Half an hour later:
"Thanks for saving us, and for our masks too. I thought we would end up behind bars," Jane scoffed, comfortably sitting on the passenger's seat before stretching his hands.
Facade stayed hushed.
Thanks?...
THANKS, MY FOOT! My back is still aching just because of you people!
Even though he seemed composed on the surface, his hidden side couldn't resist yelling. Not long ago, he fought with Frawl, a wing leader of a small troop, but still a part of Forces. And what for? Just to arrive at the Gutter Rat's aid.
"Haa..." Facade let out a brief sigh, recalling the troubles he went through just to hop his self-generated chores.
1. Complete your part in Operation 'EAR' by stealing the Mundand Family blueprints.
2. Destroy the Mundand Family (Personal Initiatives)
3. Let the three baits be caught red-handed (Personal Initiatives)
4. Rescue them and make them serve you (Personal Initiatives)
5. Turn yourself in (Personal Initiatives)
6. Rescue Jebreel (Personal Initiatives)
Out of six, three were a complete win. Although, the fourth seemed to be in progress as the result was still undecided.
"Yay... That ends my day," Jane exhaled, behaving as though he was the one assigned to extensive labor.
"Duffer, it's almost the beginning of a new day," Mike remarked from behind, his ironic utterance as sour as lemon.
"I do have sense, Mike." But he simply deflected Mike's sarcasm, flinging his eyes toward Watson instead.
The plump figure sat right next to the window, his voice roughly indulging in random topics.
"Yo, whas'up?" Distinct from all the present individuals, Jane finally asked the bothered fellow, speech as lighthearted as always.
"I-It's nothing." Watson instantly tightened his lips after the response, hesitation more apparent since Facade's presence.
It was pretty much natural, as Watson was born an introvert. Mingling with new souls only felt like a burden upon his lips, everyday speech faltering in front of the unknown guest. Moreover, the stranger was not his everyday council member — it was Facade, an up-and-rising star of the Eigengrau Society.
H-He really is before me...
Watson gulped the fact, sweat spreading across his oval face. Mike, ever alert to those swinging reactions, tied together the strings of prior carelessness. "Hey, Watson..." he whispered, his body sliding just enough to close upon his ear. "Y-Yes?" Watson minutely flinched at the shift.
"You were the one to hint at the possibility..." Mike started, eyes locked on the twitching brows. "...About the commotion? Head-on fight, right?"
Jane and Facade took note from the front seats, paying no mind to the subtle chatters.
"Yes, yes, I do!" Watson persisted in ignorance, nodding even while aware it wasn't the case.
"So, why did a Crimson not notice the cupboard? Do clashes create winds or something to whip out the cupboard?" Mike's further observation left Jane with a squirm, his face instantly turning to the backseat.
"I-I..." Watson tried his best to conceal the delay, utterly failing to do so.
"You drove us to believe in whatever nonsense you spouted back then!" Mike's mouth twitched in anger, lips giving away a grimace of irritation.
"No! It's not like that at all!—" But Watson snapped at the accusation, attempting to cover his notable mishap.
"—That reminds me..." Jane interjected the instant Watson finished, successfully making a stand between the clash. Mike, displeased by the interruption, shot a quick, piercing glance.
"What?" he probed.
"...Watson was the last to leave the trapdoor. Why hadn't you put the chair back in its place?" Jane locked his brows, casting an eye on both the passengers, specifically Watson.
"See? Even that slowpoke got the whole point!" Mike pointed out Jane, his tone highlighting the word 'slowpoke' enough to convey Jane's absolute dumbness.
"You do know the rules, right?" But Jane passed over the comment, more apprehensive about the situation.
"Yes, I do, but be-believe m—"
"Believe you!?" Speed leveled up Mike's pace, curiosity pressing him to grab the newbie's collar already. "Don't you know we are selected for a reason, you Crimson nuthead! Or do you want to taste what's beneath the enormous Mansion! And you, you sympathetic jerk, stop being too light on him! Can't you see his evi—"
"Shut."
"..."
The bustle muted in a heartbeat, each focus whipping to Facade's unsettling pitch.
"Shut up, you all." The hiss alone was plenty to weigh upon the ruckus, silencing them with an awkward hush. Though Facade was reluctant to join the quarrel from the start, unwanted noise pressed him to take the lead, knowing that the commotion could only stop by his interference.
What's their deal?
Even though Facade wasn't interested in the brewing argument, his cognition still raised questions. He could've openly asked his juniors about all the bustle right when it started, yet he sat in oblivion till now.
"Hear everything, understand deeply, respond wisely."
It was a maxim crafted out of his job, experience making him acknowledge the worth of the clause. But still, instead of emphasizing on the whole citation, Facade regarded the first expression in bold
— TO LISTEN. An act that would not only brought aimless briefs but also a chance out of random facts.
It was vital to become an observer before a spy, his goal meeting heights all because of unexpected sights. And thus, he went along.
God, I can't stand them anymore.
Yet all Facade did was moan internally, every bit of his conscience echoing dull. Not only did his mindscape skip one or two details concerning the hubbub behind, but his bones screamed out of weariness.
