6 August
The afternoon heat was unusually oppressive. The sun hung high above the town, pouring down an almost merciless wave of heat that seemed to cling to everything it touched. The air itself felt heavy, as though even breathing required effort. Yet inside the small café, there was at least a brief escape from the unbearable weather. At one of the tables sat Susan and Arthur—the very same café where they had shared their first date.
Their plates had long since been emptied, leaving only a few crumbs behind. Susan leaned comfortably against her chair, looking genuinely happy. The smile on her face seemed brighter than usual, softening her features and making her appear almost unrecognizable compared to the seriousness she sometimes carried. Across from her, Arthur remained characteristically composed. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but his face told a different story. The scars running across his otherwise handsome features, combined with the dark circles beneath his eyes, spoke of exhaustion and experiences that he rarely put into words.
"You look quite happy," Arthur remarked, a small smile appearing on his face.
Susan looked at him with amusement.
"Why shouldn't I? I'm on a date with my boyfriend, after all."
Arthur's smile grew slightly.
"Yeah. I suppose you've got the right to be happy."
He barely finished the sentence before a sudden, sharp pain struck his left abdomen.
"Uh—!"
His expression tightened instantly. His hand moved to his side, pressing against the injured area as he instinctively leaned forward.
Susan's smile disappeared.
"Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah." Arthur forced himself to straighten up. "Don't worry."
Susan's eyes immediately moved toward his left abdomen. Her expression became concerned.
"Does it still hurt?"
Arthur glanced down at his hand before answering.
"Yeah. A little." He gave her a reassuring smile. "But don't worry. I'm far better than I was before. I'll probably be completely healed within a few weeks."
"Yeah, you better take care of yourself." Susan crossed her arms. "I'm not going to be everywhere to look after you."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"What are you, my mother?"
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then both burst into laughter.
The lighthearted moment didn't last long.
Susan suddenly froze.
"Oh, shit!"
Arthur looked at her.
"What happened?"
"I completely forgot!" Susan suddenly glanced toward the clock hanging on the café wall. "Libby made plans for me and my other two friends. I completely forgot about it."
Her eyes widened when she saw the time.
"I'm a whole hour late!"
She immediately pushed her chair back and stood.
Arthur watched her hurriedly gather her things.
"You really need to work on your memory, Susan."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Art." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Anyway, I'm sorry, but I've got to go."
Before Arthur could respond, Susan leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"See you later."
Then she hurried toward the exit.
Arthur watched her leave, the faint smile remaining on his face until the door closed behind her.
And then he was alone.
The café suddenly seemed much quieter.
Arthur leaned back in his chair and stared upward at the white ceiling. The warmth of Susan's presence had disappeared with her, leaving him alone with the thoughts he had been trying to suppress for months.
Five months.
It had been five months since the Austin House massacre.
Five months since he had discovered that something far greater was moving behind the scenes—something hidden in the shadows, something that was undoubtedly planning something far more dangerous than the massacre itself.
And in all those months, Arthur had found almost nothing.
Not a name.
Not a motive.
Not even a reliable trace.
He had spent countless hours trying to connect the scattered pieces, searching for patterns where there seemed to be none. But every path eventually ended in silence. His physical condition had only made things worse. His injuries had restricted his movements and prevented him from investigating as freely as he wanted.
He hated that.
The more he thought about the unknown force lurking somewhere beyond his reach, the more his frustration grew. Five months of waiting, searching, and coming up empty-handed had begun to wear down even his usually controlled patience.
Arthur's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.
What are you planning?
He clenched his jaw.
Then—
Ding.
The café door opened.
Arthur's eyes slowly shifted toward the entrance.
A young man stepped inside.
He appeared to be only slightly older than Arthur. His eyes were an unusual red, deep and striking, while his hair had been dyed silver. His skin was unnaturally fair—almost unnervingly pale, with a smoothness that made it seem less like skin and more like polished plastic beneath the café's light.
But none of that was what caught Arthur's attention.
It was what the young man was holding.
Three balloons.
One blue.
One green.
And one red.
Arthur stared at the stranger for a few seconds before eventually turning his attention back toward the table. The man, however, didn't move. He simply remained where he was, holding the three balloons by their strings, his expression perfectly calm. There was something distinctly strange about his appearance—something Arthur couldn't immediately put into words. Every detail seemed almost deliberately constructed, as though the man had spent considerable effort deciding exactly how he wanted to be perceived.
Arthur was about to stand and leave when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
They stopped directly beside him.
Arthur slowly turned his head.
It was the same strange man.
He was standing right next to Arthur now, still holding the balloons, wearing that small, calm smile. Up close, however, his appearance was far more unsettling. The unnatural smoothness of his skin was even more obvious beneath the café's light. It looked almost artificial, as though it could soften and melt away at any moment. His enormous red eyes were the strangest part of all. They were so vivid that Arthur could almost see his own reflection staring back at him from within them, the crimson color making the man's gaze appear as though it had been submerged in blood.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
They simply stared at one another.
Then, without asking for permission, the man pulled out the chair opposite Arthur—the chair Susan had occupied only moments ago—and calmly sat down.
