The Devout / A Midnight Rendezvous

Bianca, now free, stammered, "But I saw you dancing at the ball!"

"..."

Mobius had never felt such hatred for the mark, not even the day he took Bianca away.

Bianca was helpless against Mobius's behavior. She had known Mobius for many years and knew Mobius temperament well. If Mobius didn't want to agree to something, even if you pulled her jaw with two trains, you couldn't get her to open her mouth.

"Okay, so... where did that stupid, hypocritical, deceitful, scheming, despicable, stubborn... boy go?" Bianca tried her best not to laugh out loud at Mobius's angry glare. "Tinghen said he should be in the lab by now."

"..."

Mobius collapsed with a bang.

She slumped onto the sofa, her hand covering her forehead, and glanced weakly at the instant noodles on the table, saying—

"Going out to carry out solo missions."

The Nun finished her prayers for the day, rose, and dusted off her Nun. The soft light from the stained-glass window fell on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and listened to the children's joyful cheers outside the window, along with the somewhat impatient voice of a man. A rare smile appeared on her face.

But that smile quickly turned into a cloud of worry.

Since that severe cold snap, more and more people have been contracting that strange illness, and many of the patients she took in have died from it...

The Dusk Street was becoming increasingly lifeless, with a surge in patients crowding the stinking ditch, and she was unable to treat everyone...

She closed her eyes and prayed again, praying that the merciful Lord would save these innocent lives.

Even so, she did not know where that master was.

"Splash."

Unbeknownst to everyone, a man walked to the entrance of the sanatorium. He looked up and examined the seemingly ordinary sanatorium, then reviewed the information on his communicator once more.

Then, he turned and left, heading towards a certain part of Dusk Street.

Chapter Two: The Devout

As the night grew quiet, the Nun finished checking all the rooms and slowly walked back to her own.

All the way, she gazed at the dark and silent courtyard, her shadow flickering like a broken string in the dim light.

Another cold winter has arrived, and she ponders how much grain is left in the warehouse...

"Gah..."

The Nun pushed open the door to her room, a neat and plain bedroom, as simple and austere as any other devout believer's. As she approached the window to close it, she suddenly remembered something.

Did she open the window today?

"Don't move."

A cold voice rang out from the shadows, and at the same time, a hard object pressed against her waist.

Having never left Dusk Street childhood, the Nun was well aware of its chaos. She immediately realized what was on her waist, but her expression remained unchanged, indifferent and silent.

"..."

"..."

Neither of them spoke at first. The person behind them was observing the Nun, Nun was waiting for him to speak. If he was simply desperate, she wouldn't mind helping someone who had no other choice but to rob someone.

But will someone with a gun on Dusk Street be driven to desperation?

It would take other sanatorium staff a while to get here, and the Nun's room was in a secluded corner, unlike the others.

After a long pause, the man seemed to have finally finished scrutinizing the Nun's appearance. He threw a photograph onto the table in front of Nun, then pressed a pistol against her waist and coldly asked, "Do you recognize this person?"

The Nun's gaze fell on the photograph, which showed a man in a suit with a smile that gave off an uncomfortable feeling. She searched her memory but did not recall anyone by that name, so she shook her head.

"...Really?"

The Nun seemed to hear a faint sound of some kind of mechanical device starting up, and then a faint blue light appeared behind her.

The Nun shook her head again; she had no reason to lie.

Another unbearable silence followed. Was the man checking if she was lying? He asked so bluntly; if she was lying, how could he possibly tell if she was telling the truth?

The Nun rarely heard anyone breathe so evenly, as if each breath had been deliberately timed and exerted with the same force.

Finally, the man reached out and grabbed the photo, preparing to take it back.

At this moment, the gloomy clouds of the night dissipated, and the bright white moon revealed half its face, its clear moonlight shining on the table.

She saw the hand holding the photo, a well-proportioned and strong arm wearing gloves, covered with some strange metal, which was nothing like the thin and withered appearance that people on Dusk Street should have.

"Excuse me... who are you?"

The Nun spoke for the first time after entering the room. Her voice was ethereal and melodious, and although her tone was plain, it brought a sense of peace.

"..." The man had no obligation to answer her. In fact, he was only there to carry out a mission and would not contact irrelevant people unless necessary.

"What are you investigating? Can you tell me without disturbing the children and others?" The Nun's voice seemed to possess a certain magic that made people want to listen, captivating them without them even realizing it.

The man remained silent. He wouldn't believe the Nun based on just a few words. Many people are trained to evade lie detectors; everything must be judged based on the actual circumstances.

Of course, he also had his own judgment.

Do you know who the people you've taken in are?

The Nun hesitated. She didn't know if the man was referring to the identity of the person he had taken in, or the illnesses the person suffered from. The man didn't answer; he was simply waiting for the Nun's reply.

After a long while, the Nun slowly parted her lips and said, "Some... poor people."

"..."

The man's attitude was unpredictable, and the icy aura he exuded from time to time made people shiver in the cold weather. There was a certain quality about him that was different from ordinary people and could not possibly belong to the normal world.

The man's sharp gaze cut through the moonlight. "Seven years ago, someone sponsored this sanatorium, funding the renovation of the facilities and buildings, and also bought some real estate on Dusk Street. Did you know about this?"

This time, the Nun answered without hesitation.

"I know."

"..."

"I was at the nursing home at the time when I received a donation from an anonymous person. The person said in the letter that the money could only be used for the nursing home's own operations, and at that time the nursing home was going through a very difficult period, so the money helped the nursing home out of its immediate crisis." The Nun recalled the situation at the time. "I went to look for that person after that, but I couldn't find him. Do you know where he is?"

