Soul Snatchers: General Rule–011: BELIEFS ARE THE CORNERSTONES OF EVERY ENTITY.
Oversight: Claim a belief, bend the norm, gain trust, and become a god in mortal flesh.
SS: GR–014: A CORNERSTONE — THOUGH WEAK — IS A SANCTUM OF SANCTUARY WHERE LIFE & POWER RESIDE.
Oversight: Once a pillar, always a pillar.
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The product performs best in ambiguous situations, be it drugs, fame, or religion. When a product grows too famous, too loud, too widely consumed, the world opens its eyes and begins to dissect it. Every misstep, every forgotten detail, every questionable prospect is dragged into the light. The product ceases to be a vision and becomes an argument, a banner, a weapon; something to bend, to twist, to wield—all the while blaming its origin as the root of the problem.
This is the 'Chef Gossip Paradigm' in short: a person receives an ingredient—an idea, a topic, a belief—and seasons it with their own biases to make it more palatable before passing it to the next. The chain continues until dozens of recipes exist; each claiming to be the original, though none retain their integrity. By the time anyone realises what happened, the actual recipe is believed to be lost.
Most never accept the loss. Every chef insists their version is closest to the truth. Most consumers pick a favourite and cling to it, moulding themselves around it—even if the foundation is rotten, not realising the first rip-off has already tainted the recipe beyond repair.
Belief is such a necessity that without one, a person has no frame through which to interpret the world. And thus, beliefs have always been the Cornerstones on which we build ourselves.
Strip away a person's belief in a supreme being, and they become an atheist; strip away that, and they become something else entirely. Their personality, behaviour, and traits—everything that makes them who they are—break, reform, and build themselves around that new cornerstone.
When two realities collide, each insisting it is the only truth, then anything in between is crushed: decency, life, even humanity.
To protect our beliefs, we lie, manipulate, and deceive; not just others, but ourselves.
Murder might be the furthest thought from our minds, yet when all else fails, and free will prevails, we resort to something darker…
Our belief is our sanctuary. Without it, nothing makes sense, so we erase whatever contradicts it.
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SS: GR–04: TOPPLE ONE BELIEF — ONE CORNERSTONE — AND YOUR BELIEF TAKES ITS PLACE TO MAINTAIN THE SACRED SANCTUARY.
Oversight: Once you become their cornerstone—their god—your words become their new reality.
SS: GR–99: GOSSIP SPREADS FASTER THAN GOODWILL OR HATE.
Oversight: The fastest medium for spreading one's will.
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Use gossip. Plant a question, a scene, a rumour, and let it grow and burrow into another's sanctuary.
Feed it with more whispers and half-truths until it grows into a pillar—a new cornerstone—a new belief. Your belief. And let it shape someone else's reality in your stead.
These four rules, though designed with the Soul Society in mind, also apply in the human realm.
Triple 'S' took a big step in shaping the upcoming generation's minds; This ensured they had a future through these kids, and while their Belief got them closer to power, it also brought them under everyone's scrutiny.
A simple girl. A nobody until her death. She has now become the cornerstone on which the institute's future depends.
Did the school compel her to take this drastic measure?
Or did she push herself, unable to bear the simple weight of responsibility?
The former meant the end of the school; the latter offered a chance at redemption, and neither outcome was acceptable to Shawn.
"No wonder I got posted here overnight," he growled, far more distressed about his hair reverting to its natural silver than the misfortune that had befallen him.
"You seem upset about the wrong event," Philip said, pacing.
Shawn raised an eyebrow—then a paintbrush—and dabbed black paint onto his silvery eyebrows. "Why would I be upset about your halted promotion? Don't be absurd." He scoffed, confidently overdoing it.
Philip gaped at the man, astonished that someone like him could exist. "Here," he said, offering his handkerchief. "Perhaps they wanted someone to take the fall?" He attempted to warn Shawn of the bigger political game at play.
Shawn sighed and accepted the handkerchief. "This is the curse of being in the spotlight," he declared, completely missing Philip's point. "Our victories are everyone's triumph, but our failures are our own unforgivable sins. One's outsiders will never forgive, forget, or let us forget."
His crimson eyes shifted to a news article pinned beside his desk; an athlete frozen mid-smile, gold medal held high. "Just like national athletes, or any celebrity under a microscope. Their accomplishments belong to the world, but their mistakes? Entirely their own—despite the so-called support."
He crumpled the newspaper and tossed it into the fireplace, watching the sparks burst as it caught flame. "You'll never find the crowd during the hardship," he said over the crackling paper, "but they'll swarm the moment you fall, claiming to fight for them."
"I think we're off-topic again… sir," Philip muttered, taking a cautious step back, brushing away a stray ember that drifted toward him.
Shawn ignored him and continued. "A simple rumour, backed by people's Beliefs and counter-beliefs, turned this incident into a national crisis. Add teenagers and social media to the mix, and it spreads faster than hate." With lightning-quick reflexes, he snatched a drifting ember from the air and crushed its glow between his thumb and index finger. "No one bothers to look into the shadows." He pinched tighter, producing smoke. "Except for Detective Kudo, that is…"
"Oh!" Philip finally understood his scheme. "He's bailed you out more times than I can count." He snickered.