"Can I help you…?" Arthur asked, forcing a polite expression onto his face.
"Oh…" The man smiled brightly. "No, no, Mr. Doyle. I don't want anything. I just wanted to have a few words with you."
Arthur slowly cleared his throat.
"Words with me? Why? And how do you even know my name?"
The man's gaze remained fixed directly on Arthur's eyes.
"Actually, Mr. Doyle, you're quite famous among my friends."
His tone was remarkably casual.
"Especially after the Austin House massacre."
Arthur said nothing.
He simply stared at the man, studying every movement and every change in his expression. After a few seconds, his initial uneasiness settled back into his usual composure.
"Oh…" Arthur finally said. "So it's about that, huh?"
He leaned back slightly.
"Tell me something. Are you one of them?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Are you 'They?'"
A small smile appeared on the man's face.
"That depends on what exactly you mean by 'They,' Mr. Doyle."
Arthur's expression remained unchanged.
"You certainly act full of yourself for someone who's apparently too shy to even show me his real face."
The man's smile widened.
"Oh…"
There was a brief pause.
"Just as I expected. You really can see through it."
The man raised one hand to his face.
Then he slowly began peeling away the artificial skin.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
The strange outer layer came away with disturbing ease, revealing a completely different face beneath it. The man then reached up, grasped his silver hair, and removed the wig, placing it carefully on the table beside him.
The person sitting before Arthur now looked to be around twenty-eight years old. His hair was naturally dark and considerably longer than the silver wig had suggested, while his face was sharper and more defined. Without the artificial disguise, his appearance felt far more natural—and somehow far more dangerous.
Arthur studied him for a moment.
"Looks like your eyes are natural, Mr… uh…"
"Oh, please. Call me William."
The man smiled.
"And yes, my eyes are natural. Their color is rather rare. Crimson red, to be specific."
"Quite a rare color."
Arthur paused.
"But I suppose, William, you didn't come here just to discuss your eye color with me."
William laughed softly.
"Hoho… What a clever man you are, Mr. Doyle. And yes, you're absolutely right."
His smile slowly faded into something more serious.
"The truth is, I'm here to make you an offer."
"An offer?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Huh. Well, let's hear it."
William leaned back in the chair.
"You see, after the Austin House massacre, we lost quite a bit of manpower. The Austins were valuable assets to us. Unfortunately, you took them away."
His expression remained strangely cheerful despite the words.
"But I have to admit… I was impressed by what you accomplished on your own."
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You seem to know quite a lot about me."
He paused.
"And apparently you're a fan."
William chuckled.
"You could say that."
He placed his hands calmly on the table.
"So here's my offer, Mr. Doyle. You can become a great asset to us…"
His smile returned.
"…or you can become a great threat."
Arthur remained silent.
"Our actions toward you will depend entirely on which of those two possibilities you choose. And since that day is approaching rather quickly, I didn't want to wait any longer."
William leaned slightly forward.
"So I came here myself."
His crimson eyes remained locked onto Arthur's.
"I am offering you a position among us."
Arthur stared at him.
"Among you?"
His voice carried a hint of disbelief.
"What exactly does that mean? Like the Austins? Become your dog and obey every order you're given?"
William immediately shook his head.
"Oh, no, no, Mr. Doyle. If that were the case, I wouldn't have come here personally."
His expression became almost amused.
"I'm talking about something much higher."
Arthur's eyes remained cold.
"I believe you're intelligent enough to understand that you'll receive all your answers once you give us your answer."
Silence settled between them.
Arthur stared at William for several seconds.
Countless thoughts ran through his mind.
Who exactly are these people?
How much do they know?
What do they want from me?
Before he could speak, William broke the silence.
"You don't seriously think you could simply kill me here, do you, Mr. Doyle?"
Arthur's eyes sharpened.
William continued before he could respond.
"Oh, please. You're a wise man. Surely you understand your own physical condition better than anyone."
His gaze briefly moved toward Arthur's injured side.
"And even if you somehow managed to kill me…"
He smiled.
"…you still wouldn't know what you're dealing with."
William slowly glanced around the café.
"For example, isn't it strange that nobody has entered this café since I arrived?"
Arthur's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
William noticed.
"I thought so."
He rose from the chair and adjusted his clothes.
"So I expect you to give my offer some thought. I don't need your answer right away. Take your time."
He turned toward the door.
"But don't take too much."
William took a few steps before stopping.
"Mr. Doyle."
Arthur looked at him.
"Come back to this exact place, at this exact time, tomorrow."
William smiled over his shoulder.
"I'll be waiting."
Arthur said nothing.
William began walking toward the exit.
His hand reached the door.
Then Arthur finally spoke.
"One last question."
William stopped.
Arthur glanced toward the three balloons still resting in his hand.
"What's with the balloons?"
William slowly turned his head.
For the first time since entering the café, his smile looked genuinely unsettling.
"They aren't balloons."
He paused.
"They're people."
Then William turned around, opened the door, and walked out.
Arthur remained seated.
His eyes stayed fixed on the doorway long after William had disappeared.