Bailonz Street 13

Liam, after lowering his gun, answered nonchalantly, “Yes, just like this. But I never thought I could drive so many people mad at once. This requires some research, don’t you think, Hopkins?”

The man called Hopkins tidied his disheveled hair and kicked aside an approaching person, something you wouldn’t expect from a man in his fifties.

“I agree, Mr. Moore. It will be quite an interesting study, I assure you.”

Research, my foot. These guys are insane.

Without even trying to hide my disbelief, I fired the remaining bullets in my revolver at the window. Any South Korean would recognize that rhythm.

Bang-bang bang bang-bang.

At that moment, I heard the police breaking in. They got the signal! Thank goodness! Anyway, shooting something was definitely a signal. There’s no way a 21st-century Korean would be here.

The outside grew chaotic. Voices of people startled by the sudden arrival of the police echoed around.

“These bastards, hey, stop them! Crush them! Kill them!”

Among the commotion, I thought I heard something uncharacteristic of the police, but I ignored it. Sounds of scuffles as footmen resisted, curses from those who failed to escape, something about a cult and stars.

“Once you fall into a cult, there’s no saving you. What are we going to do with these people?”

The real issue now was how to stop these frenzied people. If left alone, it seemed like a mass murder was imminent. The sight of someone trying to smash a person’s head with a contrabass made action urgent. I had to do something. But what?

Then, I focused on what the man was muttering.

This was like triggering some kind of mechanism. This was a cult. And that madman was like a cult leader. So why were these people insane? Right, the brainwashing antics typical of cults! Could the trigger word have been what he just said? For example, “When I say this word, you will fall asleep.”

If that’s the case, there’s only one way. I walked towards the man, who was panting with someone clinging to his shoulders.

“Liam Moore, you wretch! Your soul will burn in the fires of hell seven times and will be welcomed nowhere! Our king is coming! The king is coming! The Black Forest is moving!”

What the heck. This guy is cursing out someone else’s boss.

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The man was cursing Liam, completely unaware of me approaching from behind. Or he had completely forgotten about me. Oh, that’s a good thing. Anger narrows your vision. There’s probably a paper on how beneficial such narrowness can be.

“To hell with research and papers.”

Papers! I couldn’t believe I was saying such things. So, I opted for less scholarly, more modern words. Hey, you cult bastard.

“Shut your mouth.”

I punished the guy for yanking my hair. In a rather unladylike manner, I smashed his head into the floor.

Wham! Ack! Wham! Ack!

How many times was it? Hmm… about five times, I think. His consciousness faded on the third hit, but I smashed him two more times for good measure.

The man, twitching and convulsing, collapsed completely. His tongue stuck out and his eyes rolled back, clearly unconscious.

“Don’t believe in cults, find enlightenment. Amen, Namu Amitabha.”

See? This is how you unify religions.

My method was right. As the man fainted, people started to collapse one by one, freed from some brainwashing influence.

Finally, I heard groans and screams from all around. Until then, people moved without feeling fear or pain, but now they were writhing in the sudden onslaught of pain. Someone with a broken leg cried out, “My leg!” Over there, someone seemed to have a broken nose.

Among the panting people, only the three of us were standing.

“How?”

Liam panted. His vest was torn. His hair looked yanked out. I shrugged.

As the police burst through the door, I tossed off my blood-splattered veil and took a breath. Leaving the two stunned men behind, I walked out gracefully, standing tall.

The police had no need to subdue anyone. Seeing the unconscious people and the grim scene inside, and my disheveled state, they were speechless. Neither Jefferson nor Inspector Brixon could say a word to me. They averted their gazes and began tending to the injured.

＊ ＊ ＊

[Old Paradise Gardens, AM 00:06 (Day 3)]

It’s been a tough night.

I think I dislocated my shoulder after all the exertion. It had been a dull pain until now, but now it was going numb.

I trudged out and sat on the cream-colored steps, looking up at the sky. A little past midnight, the third day had begun. The second day of not dying was over. The moon above was bright.

Ah. What a killer moon….

Exhausted, I held my shoulder and set down the revolver. The black revolver on the bright steps looked out of place.

Despite everything, I habitually opened my notebook and recorded the events. As I sat there for a while, Liam Moore and Hopkins, done with their tasks, came out too. A carriage called by Scotland Yard was arriving.

Liam cleared his throat and spoke, “I apologize for the late introduction, Herschel. This is Miss Jane Osmond. She’s been assisting me in many ways.”

Here? Now?

His name is Herschel. Hopkins is the surname. Herschel Hopkins smiled gently and extended his hand to me.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Jane. Liam speaks very highly of you. I’m Herschel Hopkins.”

I looked up at the hand extended to me in astonishment. Sitting haphazardly on the steps, with my hair yanked out and my neat attire in disarray, I was surprised at the hand offered by Herschel Hopkins. And the fact that Liam Moore thought this was the time for introductions was the most absurd. I muttered.

“Do people in your social club exchange greetings after surviving near-death experiences?”

I threw a barbed comment.

If you’re human, feel a little guilty. I mean, you left me alone to deal with everything. And shouldn’t you explain what’s going on in such sudden situations? Don’t make an ordinary citizen beat up people.

The sensation of beating someone is still unsettling.

I shook his hand. Herschel Hopkins seemed to be planning to kiss the back of my hand, but I shook it twice and used it to stand up. Liam, as if anticipating this, offered me his jacket. Though dusty and torn, it was better than my tattered bustle dress.

“I’ll escort you.”

A police officer was sitting in the driver’s seat. A Scotland Yard carriage, huh? Quite the honor. Probably because we solved a troublesome case.

I naturally got into the carriage. No matter what, it was comfortable and heavenly compared to outside. It was very lovely.

And as soon as I got in, I passed out as if I were dead. Oops, my mistake. I fell asleep as if dead.

My whole body ached, I was exhausted, and I didn’t even have the strength to fix my yanked hair. I think Liam Moore let me lean on his shoulder. He smelled of gunpowder and blood.

Just as my vision darkened, these subtitles floated in my mind.

[Episode 1. End of the Misty Murderer.]

What did I even do?

＊ ＊ ＊

I opened my eyes again. I don’t know how many times I’ll wake up to the sight of my room’s ceiling in this round.

A seemingly habitual action followed. My hands moved, checking my shoulder and body, slowly getting up to check the condition of my beloved game system.

The inventory was working, the save lists were still there. The quest list, filled with ‘???’, awaited the next progress. That certainly reassured me.

As long as this situation wasn’t real, I could endure whatever happened here. There was a slim chance I could return somehow.

Far off, I heard the voice of a newspaper boy and the sound of a carriage passing by. The sound of hooves and the bustling streets of London had become familiar in just a few days. It seemed I had adapted to this daily life.

Was this a smartphone detox? Maybe I thought of it as a temple stay. Although, this was 19th-century London, so it would be Anglican, not a temple.

Even though we seemed to have glimpsed London’s darker side through yesterday’s unfortunate events, I loved London. I loved London and London loved me, so perhaps even stuck in the 19th century, I could live well.

“This is absurd!”

I would have continued to love London. That is, if I hadn’t heard such a remark.