Lota Orphanage.

In the morning mist, the matron peeked her head halfway out from behind the door, eyeing with caution the man in a black formal suit standing outside.

“Sir... who are you looking for?”

“Hello.”

Muen removed his hat and greeted politely:

“My name is Bruce Wayne. A... philanthropist.”

“Philanthropist?”

The matron still looked suspicious. But when Muen handed over a gilded card, the doubt and coldness on her face melted away like snow in spring.

The card bore official certification, describing in detail how this gentleman named Bruce had funded schools, donated supplies, and even personally distributed food to the starving poor of the Lower City during winter. He was loved by the common people—a rare merciful noble.

Immediately, the matron’s demeanor changed to one of warmth and respect, and she ushered Muen inside.

“Ah, sir, why didn’t you inform us in advance? We haven’t prepared anything at all.”

“That’s the only way I can see this orphanage in its truest state, isn’t it? That will determine how much I donate.”

Muen smiled as he followed her into the orphanage.

But his smile soon froze.

From outside, with the tall walls blocking the view, he hadn’t noticed. But once inside the gates, he realized—the orphanage was unbearably dilapidated.

At the end of the wide yard stood a row of earthen houses neatly lined up, yet time had scarred them deeply. Walls were riddled with cracks, most windows broken and patched with newspaper, the roof gaping with holes poorly stuffed with straw.

Only the yard was spacious, scattered with trees and crude play structures.

Could such houses really withstand the winter?

“Why is it so run-down?”

Muen frowned, anger in his voice. “Doesn’t the orphanage receive funds from above?”

“...Too little.”

The matron twisted her shabby apron, stammering:

“And the funding has decreased year by year. The authorities think there’s no need for this orphanage anymore. Almost no one comes to adopt children here. If not for kind people donating, this place would have closed long ago.”

“No one comes to adopt?”

Muen asked in puzzlement, but before she could answer further, a clear bell rang across the courtyard.

The orphanage came alive. A few minutes later, children stumbled out of the houses, rubbing their sleepy eyes, heading toward a side room where matrons awaited to help them wash.

“...This is—”

Muen’s heart tightened.

For every child in sight bore some disability.

Missing hands.

Missing feet.

Blind eyes.

Deaf ears.

Cleft lips.

Albinism.

One after another passed before him, and not a single one was whole.

“So that’s why no one adopts them?”

Muen realized. Who would adopt a child like this?

But immediately, his chest clenched.

“These children... can only stay until age eleven?”

“You know?”

The matron’s eyes grew red as she nodded with bitter guilt.

“There’s no helping it. Ensuring they survive a childhood is already the most we can do.”

“I see.”

Muen sighed. The matron was right—this was the limit of what such a poor orphanage could manage. It wasn’t their fault. It was the limitation of the era itself.

“All the children here are disabled?”

“Yes. They’re the ones other orphanages refuse to take in. Each has some defect, greater or smaller.”

So they only accepted the unwanted, the imperfect.

Then Senior Sister...

Strictly speaking, even if Anna’s limbs were intact, in this orphanage she was the most “defective” of all.

Muen followed the matron on a tour. The children, curious at the rare visitor, stared at him. Muen smiled gently, producing an abundance of candies, snacks, and toys like a magician. Soon the orphanage was filled with laughter.

But in the corner of his vision, he noticed one little girl keeping far away, unwilling to come closer.

...

Later, Muen was introduced to the white-haired old woman who was the head of the orphanage.

After a brief self-introduction, he went straight to the point.

“I want to investigate someone.”

“Who?”

“Anna Kaplin.”

“...What is she to you?”

“A friend.”

“Friend?”

The director showed a surprised expression, studying Muen closely.

“How unexpected. That child who always closed off her heart actually has a friend. From the look of you, perhaps more than a friend.”

Her experienced eyes seemed to pierce straight through him. As though already prepared, she handed Muen a stack of documents.

“There’s not much to investigate. That girl here was just an antisocial, aloof child, but when alone, she could be a little crazy.”