"Tell me what's going on, or I swear I'll rip you all," he snarled, one hand mildly stiff on the wheel.
"Mister Facade," Mike retorted, his focus diverted to Facade's nape when his anger balanced to normal. "T-this man here is playing tric—."
"—Elaborate."
Man... He's pissed, alright.
Mike realized. Although he had never seen Facade angry, just imagining the calm essence turning diabolic felt eerie, more like a devil's harvest drawn from a single soul.
Eekk! Mike's hair instantly stood on his back, reflex making his throat dry.
"Why do you think that Watson is playing tricks?" Facade further inquired, face latched forward on the lane.
"First... that's—"
Mike was about to express his reasons when he suddenly halted, newly built attention deflecting from the word 'tricks.'
"Mister Facade," he asked, regulating his volatile behavior within seconds. "May I ask you a question before elaborating on the situation?"
"Carry on."
"W-What happened to the blueprints?"
"Availed." Facade persisted his terse response, signaling his legacy as a complete laconic.
"Heh!? How did you even know where I hid those?" But Jane interrupted the flow anyway, entirely oblivious to both the atmosphere and past happenings combined.
"I could tell," Facade said, half lying, half sincere.
He surely couldn't tell, let alone see anything when he was inside the bakery. The mess made him practically blind, black space glitching when he attempted abyss perception. But still, it wasn't an excuse to leave behind the confidential materials — not when it meant a bonus point to Facade.
Therefore, he navigated the cramped area by groping each edge, his mind creating a rough layout as he utilized other senses.
"It's too obvious..." Facade stayed prudent in his seat, adding more to his carved comments. Jane faded into silence, nodding as he tilted his head back to the dashboard.
"May I continue now?" Mike, who waited for a brief pause, ultimately requested, equally getting a polite nod in response.
"Okay. Um... The thing is..."
He began at last, stretching the term 'duplicity' to such lengths when all Watson did was forget to place the chair back on the trapdoor. Irritating yet tolerable, the speech managed to retain some peace inside the car.
"Say, Mister Facade!" Mike's inflamed dialect reduced to a quarter, almost evaporated the instant he finished elaborating. Jane, who sat akin to frozen ice, was mute.
"Is it even possible that he never took note of the emptied cupboard?" Mike turned his head to the inclined Watson, gaze locked upon his nervousness.
"Hmm..." Facade didn't bother to interrogate even after listening to a thirty-minute statement, placing the issue for another day.
I really can't concentrate on this rubbish. I don't want to solve it...
But he knew that tossing it aside won't do any good. He should, or rather, must take measures for the come-from-nowhere scenario, keeping in mind the consequences he previously faced in the bakery.
"Watson," Facade exhaled amidst speaking. "Any last words?" Jane abruptly snapped his head toward Facade's face, Mike undazed by the decree.
"P-Pardon?..." Watson's eyes dilated in alarm, his bones crawling with fear.
"W-What do you... What do you mean b-by that??" He scarcely let out a wiggling question, clearly feeling what gossips failed to convey.
'You know when there was a feast in the great hall? They say that Mister Facade had some kind of unseen power.'
'What!? You don't believe me? My friend was just ahead and he said that the experience was horrifying. Believe me, it's not just him — I felt it too.'
'You know what I felt back then? It was like invisible... chilling hands crawling for my throat. I imagined them purple, dark looming purple trying to choke me out of breath. There wasn't any blood, yet... it felt like I was standing among the war.'
'Facade... He's a terrifying monster.'
Mumbles flashed past Watson's mind, and he trembled, shaking more evidently than before.
No! I can't die!! I don't want to die!
But... But Lady Camellia would kill me if I say anything!
Watson disregarded everything around him, his sole attention on rushing thoughts.
What do I do?! I can't control my body. I can't hide anything anymore — I should've never agreed to the contract!!
Watson was completely trapped in a nocebo effect — a phenomenon where you believe in negative outcomes simply because you expect them to happen.
He stayed silent, breath shallowing with each heavy beat. Mike darted a glance at the flushed face, eagerly waiting for Facade to utter something — anything — that might pass absolute judgment over Watson's insincerity. But he remained concealed, certain that haste would mean only bias.
"Watson..." Facade again called for his attention, this time with more strain. "Y-Yes!" The timbre made Watson snap out of his mental space, redirecting his concentration back to the Elite.
"I—"
"P-Please, don't kill me! I've done n-nothing! I never meant harm, believe me!!" Watson broke into a wail, eyes dry yet still synching with the shrill.
"Don't listen to him, Mister Facade! I know he's working for someone!" Mike overlapped his weep, returning to his natural accent.
"What the hell were you even up to, Watson?? Look at you — you're all exposed. God, I can't believe you're a Crimson..."
"I can explain myself!"
"COULD YOU BE ANY MORE SHAMELESS!?"
"I'm no—"
"Just lower your voice, Mike!!"
"Listen, I—"
Screeeeech!
Facade suddenly slammed the brakes, hands gripping the gear so hard it vibrated.
"GET OFF MY CAR."