Gray dawn crept into the stuffy investigation room, carrying with it the chill of stone and the scent of dust. Less than seven hours remained before the exam ended. The rest of Squad Gamma lay asleep on the cold floor or in uncomfortable chairs, exhausted from last night's fruitless arguments. Cassian's argument, based on the poison data from Squad Beta, had won the majority vote. My theory of a staged suicide had been dismissed as a child's fantasy without proof.
They were wrong. Evidence is not something you find, it is something you create.
I left them to their restless sleep and searched for a quieter corner in the vast training facility, eventually settling into a small storage room that reeked of mothballs. I sat cross-legged on the cold floor, closed my eyes, and drew a deep breath. My mind felt blocked, smashed against the wall of corrupted data William Salwors had planted. I needed to sharpen my main instrument.
I began practicing the breathing technique from the Throne of Nothing. The air around me thickened. The World's Essence, normally imperceptible, now tingled like static on my skin. I wasn't channeling it for strength, I was, according to a book I had read, using it for cognitive acceleration. The text explained that by directing Void Essence into the brain's nadir circuit, information processing speed could be exponentially increased, at the risk of complete mental burnout. A risk I was willing to take.
As the Essence flowed in, the darkness behind my eyelids gave way to a familiar void. And within that void, the voice returned.
"We meet again, descendant of Him." The voice was doubled, a perfect harmony of masculine and feminine tones, echoing without source. "I didn't expect it this soon. But I suppose you're rather quick."
The robed figure sat before me again, leafing through its massive tome beneath a moonlight that came from nowhere. I wasted no time.
"Before anything else, I want to ask: who is this Him you keep referring to?" I asked. My mind felt sharper here, more focused.
The being did not lift its head from the book. "You don't need to know. He is He. Something that …̶̀͂͝͝…̷͐̉̄͘…̶̀͂͝͝…̷͐̉̄͘...̶̀͂͝͝…̷͐̉̄͘…̶̀͂͝͝…̷͐̉̄͘." Its words distorted into painful static, perhaps the world itself refused to allow that name or concept to be spoken.
"Ah, interference again. The point is, you'll find out eventually, Welt Rothes. Or should I say… Cheon Donghwan, the Terrorist."
That title, spoken with a cold amusement, struck like a whip.
"Enjoy your new life," the voice continued.
Then, without warning, a wave of raw energy and information erupted from the tome and slammed into my consciousness. It felt like the entire Library of Alexandria had been poured into my mind in a single instant. Heat and cold collided in agonizing pain. I wanted to scream, but there was no air to scream with. My head felt as if it would burst.
I jolted awake, back in the cramped storage room, gasping, drenched in cold sweat. Yet beneath the lingering pain… there was something new. The world felt painfully slow. I could hear my heartbeat with clarity, see the patterns of dust floating in the air, and most importantly, I could see the entire investigation board with terrifying clarity. Every lie, every planted clue, every hidden motive of the instructors stood before me like a diagram.
William Salwors had given me false data. A clever move. He wanted to see how I would react to an unpredictable variable. What he didn't know was that he had just handed me the perfect chance to demonstrate my true capability.
Not to find the truth.
To create it.
...
From his post in the central observation room, William Salwors watched the screens monitoring each squad. Thanks to his Channel "Clair" in Archetype 8, he had access to a wide range of surveillance feeds. Most of the screens showed exhausted cadets still asleep. His own Squad Beta had submitted their report the night before, a competent analysis based on the available evidence, including his own planted "poison" clue. It was logical, well-argued and entirely wrong.
William's attention turned to Squad Gamma's screen. Empty. Everyone asleep, except one. Welt Rothes was missing. William quickly pulled footage from the corridor cameras. He found the trail. Subject W-01 had entered a storage room about an hour ago and hadn't emerged.
Meditation? Or outside communication? William tapped his notebook, pensive. This unscheduled isolation period could be a logical response to the data deadlock I created. Perhaps he's recalibrating.
Just then, the screen showed Welt emerging from the storage room. His walk was calm, but something had changed. His posture was straighter. The way his eyes scanned the environment, sharper, more precise. Far more than before.
William leaned closer, analytical instincts flaring.
Status change confirmed. Subject's internal state has shifted. He's reached a conclusion.
William readied his pen.
The real show was about to begin.
...
I returned to the main investigation room just as the others were beginning to stir. Cassian Droct stretched pompously, ready to once again impose his theory.
"All right, we don't have much time," he said, already reclaiming command. "We're finalizing the report based on the ventilation poison theory. It's the only one supported by physical evidence."
"That evidence is flawed," came a calm voice.
Irene. She was seated, cleaning her glasses with a piece of silk.
"Squad Beta's report didn't specify the poison's concentration. Without quantitative data, it can't be used as primary evidence. It might simply be residue from another experiment in this facility."
Cassian scoffed. "Nonsense. It's the only solid lead we've got!"