“No, Director, even that is already far from ordinary.”

Muen chuckled, taking the file and leafing through it.

The records were thin, just basic notes.

But the girl described matched exactly what Anna had once said of her younger self—sneaking out in the mornings, playing wildly, then returning.

Spending her earnings on candy, which she gave the matrons to distribute, while never mingling with the other children.

Nothing remarkable. From the records alone, nothing stood out.

“Senior... Anna, after leaving, has she ever returned?” Muen asked softly.

“No,” the director answered firmly.

“No?”

Muen was stunned. That didn’t sound like her.

“Not once?”

“Of course not. She never returned, never sent money. Once you leave the orphanage, you no longer have anything to do with us.”

The director’s voice turned cold.

“Mr. Bruce, even if you are her friend, if you didn’t come to donate, then please don’t waste our time. I have many matters to attend to.”

“...No.”

Muen fell silent, turning toward the window. His hand opened and clenched repeatedly as he muttered:

It felt like the director was hiding something.

“Please, let me look more. Just a little more.”

Behind the houses stretched the orphanage’s fields. It was harvest time. After breakfast, the children—some barely three or four, some hobbling on crutches, some feeling their way blindly—helped the matrons reap. Even so, abandoned by fate, they worked happily, smiling innocently.

Muen walked to the field’s edge. The children saw him and waved, calling “Mr. Bruce!” He smiled and nodded back. His earlier gifts had clearly won their hearts.

But inside, he couldn’t feel joy.

He still had nothing. The old man had said the orphanage held the truth, but where? Anna had left ten years ago. The director insisted she never returned. How could there be any connection?

“Should I give up?”

Better to focus on killing the Moon...

Hm?

Irritation was almost curdling into killing intent when Muen’s gaze shifted to beneath a tree.

There, out of place from the cheerful atmosphere, sat a black-dressed little girl, sketching intently.

The orphanage staff seemed long used to her aloofness; even the matrons didn’t care about her obvious “slacking.”

“She’s...”

Muen recognized her—earlier, when he had handed out snacks and toys, she alone had stayed away.

“There’s something... off about this.”

...

...

“What are you drawing?”

The little girl looked up warily at the stranger beside her.

After a moment, she tucked in her bare feet and whispered:

“A cake.”

“A cake?”

Muen’s gaze fell on the sketchboard, his mouth twitching.

He’d thought it was a millstone.

“You like cake?”

“Yes. It’s sweet, delicious, and blowing candles is fun.”

“Then...”

With a flick of his palm, a small sweet-smelling cake appeared in Muen’s hand as though by magic.

He shook it with a sly grin, looking every bit the bad uncle luring a loli.

“Want some?”

“S-so fragrant...”

The girl sucked her finger, staring straight at the cake, drooling.

But after hesitation, she reluctantly pulled her gaze away.

“Big sister said... I can’t eat food from strangers.”

“I’m no stranger. Look—your little friends ate my food too. They’re fine, aren’t they?”

“This...”

The girl hesitated again. After fidgeting for a while, she finally surrendered to temptation, taking the cake and eating greedily.

Her cheeks puffed like a squirrel’s, adorable.

Watching her, Muen felt his frustration ease.

While she ate, he examined her sketch again.

At first glance, a millstone. But knowing it was a cake—it really did look like one.

Brightly colored, dotted with brown shapes resembling chocolate—clearly a birthday cake, the kind ordinary Lower City folk couldn’t afford.

Wait.

Birthday cake?

Muen’s head snapped up, staring at the shabby orphanage.

Would they have the money to buy cakes?

Yet the girl said cake was delicious, blowing candles was fun. She must have had it.

And she mentioned a big sister.

Something clicked. His heart began to pound.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“Mmm...” she nodded with her mouth full.

“How old are you?”

“Ten.”

Ten—almost the age to leave the orphanage. Among children here, there shouldn’t be anyone older for her to call sister.

Meaning...

“Was it on your birthday you had cake?”

“Yes.”

“Your sister bought it for you?”