The man said that the mysterious person bought real estate on Dusk Street. Is that person still on Dusk Street?

"... He is dead."

The gun's resistance disappeared from her waist, but the Nun did not turn around or run away. Instead, she clasped her hands together and prayed softly.

"What are you doing?" the man asked, puzzled by her actions.

The Nun closed her eyes, gazing at the pure white moon, her long, light brown hair cascading beneath the white veil. "I am praying for him, that his soul may find peace."

The man gazed at the Nun's flawless and devout prayer in the moonlight, and closed his eyes, exhaling softly.

He didn't say what that person did; that person wasn't a kind or benevolent person at all...

But that doesn't matter, does it? All the Nun needs to know is that someone once helped them; it doesn't matter why that person chose to help.

"Does your sect pray with the direction of the west facing you?"

The man noticed the Nun's distinctive attire and asked, somewhat puzzled.

For religious sects and believers, the direction of prayer is particularly important, as it signifies the location of their faith and the God they hope to receive a response from.

"No... I have never joined any sect."

Have you not joined any religious sect?

Yet they were so devout, as if untouched by any dust.

In the quiet room, Nun chanted hymns for the deceased under the moonlight, while the man holstered his pistol and silently watched everything unfold.

After offering the deceased a final rest, the Nun rose and turned back, only to find the man gone, leaving only the open window and the bright, white moon whispering a silent testament...

Not a bad person.

The Nun gave her assessment of the man she was investigating, whom she was meeting for the first time.

The man hid in the shadows and listened as the footsteps faded into the distance before swiftly leaping out of the sanatorium and heading towards his hideout.

The investigation into the nursing home, including the Nun, still needs to continue. The Nun may be unrelated, but the nursing home itself may have some additional connections with the Speaker.

And...

The man glanced back at the sanatorium that was getting further and further away.

Someone noticed that he had infiltrated the sanatorium.

Chapter Three: The Midnight Appointment

Covering her waist-length hair with a veil, the Nun rose in the morning light. She intended to close the window that was letting in the morning breeze, but for some reason, she stopped.

She left a tiny gap, so it shouldn't be visible from the outside... right?

"Aponia, what happened last night?"

A man wearing a ridiculous Corrugated Paper mask was waiting at the door early in the morning.

His name is Chrono. Like most of the people taken in here, he was also brought back by Aponia. However, he was not infected with that strange disease, and... he himself was strange enough.

"What's wrong?" the Nun asked softly.

"I'm asking you!" Chrono's tone was slightly irritable. His suspicious gaze kept shifting back and forth between the Nun and the room behind her, but after seeing the Nun's unchanging, natural expression, he softened a little. "It seems like someone came into the sanatorium last night. Did you find anything?"

He noticed something unusual around the Nun's room last night, but when he got closer, he didn't find anything particularly strange. Plus, the Nun came out of her room as usual today, so he wondered if he was being paranoid.

Did spending too much time in the sanatorium cause his senses to deteriorate?

"..."

"Aponia?"

Seeing that the Nun didn't answer him but instead seemed lost in thought, Chrono frowned under his mask, but said nothing. He had already checked the entire sanatorium and found nothing unusual. He had only come to the Nun to confirm if she was alright. It seemed that he was just overthinking things.

Although reluctant, Chrono still left a message: "If you need anything, you can come to me."

He certainly didn't realize that the Nun was simply pretending not to hear him because she didn't want to lie.

Protecting a killer would be a desecration of pure and innocent faith. In fact, when the Nun left that crack, she felt a little guilty. Even when the man pointed a gun at her last night, her heart didn't seem to beat that fast.

She didn't know why she did it, but as a staunch believer in the doctrine of fate, she had no doubt about her "feelings".

The Nun sensed that the man wasn't a bad person, and that his investigation might be closely related to the sanatorium.

As she said, she hoped that others would not be disturbed by this matter, because not everyone can remain calm under the threat of a gun, let alone those children.

Of course, Chrono is another consideration...

It was another peaceful day. The drowsy atmosphere of Dusk Street was kept at bay by the vitality of the sanatorium, which seemed like a paradise, isolating despair and death.

The Nun walked to the door, and hesitated when she placed her hand on the doorknob.

She listened intently, and the laughter of children still playing in the distance drifted over quietly. Her own breath hit the door, and the dampness turned a small portion of it into frost.

The room was very quiet; so quiet that you could hear someone exhale.

"Gah..." The Nun pushed open the door and entered.

"..."

The room, without any lights on, felt empty. The windows remained exactly as they had been when I left that morning, and a bit of cold wind blew in through the cracks, making a sickening, eerie sound.

She had no expression, which was to be expected; no normal person would expect someone holding a weapon to come to them every night.

The Nun went to the window and closed it.

Just then, she felt a familiar, sharp gaze coming from behind and stopping on her back.

"Click." The door slammed shut.

The Nun tentatively turned around, and the man didn't stop her, indicating that he didn't care if she saw him.

So the Nun turned to face the man who was leaning against the wardrobe, completely blending into the darkness. He also happened to look up and, for the first time, looked directly at this young Nun who had the most say in the sanatorium.

Afterwards, both sides felt somewhat surprised.

To the man's surprise, the Nun was younger than he had expected. She looked to be about the same age as him, and her ethereal demeanor and blank expression made it hard to believe that she was the manager of the most "renowned" sanatorium on Dusk Street.