This was my cue. I wouldn't argue with Cassian directly. I'd make him argue with himself.
I walked over to Finnian.
"Finnian," I said softly, "last night you said you heard something when checking the victim's wardrobe. A faint rustling behind the back panel. Maybe you could check it again? Could've just been my imagination."
His eyes widened. Of course, he hadn't heard a thing. But his eagerness to redeem himself, especially after the Irene notes incident, was burning.
"I-I'll check right away!" he said, rushing to the wardrobe.
Next, I turned to Roshtov, who had silently been watching our exchange.
"Roshtov," I said, pointing at the ceremonial sword mounted on the wall, "the family crest on that hilt, don't you think the eagle engraving looks slightly off? Especially the right claw, it seems more stylized, oddly shaped."
He frowned, walking toward it. His analytical nature would take over. He'd see a "difference" even where none existed.
Last, Lian. She was already scowling at me. I approached cautiously.
"Lady Valerius," I said, with calculated respect, "you're a specialist in fire Essence. Can you feel any thermal residue near the fireplace? I sensed a subtle heat anomaly behind one of the bricks. Possibly a hidden compartment."
Her pride stung. She wouldn't admit to not sensing anything.
"Of course I felt it," she said haughtily. "I was just about to inspect it." She walked to the fireplace, her hands glowing faintly with flame.
Three seeds of doubt, tailored to each personality. Now I waited for them to sprout.
"I found something!" Finnian cried from the wardrobe. He pulled back a thin wooden panel, revealing a neatly folded letter.
At the same time, Roshtov declared, "You're right. This engraving is the work of a southern artisan, our exiled branch often commissioned him."
And from the fireplace, Lian exclaimed, "There's… there's a metal box in here!" She pulled a scorched black container from behind a loose brick.
Cassian looked on in stunned confusion. His chessboard had just been filled with new pieces he didn't understand.
I stepped forward.
I took the letter from Finnian, the box from Lian, and glanced at Roshtov. "Just as I suspected," I said calmly, assembling our new 'evidence'. "This wasn't a murder by an intruder."
I opened the letter, it was a desperate love confession from a forbidden lover, likely from the exiled family branch Roshtov had just 'discovered'. I opened the metal box, inside was a vial of clear liquid and a ring bearing the same crest as on the ceremonial sword.
"This official didn't die for what was in the safe," I explained, voice steady, echoing in the now-silent room. "No, he died for a scandal. A forbidden love affair. This letter is proof. This ring, their bond. And this vial…" I raised it, "…this isn't poison. It's the antidote."
I looked straight at Cassian.
"Squad Beta's report was right: there *was* poison in the vents. The culprit was this secret lover. In a fit of despair after being rejected, they tried to kill the official. But they regretted it. They sneaked back in, not to kill, but to deliver the antidote, hidden in the fireplace. Unfortunately, they were too late. The official was already dead. In panic, they fled, leaving behind the letter and the cure."
I laid out the items on the table. "The culprit isn't some shadowy intruder. It's a desperate lover, driven by emotion, not greed. The motive is personal, not political. That is the truth."
It was the perfect narrative. I had explained every clue, including William's planted data. The case had drama, tragedy, and airtight logic. A beautiful lie. A masterpiece spun from falsehood.
Cassian was speechless. His simplistic theory lay in ruins. Irene stared at me, and this time, I didn't see challenge in her eyes, but something else. Something resembling awe.
When the exam ended, our squad submitted *my* report as the final conclusion. The instructors, Dales, Gerald, and others, read it in stunned silence. They couldn't find a single crack. My report wasn't just logically sound, it felt emotionally real. As if I were Sherlock Holmes himself.
We were declared the winners.
As we left the facility and returned under the pale afternoon sun, the exhaustion and tension began to settle in. Finnian was bouncing with excitement.
"We did it! Welt, you're amazing! I can't believe I found that letter!"
I only nodded. Beside me, Irene walked in silence. She hadn't said a word since my presentation.
Finally, as we neared the dorms, she stopped.
"That wasn't a beautiful story, Welt," she said softly, her voice nearly a whisper. "It was… a perfect construction. Every part fit. Too perfectly."
I stopped and turned. This was the moment—the closer.
"The world doesn't run on truth, Irene," I said, my voice calm, slicing through the evening air. "It runs on the story that's easiest to accept. Truth is just a tale no one's managed to disprove. Something I call Occam's Razor."
"And you…" she stared at me, green eyes searching for answers she didn't voice. "…you plan to be the author of that tale?"
I didn't smile. I didn't nod. I simply held her gaze, letting the silence speak louder than any words.
"I already hold the pen," I replied.
Then I turned and walked toward the dorms, leaving her standing alone in the fading light. My shadow stretched long across the path as the sun set behind me, marking the end of a chapter.
My phase of observation was over. The game of children was done.
From this point forward, I would strive to become something greater than Him.