“Yes.”

The innocent girl kept savoring her cake, unaware she was already caught in Muen’s net.

“Then... was your sister’s name Anna?”

The girl’s round eyes flew wide. Terror swept her face. The cake dropped forgotten as she grabbed her sketchboard and tried to flee.

But how could Muen let her?

“Don’t run. Please, don’t run.”

He caught her shoulder, his voice trembling.

“I’m not a bad person. I’m Anna’s friend—really, I’m her friend.”

“Friend?”

Suspicion filled her little face.

But then she suddenly leaned close, sniffing at him.

“...Sister’s scent.”

Her doubt faded. “You smell like her.”

“...Scent?”

Muen blinked.

True, he had been close to Anna—closer than close. But after soaking in water so long, the scent remained?

“I remember... Senior’s sense of smell was sharp too.”

The detail struck him. And this careless remark seemed to convince the girl completely. She sat back down and blinked innocently.

“If you know that... you really are sister’s friend?”

“Yes.”

Muen nodded firmly, a sly smile tugging his lips.

“And maybe more than a friend, soon.”

“More than a friend?”

The girl tilted her head, unable to grasp his meaning.

“Never mind that.”

Muen returned to the point. “Since you believe me now, will you answer more questions?”

She thought a bit. “Sister told me not to tell anyone... but if you’re her friend, maybe it’s okay.”

“On your birthday, it really was Anna who gave you the cake?”

“Yes.”

“When’s your birthday?”

Muen’s voice grew taut.

“It’s...”

She counted carefully on her fingers.

“Seven days ago.”

Seven days!

Muen’s heart jolted.

The very day of Open House—the night Tech Rod was killed!

“Was it at night?”

“Yes. Because in the day, the matrons would notice.”

“Did she stay long?”

“Yes. Very long.”

Muen lowered his head, staring at the strange cake drawing. His face twisted between laughter and tears.

Night. The exact time of the murder.

And this orphanage was on the opposite side of the city from the crime scene.

Unless she could fly—impossible in a no-fly capital—Anna couldn’t have done it.

She had the perfect alibi.

“Then why... why didn’t she tell the truth?”

At the Silent Bureau, when interrogated, she could have. It was provable.

Even with Serpentine Disease, there’s a vast difference between being sick and being a murderer.

The truth meant life or death.

So why...?

“Could it be...”

Suddenly, Muen lifted his head, eyes on the girl.

“Can you... stand up and spin once?”

Puzzled, she obeyed.

Her washed-black dress flared like a butterfly’s wings.

And in that instant, Muen understood the discord he had sensed.

—This little girl was whole.

In an orphanage that only took in the disabled, being whole was the greatest defect.

And even without the glimpse of bandages beneath her sleeve as she spun, Muen already knew.

She had Serpentine Disease.

Just like Anna.

That was why Anna kept silent.

Just as on their first date, even scratched, she had bandaged a kitten’s paw—

The mischievous, teasing, troublesome girl... who was more gentle than anyone. Always protecting this child.

...

...

“I have to go now.”

Muen patted the girl’s head.

“So soon?”

Corrupted by his cake attack, she blinked in reluctant protest.

“Don’t worry. Soon you’ll have cake often. But now I can’t stay. I have something important to do.”

“What are you going to do, brother?”

The address slipped naturally from her lips.

“Let’s see...”

Muen pressed down his hat, tilting his face up toward the gentle sun.

A crooked smile curved his lips.

“First, beat a few bad guys to death—though they’re not really people. Then stop some evil schemes. If I can kill that thing too, all the better. If I can’t, I’ll find someone who can.

And last of all... drag a certain lying woman back home, and spank her until she can’t sit for days.”

“You can’t hit sister!” The little girl flailed her arms, fierce as a kitten.

“Haha, I won’t hit her.”

Muen bent down and pinched her soft cheeks.

“But making sure she can’t get out of bed for a few days—oh, that I will do. Even Jesus couldn’t stop me.”

“...Nor the Evil Gods.”

...

...