A space that felt both familiar and strange.

I found myself standing in the midst of such an uncanny dream.

It was as if I were in the middle of an old memory, a nostalgic scene unfolding before me, yet it was a completely unfamiliar dream, something that didn’t exist in my recollection.

A few steps ahead of me was the distinct silhouette of a man.

He was dressed in the same yellow suit as mine.

Though his face was obscured, there was an inexplicable sense of familiarity, a resonance that seemed to pull at the frayed edges of my forgotten memories.

The curve of his shoulders, the rhythm of his stride—everything about him seemed to quietly and insistently beg me to recognize him.

A strange longing welled up inside me, and I began to chase after him.

With each step I took, a peculiar heaviness held me back.

Fragments of old memories I couldn’t recall weighed down my steps.

With every step forward, a new and unfamiliar scene unfolded before me.

"Kid, if you keep relying on your instincts like that, you’re going to get burned."

A voice I didn’t recognize echoed in my mind.

Not something I remember.

With another step, yet another scene emerged.

"From now on... it’s your turn."

A man covered in blood handed something over to me.

This, too, was not in my memory.

No matter how much I ran, the distance between me and the man walking lightly ahead never seemed to close.

At the last moment, just as the man turned to glance back at me, his head began to dissolve into a blood-red mist, much like Watson.

And then, as he was about to say something—

I woke up.

The city at night was shrouded in darkness, as deep and opaque as obsidian.

In the quiet hours when the noise of the city had all but died down, a dim red light shone through the window of a shabby building.

The crimson glow of a gas lamp on a wooden desk flickered softly, casting a ruby hue over the interior of the detective’s office.

In that stillness, the red flame within the gas lamp, 'Watson,' flared up suddenly and brightly.

[Is Holmes asleep?]

[Yes, he’s asleep.]

[Something seems wrong with Holmes.]

[It’s probably nothing.]

The smoke from Watson filled the office, and shadows danced across the walls.

[When’s the next case?]

[Holmes seems off right now.]

[I’m scared!]

[Are you sure it was 'the eye'?]

[We don’t need to run away, do we?]

[It’s not certain yet.]

[Holmes is acting strange?]

[Do you think there’ll be a Junior Number 3?]

The chaotic murmuring of Watson’s collective voice suddenly fell silent.

Every shadow turned to stare at a single point.

[Holmes is acting strange!] [Holmes is acting strange!] [Holmes is acting strange!]

The smoke pouring from the gas lamp drifted down the table, seeping through the cracks of the door and out into the hallway.

It climbed up the stairs and walls, ascending the old building, until it reached its destination and began to seep into a certain room.

In a dimly lit room, where faint starlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, the smoke crept under the door.

The old coat rack, draped with a yellow trench coat, was soon swallowed by the encroaching smoke.

The documents and case files spread across the aged desk were enveloped by the mist, as were a paperweight and a half-empty bottle of whiskey resting on the side.

In this sea of smoke, the only thing visible, like an island in the fog, was a worn leather sofa with a slightly sunken cushion.

On that sofa lay a detective in a yellow suit, fast asleep.

He had fallen asleep out of exhaustion as soon as he returned.

The smoke surrounded the detective, almost as if it were watching him.

[Did Holmes remember?]

[Holmes is supposed to keep forgetting!]

[Why is he able to remember?]

The smoke from the gas lamp seemed to examine the detective, until it found an orb on a side table emitting intermittent flashes of light.

[We shouldn’t let him have such an Object!]

[We must destroy it.]

[When did he get this Object?]

[While we were asleep!]

The orb on the table was casting a light toward the detective’s head, and each time the light struck him, his face twisted in discomfort.

The blood-red smoke enclosed the orb in its grasp and crushed it.

[Holmes. Forever together!]

Experiment on the Golden Reapers

Golden Reapers float above magnets.

Considering that they share characteristics with the Gray Reaper, it’s likely that the Gray Reaper would also float above magnets.