"And got me so many promotions," Shawn chuckled, the subtle movement of his laugh guiding the brush in an unintended sweep of black across his cheek. "Do you have another?" He held Philip's now-ruined handkerchief between two fingers, as if afraid it might contaminate him further.
Philip stepped further back. "Keep it, sir. Consider it a welcome gift."
"Can I get another one for my promotion as Head Master?" Shawn asked with a grin.
"Sure…" Philip bowed, thinking to himself: If lucky were a person…
He glanced at his reflection in his polished boots… and if unlucky, was a person.
With that defeated thought, he bowed again and slipped out of Shawn's office.
"Bring two!" Shawn called after him, followed by a dramatic prayer, "Come to my rescue, O' saviour of mine… Almighty Kudo-chan!"
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"The Mayor asked for you personally," Thomson said, rubbing his hands and avoiding eye contact.
Kudo noticed his Chief sweating through his uniform and let out a defeated sigh. "Which one?"
"We have more than one?" Thomson questioned his own intelligence due to Kudo's stare.
"We don't," said Edon, barging into the office. "Nor do we need him, Chief? I can handle this case on my own. Also, did you just get out of the gym? Do you even go to one?" He paced around the cubicle, looking for equipment.
"And you should." Said Thomson. "We need all hands on deck for this one. We might be a corner street precinct in a faraway town, but the case involves the biggest school in the largest city, so every precinct near their precious students is involved. Thank the Terrors when you see them — in daylight." He added immediately. "They spook easy."
"I don't want to work with him. Never in a million years." Edon said, mumbling silent curses at Kudo.
"Fresh set of eyes," Thomson said, fanning himself. "You get to conduct your own investigation."
Edon smiled, saluted, and hopped along, sneering at Kudo, who yet had to acknowledge him.
Kudo was distracted by his hair dancing to the air currents created by Chief's casual hand swings. "Can I go?" He asked, warily.
"Didn't you hear what I told Edon?"
Thomson's plea sounded much more threatening under his might, yet Kudo dismissed the giant because he knew what a softy he was. "I did... and am trying to delete it as we speak."
"Unnecessary information... I know, I know!" Thomson completed Kudo's thought. "Can you please solve this mystery for my sake?"
"And get my work twisted and used by the mayor, claiming it to be for the greater good? No thanks."
"Pretty please." Thomson rubbed his hands together, pleading.
"Why are you so fixated on this?"
"Because this mystery is right up your alley. A mystery only you can solve…" His booming voice dropped to a whisper, shocking Kudo. "One that's perfect for my retirement."
"I didn't mean it about the case." Kudo dismissed Thomson's feelings as yesterday's news. "I meant about licking the higher-ups' boots."
Thomson reclaimed his heavy tone in a fit of worry. "My retirement depends on them. I can't take this job anymore."
"Why did you take it in the first place?"
"Of course you forgot. It's been a while since I forced you to listen to my story, hasn't it?"
Kudo nodded. "And I'd like to forget it like before, so please keep it short."
Thomson clasped his entire face with hands the size of manhole covers, dragging it downward as though his skin were made of wet clay. Of all his body parts, his limbs belonged to a different species entirely.
Many reporters and authors sought to profit from Thomson's story, but his autobiography was deemed too unbelievable to be placed in the non-fiction section. He had survived a car crashing into him with little more than bruises, stopped a motorcycle with one leg, and punched through a burning building's wall to save the people trapped inside. Everyone said he was simply at the right place at the right time, earning him promotions, fame, and a stable job to support his family of four.
Too bad no one ever asked how he actually felt; If they had, and if he'd found the courage to speak, he would've admitted he wouldn't have chosen the job or even the family he loved enough to die for. Instead, he would've chosen peace of mind. A luxury that drifted further out of reach every time Kudo walked into the room.
Extreme camera shyness kept him away from breaking records—or being recorded—and without solid proof, the world didn't believe in heroes.
"They sure are fast to believe in sons of gods though!" Kudo always rolled his eyes hard at the end, as if he were actually lifting the memories like trash and throwing them to the back of his mind, never to be recalled.
"Wrong place, wrong time for me. For others… not so much," Thomson muttered. "And boom, I became Chief of NorthBay." He clasped his hands in excitement, and the shock wave shattered his windows. "I swear someone is placing trick windows around me." He complained in a lower tone, scared that his voice was enough to finish the job.
"Sure… they were also the ones who placed a fake wall under a ten-story building!"
Thomson frowned, flipped through a file. "Speaking of wrong place and wrong time… that girl who keeps appearing at your crime scenes? I don't think she's a suspect at all. She's kinda like me."
"Huge?"
"Funny!" Thomson's laugh erupted like an air horn, piercing Kudo's left eardrum and crumbling down the shattered window. "Sorry!" He said to a casual crowd of officers who didn't turn to respond. "Ah!"
A sharp pop and ringing sound twisted Kudo's expression into a whole new level of annoyance. He couldn't make out what the Chief was saying, but this happened so often that he was forced to learn lipreading. "All of us are used to it by now."
