After changing into a white shirt, a brown jacket, and dark blue leather trousers, Alfred left the hotel, heading toward the library.
Elsewhere...
Javier sat at a desk in front of a wooden window, wearing his black suit. On the desk were a few books, a blank sheet of paper, and an opened envelope sealed with red wax.
A lamp was switched off nearby. A silver fountain pen with a carved silver flower at the top rested in Javier's gloved hand.
I just realized I haven't written to you in a few days...
Two years ago, after the infamous case and meeting Lilly, Alfred had resolved to write his father more often. He sometimes forgot, but he would always write as soon as he remembered.
His mother had died of poisoning—by a bitter neighbor who resented her. Though his mother had done her no harm, the woman envied her happy family life. She herself had never had children, so the sight of a joyful mother with two sons next door fueled her hatred.
Javier's older brother, three years his senior, was now 27 and working abroad in a printing company.
Printing was a profitable business in a time ruled by literature and industry. Newspapers, novels, and books were being printed and distributed in mass quantities.
Javier chose to stay behind, close to his father. He had no desire to live far away. He joined the police force, driven by the trauma of his mother's death.
He was deeply sensitive about losing people he cared about. His mother's murder left a permanent wound, and staying near his father made him feel like he could protect him.
He didn't particularly love his father, but he didn't hate him either. His father had worked as a school security guard and was often away during the day, leaving little time for bonding.
I hope you're doing well. I'm doing okay. It's sunny today.I was given a new assignment.One of my colleagues died yesterday... so I couldn't write for a while.
Javier had always been lazy—both in school and on the job. Not terrible, but never enthusiastic.
He feared his laziness might one day lead to someone's death.
He dreaded that day.
And yet, he had no choice but to develop a coping strategy for his sensitivity.
He became passive and sluggish, acting like he didn't care.
He often joked about being "the famous detective's assistant," but deep down… maybe he was the one who needed guidance. Maybe Alfred had been the one supporting him all along.
We buried the body about an hour ago.Sadly, the officer had no family to visit her. Or maybe no one wanted to come.But it's okay.We came. Another division joined us too. We worked together on the case.
Javier had made many mistakes, but sometimes he did well.
He had seen Alfred's brilliance—his eye, his instincts, his inhuman intellect.
But he had also seen his fall. The madness. The massacre.
It haunted Javier like a nightmare. He never imagined witnessing the great detective crumble like that.
Still, he knew… this was a world ordinary people didn't belong to. They couldn't understand.
Don't forget your medicine.You're getting old, and there's nothing wrong with staying healthy.I'll return to the city soon.Please take care of yourself.I've enclosed some money—just in case you need anything.
From time to time, Javier sent money to his retired father. The man was old now and couldn't work anymore.
Your youngest son,Javier
Javier placed the pen aside, read over the letter slowly, exhaled deeply, and folded the paper into the envelope.
He sealed it with wax, picked up the envelope, and left the room.
17 Clover Street
Alfred arrived at a brown-colored library, intricately designed, with two tall windows.
He pushed open the heavy brown door and stepped inside.
To his left sat a man with brown hair and a balding patch at the front. He wore thin golden-framed glasses with chains behind his head, a white shirt, and a brown vest. He was short and slightly chubby.
He sat on a wooden chair reading a crimson-bound book titled:
"Zultras"
The librarian briefly looked up at Alfred as he passed between the shelves before returning to his reading.
Alfred walked past people seated at tables reading books, and others browsing shelves in search of inspiration.
He reached Row 5, Shelf 3—but the book wasn't there.
He checked every shelf along Row 5—still nothing.
Suddenly, a pale yellow book was extended toward him.
He looked at the title:
"The King in Yellow"
He reached for it and said, "Thank y—" but froze when he saw the pale hand holding the book.
He looked up slowly.
The figure wore black leather shoes beneath a pale yellow butler's suit.
A white linen shirt. A black tie. A yellow vest.
The pale skin stretched from his hand to his exposed neck… then vanished beneath his head—hidden beneath a yellow mask.
The mask was adorned with black, glowing stars. Narrow eye slits. A twisted, eternal smile.
Alfred's first instinct was to drop the book and curse quantum mechanics for allowing such horror to exist.
But the figure turned to black fog—and vanished.
Alfred looked at his hand. The book was still there.
He found a seat and sat down to read.
But as soon as he did, a chilling sight greeted him.
Everyone in the library—including the librarian—had closed their books, lowered their heads…
…and now wore yellow masks decorated with glowing black stars and twisted smiles.
They all stared at Alfred like a room full of schoolchildren waiting for the teacher to begin storytime.
Alfred swallowed hard, amazed he hadn't lost his sanity yet.
He opened the book and began reading.
Chapter 1: A Strange Kingdom—The chapter was vague, full of nonsense. Nothing useful about the "Servant." But then—
Chapter 2: The Mask
Alfred sat up straight and looked at the masks around him before returning to the page.
It was a strange gathering. I didn't understand much—twilight, returning to the glorious kingdom, bringing everyone back? Does the King really intend to summon them all here?Seriously, how big is this place supposed to be?Well, I noticed he brought some dolls here—probably from Earth. Haha. At least I'm not a doll. That's enough for me.
After the meeting, we took off our elaborate masks… all except one: Koroliga.Actually, I've never seen him remove his mask.Cassilda looked at him and said, "Take off your mask."Haha, guess even she was tired and wanted to see his face.
"My mask?" he replied flatly.Candace responded, "Of course. We've all removed ours—except you."Then she looked at me as if to say, "Back me up, will you?"Ha… I just sat there. That man's terrifying. No way I'm getting involved.
What shocked me most…He said, "But I'm not wearing a mask."
And the horrifying thing was—he wasn't lying.In the middle of my awkward laugh, I noticed…There was nothing on his face. No mask.Unless he was wearing someone's skin as a mask—which would be disgusting—he wasn't wearing anything.
Cassilda was horrified. "No mask?" she whispered.She looked closer, then turned to Candace and me."He's not wearing a mask!!!" she screamed in terror.
That's him… that's the man I saw. That's Koroliga! Alfred screamed inside his mind.
He jumped up—but an overwhelming pressure slammed him back into his seat.
He looked around. The yellow-masked figures seemed to be closing in.
Above, the sky turned into a curtain of stars.
Two suns. One twisted moon.
Black, radiant stars above him.
Alfred's body began to erupt with boils—popping and leaking yellow pus.
A pale hand from a yellow-sleeved arm reached toward his eye—trying to rip it out—but it was shocked by some unseen force.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind Alfred, causing the hand to tremble and retreat in frustration.
Unable to claim the eye, the hand vanished.
Everyone around him fell into a frozen trance—except Alfred, who recovered and wiped the yellow pus from his face.
I have to lock myself in the hotel. Immediately.