I wrote the last line, They’re cute., then hastily crossed it out with my pen.

I shouldn’t be writing personal thoughts in a report.

In the silence of the deputy director’s office, I observed a Golden Reaper happily floating above a magnet.

I poked it with my finger.

No matter what I did, the Golden Reaper just smiled, always happy.

Because of concerns about mental contamination, I had secretly moved the Golden Reaper from the break room to the deputy director’s office for safekeeping.

Luckily, the Reapers tend to disappear quickly, so no one thought it strange that it was gone.

If someone had noticed, it would have been bothersome, but fortunately, there were no such individuals.

It was a necessary decision, both to protect the mental health of the staff and to observe the Golden Reaper more closely.

When I checked the clock, it was already midnight.

Time to feed the Golden Reaper.

"Reaper! It’s time to eat."

As soon as I took a pudding out of the fridge, the Golden Reaper jumped up and landed in my palm.

Nom nom.

As I watched it nibble at the pudding like a small animal, a thought crossed my mind.

"How cute would it be if Reaper could make sounds?"

I wanted to hear it make a sound.

Clearing my throat, I opened my notebook again and resumed my observations.

I have no ulterior motives; I’m just doing my job.

Nestled in Yerin’s arms, I watched TV.

The table in front of the TV was lined with various types of puddings.

"These are all the types of pudding you can get in Seoul! Impressive, right?"

Yerin, who was hugging me from behind, pressed her cheek against mine and began explaining each pudding—where it was sold, its unique characteristics.

Nom nom.

I tasted the puddings one by one.

They were still delicious.

But they weren’t the same as the ones from the camp!

I shook my head sadly.

"Oh no! Not this one either? Then I guess I’ll have to get the ones that are only sold in the provinces?"

Yerin tightened her hug, complaining that I had become too picky lately.

I felt bad for Yerin, who was trying so hard to find the right pudding, but I had to know the secret of the pudding the ninja had brought.

"Such a picky Reaper!"

Yerin playfully poked my cheeks while grumbling.

"Oh, right! Ta-da! I got this. It wasn’t as hard to find as I thought."

Yerin pulled out a photo from her pocket and showed it to me.

The picture featured an exotic landscape with black mud as a backdrop, and in the center, a pitch-black penguin was dancing.

Dum-chit, dum-chit.

Even without sound, the lively dance seemed to carry its own rhythm and beat.

The penguin’s short limbs made its dance even more amusing.

"Oh, and by the way, they’re selling this at the 'Daily Object' store. It seems they’re struggling with business and are even selling these photos to make ends meet. But is it really okay for them to sell Objects like that, even if they’re not a research lab?"

Yerin added that mishandling such an Object could lead to big trouble.

But coming from Yerin, who was the most reckless with Objects, it didn’t sound very convincing.

Morning at the detective agency.

The usual scent of coffee and the noisy chatter from the TV filled the office.

A death that appeared to be caused by a mysterious wild animal.

Speculation that a new drug circulating in Seoul might be linked to an Object.

It was another busy morning in Seoul.

My senior was sipping a strong cup of coffee, letting out a sigh as the TV droned on in the background.

His eyes looked hollow, and he seemed utterly exhausted.

"Senior, why do you look so tired?"

"I don’t know. I’ve been feeling unusually worn out. I think it might be because of this…."

He pointed to a broken Object split in two.

"When I woke up, it was already shattered. I suspect it was an Object with a usage limit or a time restriction. Given its healing ability, that would make sense."

"Well, what’s gone is gone. So, Senior, what’s the plan for the next case?"

"Not sure. I feel like I’ve been working too hard lately…."

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

"I’ll probably take on some simple cases to make some money. Then, once I’m well-rested, I’ll tackle another Object-related case."

"Like finding evidence of an affair? Is that really detective work?"

"That’s exactly what detectives do. I think Watson has raised your expectations too high. I’m not Sherlock, you know."

At his words, the gas lamp flickered rapidly, as if in disagreement.