"Oh… OH! Sorry," Thomson continued, wiping a tear and mouthing off the words with exaggerated actions. "Wrong place, wrong time, wrong… thingy. Wait—" He froze mid-act, frowning. "You never paid attention to her, did you?" He opened the file and squinted. "Her name is…"
"Don't bother," Kudo interrupted, grateful for his latest ability to read lips. "I'd like to stay in the dark if all those cases are already solved."
"Unnecessary, I know." Thomson slid the files across his desk. "She never caught your eye, and you did solve every case without ever considering her a suspect. Even though she was literally at every turn, right beside the perpetrator. Everyone else wasted time on her, only to realise she was one step behind the great Kudo's mind, almost solving the case right after you."
He tapped the file, hoping Kudo would show even a flicker of interest.
Kudo didn't; his eyes wandered everywhere, examining Thomson's custom-tailored shirt that somehow still seemed too tight, the ripped jeans, a courtesy of his need to sit, and the historic injuries his office had suffered, because his power had no restraint. He looked everywhere except the file.
"Also an orphan who was forced into the psych ward at age five… stayed until nine." Thomson tried another lure, and this one worked, drawing Kudo's eyes onto the file.
The name Klaire V-oleuse Sowle was written in bold, oversized letters, purely an attempt by the Chief to make him remember. Kudo lingered only long enough to register the unique name, but when he noticed the proud smile on Thomson's face, pleased with his successful bait, he immediately looked away.
"Self-taught. Admirable," Kudo said, acknowledging the detail only to mentally note it as yet another memory he'd soon have to discard.
"I don't get why you're so determined to dismiss her," Thomson pressed. "Mind returning the courtesy and explaining the reasoning behind the madness?"
Kudo opened his mouth to decline, but Thomson cleared his throat deliberately; a reminder of the countless times he, as Chief, had been forced to explain his own reasoning for Kudo's sake.
Kudo relented, "Memories lead to Beliefs," he said calmly, trying to drag his face down like his boss, "and Beliefs cloud the one true truth from prevailing." He raised a hand to stop Thomson before he could even interrupt. "Just like you've turned a hunch, a fleeting doubt about her, into a Belief that she might be involved. Simply because she was seen with the Terror family."
Thomson froze, stunned that Kudo had caught that tiny detail in the blur of pages he'd skimmed. Maybe all those complaints from officers about Kudo's 'quick scans' were meaningless, because clearly, nothing escaped him.
"You've turned a hunch," Kudo continued, "into a Belief based on a memory that isn't even yours. The truth becomes forever lost when Beliefs refuse to let you search for 'The' truth. Life isn't a fairy tale where everyone's truths are valid. There should be only one. And if no one else will look for it, then I shall." He bowed slightly, out of formality, dismissed himself, and walked out.
Thomson wished he had his translator—his wife—with him during moments like this. It had taken him seven long years to connect with Kudo on an emotional level finally. To push past the rigid bounds of work and form something resembling a bond. And yet he had no clue what to make of this new stage of connection.
Most of what Kudo said made sense, but the deeper meanings, the hidden weight and the subtle emotion slipped right through Thomson's fingers every time.
Maybe I can reenact it, Thomson thought suddenly.
He rose from his chair and took Kudo's place, practising the exchange. If he perfected the moment through repeated attempts, he might be able to replay it for his wife and strengthen whatever bond he had with Kudo.
The officers observed Chief performing his usual ritual and ignored him. "We need stronger glass!"
In the hallway, Kudo spotted the purple-haired woman behind bars; imprisoned yet again for something she didn't do.
"Already getting biased," Kudo muttered, mentally slapping himself as he ignored her once more.
He had bigger fish to fry, and justice for a small girl whose name he had already forgotten… "Better check it here and avoid another headline," he grumbled.
Kudo's files were always thin, nothing like the chunky stacks others lugged around. He preferred to be direct and concise, describing things in a single word or two when absolutely necessary.
He flipped open the Triple-S case file; in it, a single sticky note read:
Victim: Tamuel Mysen.
Nickname: Tammy.
Cause of death: Jumped off the roof.
Supernatural Incident: Jumped from the seventh floor. Not dead on impact. Had enough time to write classmate/roommate's name: Trisha. Big case — Triple S is involved.
"That's more than one word," Kudo frowned at the note-taker. "Also… not my assistant."
Maria flipped her hair, placing it strategically between herself and the group of officers shamelessly ogling her.
"Finally!" she exclaimed, dropping into Kudo's chair. "You noticed!" She straightened her skirt and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. "So you know—I've been here for a week. And supernatural cases? They demand longer explanations." She shrugged with practised nonchalance.
Kudo's attention drifted away the moment she moved beyond his eye level. "Where's my last one?" he muttered, scanning the room and trying to recall whether the last assistant was a boy or a girl.
"Tell me her name," Maria said, "and I might consider replying."
Girl, it is, Kudo smirked to himself and walked away, not wanting to get involved in the drama that followed Maria around.
———<>||<>——— End of Chapter Fifty-Two. ———<>||<>———