Bailonz Street 13
Chapter 3: Run, Jane, Run (2)

No matter how many times I pressed it, the save file wouldn’t open.

Why? Damn system, I pressed the button!

My frustration was boiling over.

Henry Brixon, with ragged gasps, took out the revolver from his coat and handed it to me. He managed to do it after a few failed attempts.

“Run.”

A sharp pain flared in my neck. I felt the metallic taste of blood rising from my throat.

The unused revolver felt heavy in my hand. My body leaned forward. Brixon’s eyes were fixed on something behind me.

In that brief moment, as he used his remaining strength to reach out and protect me…

[You died.]

A subtitle appeared.

I was just killed.

* * *

I caught my breath.

The shock of being stabbed in the neck left me paralyzed, unable to restart for a moment.

I didn’t understand why the save file wouldn’t open. Is it similar to being unable to change characters during battle?

I rubbed my sweaty neck and pressed the restart button. The scene rewound to the last saved point.

What if this glitch happens again? The anxiety gnawed at me. The event seemed triggered by Inspector Brixon, but I couldn’t tell if it was because we took a walk or because Hyde Park was the next murder scene. This required further testing.

Alright. Let’s remember the information gathered so far.

The witnesses of this case are a journalist and a citizen. I need to check the newspaper and then head straight to the crime scene. Should I bring Liam… would it be safe to bring Liam? The thought of the murderer in the mist attacking Liam Moore made my mouth dry.

“Jane.”

A soft, low voice.

I had returned to the morning of the day I died. I saw a large window, then the central sofa, the fireplace on the wall, and the desk placed at regular intervals by the window.

Liam Moore, in his indoor gown, waved from the sofa. His sleek, black hair glistened from the water.

‘Diligent as always,’ I thought.

Living under the same roof as a superior who starts the day earlier than I do was sometimes a hassle.

A prepared breakfast and a cup of tea. I remembered the taste clearly, having had it just a few minutes ago.

Today’s tea was a bit bitter, and Liam quietly furrowed his brows as he drank it.

“The tea is bitter, isn’t it?”

“The tea is bitter.”

I asked quicker. Liam’s gray eyes looked up at me with slight surprise.

Though we were superior and assistant, we agreed not to use formal speech with each other. Well, the AI probably didn’t recognize formal and informal speech anyway.

He seemed to want to ask ‘how,’ but instead, he lowered his head to look at the dark tea and then back at me. The milk jug beside him was untouched.

“Are you feeling unwell? You’ve been holding your neck continuously. Your complexion doesn’t look good either.”

Ah. Only then did I lower my left hand from my neck. The shock of death must have been significant. I had been holding my neck for a while.

Liam poured the bitter tea into the blazing fireplace (it wouldn’t extinguish the fire, but it wasn’t a graceful gesture) and handed me the newspaper.

“A new case.”

I took the newspaper, and he naturally shifted to make space beside him. There was a sofa opposite and another beside, but he expected me to sit next to him, as usual, with a brazen and natural demeanor.

“Who is the victim?”

I mumbled with a piece of bread in my mouth.

“Let’s see. An unidentified male (John Doe), no ID on him, found sitting on a bench… without his head. The testimony from the crime scene is detailed. This isn’t information gathered through simple questioning. Journalists often live around here due to lack of funds. It seems a lucky hound from the London Daily picked up the scoop… Goodness, they’ve dubbed it the ‘Misty Murderer.’ Not a wise move.”

“Misty Murderer!”

He was right. Naming a murderer is never a good idea.

I’m curious about what happened to my corpse. Brixon, is he safe? In the timeline before I restarted, I was likely found as a body. How did Liam Moore react? Did he give a cold critique even to my death?

Lost in our thoughts, looking at the newspaper together, we were startled by a cough. The bread I was eating fell, and Liam sighed, pushing the newspaper aside and brushing crumbs off my lap with a napkin. Another cough was heard.

“Damn it, Jefferson.”

Liam recognized him without looking up. I wasn’t as familiar, so I raised my head to see the man. Inspector Jefferson, stern-faced, removed his bowler hat and approached me with a light greeting.

“It’s been a while, Miss Jane. Liam, you too.”

“It’s better if we don’t meet often.”

Liam Moore replied coldly. He seemed quite displeased about the interruption of our peaceful morning.

“The door was open, so I came in. But I fear you have been too often alone with an unmarried young lady. Blocking a lady’s marriage prospects is not a gentlemanly thing to do.”

Suddenly, here comes talk about my marriage.

Ah, right. This is it. The <Mrs. Moore Event>. It occurred whenever I was in close proximity to Liam for an extended period, and there was at least one NPC around. It didn’t happen every time—there was a probability factor—but I was by now used to it.

“Indeed, Inspector Jefferson. But it seems my marriage prospects are already closed off as I’ve gotten older.”

Of course, I wasn’t that old, but Liam and I were already well-known in both the upper and lower circles of this cauldron of a city called London. The cases we solved were always drenched in blood and filled with sinister malice, leading to rumors that anyone who married us might end up the mysterious victim of our next case. So naturally, both Liam and I…

…Let’s stop here before it gets too sad.

“Ahem. That wasn’t my intention, Miss Jane. You’re an attractive woman, so surely—”

“That’s enough.”

Liam, mistaking Jefferson’s compliment as some sort of courtship, was about to respond sharply, which would have been absurd. Jefferson was old enough to be my father, married, and had a daughter.

Before this sensitive man could spit out another cutting remark, I spoke up. Liam wasn’t pleased, but I invited Jefferson to sit down. Leaving a guest, especially a police officer, standing this long wasn’t proper for an educated Londoner.

“So, Inspector Jefferson, may I ask why you’re here?”

With a gentle voice, I offered him a seat, while, across from me, Liam poured tea into a fresh cup (yes, it was the same terribly bitter black tea from before). It briefly crossed my mind how much Liam disliked Jefferson, but Jefferson’s next words quickly diverted my attention.

“It’s about this case. There’s something odd. You must have seen the papers; this is the fifth time. Each victim was beheaded, but there were no other noticeable injuries. It wasn’t a robbery. The murderer didn’t touch any personal belongings like wallets, necklaces, or wedding rings. It seems their sole purpose was to kill.”

Listening to Jefferson, I subconsciously touched my neck, feeling the spot where something sharp had pricked it before. It was a rather sharp and broad blade, about two or three finger-widths.

‘I wish I could see all the victims’ bodies.’

I glanced at Liam, who was looking back at me with a slight, knowing smile. It’s always fascinating when two people who have heard the vicious phrase ‘if you’re intimate, you’ll never die of natural causes’ think the same thing. For us, this was just another puzzle to solve.

“Jefferson, are all five bodies still being held in custody?”

“One was taken by the family, who didn’t want to be involved any longer. The rest are unclaimed.”

“Perfect! Then we’ll start by visiting the morgue and then inspect the crime scenes. We’d be delighted if you could accompany us, Inspector.”

I stifled a laugh. I couldn’t believe Liam was being so insincere and ingratiating!

In truth, accompanying us wasn’t a pleasant task. Liam Moore’s insatiable curiosity spread across London like a web, requiring an entire day for an outing. This meant our range of movement was extensive, and we would be investigating every possible lead.

But Inspector Jefferson, falling for the smooth talk, nodded his head. Poor man, but what could be done? Honestly, I preferred having one more person to share the burden of following Liam Moore around than suffering alone.

Meanwhile, my quest window updated. White letters flickered on the screen.

[Evidence: Meet A at the morgue.]