, Susato sighed in reverence. “Next time it’s our turn to visit London again! Right, Naruhodou-sama?”

“Good idea.” Naruhodou nodded. The sea breeze made a mess of his spiky hair. “Next time, we can go all together.”

The Mikotobas and Naruhodou slowly withdrew from the port, but Asougi and Sulla decided to stay behind for just a moment longer to gaze at the sea. The setting sun cast reflexes on their faces, settled into Sulla’s eyes, tainting it an even more vivid red than usual.

“Do you not regret it, Karma?”

The question escaped Asougi for no good reason and before he could stop himself. Sulla tilted her head to look at him. “Why should I? It hasn’t even been a full day yet, dear husband.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But don’t let worry cloud your mind. I swear on the honour of the Asougi clan”—he brought the sheathed Karma to his chest—“that I shall care for you and make you happy here.”

“And so shall I,” replied Sulla with a small smile. “What you said before about being complete… I believe it goes both ways.”

As Asougi rested his palm on Karma’s hilt, Sulla covered it with her own. They remained in that position, gazing onto the sunset, until a voice came from behind.

“Hey, kids, let’s get a move on,” commanded Mikotoba, half-amused and half-exasperated. “It’s getting chilly. You’ll have all the time in the world to chat in the ryokan.”

Sulla grinned at Asougi, who couldn’t help returning it. They followed, arm in arm, back to the city.

And so the sun set over the Empire of Japan, as well as over a certain chapter in their lives. But the dawn would break again in the Land of the Rising Sun to write a new page of a new story—the story of the endless karma, now untwisted.