The Backlund murderer case had finally been solved—one Vinsent Alarie, an underground arms dealer.
Reading the morning news, Moriarty noted that two weeks had passed since that incident. On the Monday morning of the second Tarot Club gathering, the first printing of the murder report had appeared. It only took a few moments for the headlines to reach Tingen, bringing Moriarty a great deal of insight.
Mr. Hanged Man had given Miss Justice her Spectator potion formula. And more than that—he had noticed Mr. Fool's avid interest in Emperor Roselle's notebooks, something that deeply intrigued Moriarty. As a fellow transmigrator, having such significance placed upon them made him uneasy and curious. Thankfully, Tingen University held a few pages of Roselle's diary in the Ancient Literature section of one of the world's largest libraries: KFC—King's Fundamentalist Coalition (at least, that's what Moriarty guessed; in truth he had no idea what the acronym stood for).
What he did know was who the library was named after. After Emperor Roselle's death, the original KFC had burned down. Many scholars from the Intis Republic migrated to the Loen Kingdom, and after a long stretch of time, the second coming of KFC rose again in all its glory.
Alongside all this, there was that embarrassing interaction during the gathering his seat—fortunately neither Miss Justice nor Mr. Hanged Man brought it up. Moriarty, however, had been mortified. His first impressions were shaky; he still wasn't used to the conservative, Victorian-esque etiquette of this era, and he had actively contradicted it by sitting next to Miss Justice. The impression he left was… unique. Not good. A gentleman with peculiar tastes, to put it bluntly.
He was lucky he was William James Moriarty and not Dr. Jekyll with Mr. Hyde lurking in the alleys—or he had exposed himself as an Intis native with his direct and crude mannerisms.
But why hadn't Mr. Fool addressed it? Well, Mr. Fool was a powerful Beyonder. Perhaps he felt it unnecessary—or maybe he simply wanted to help Moriarty save some face.
Sighing, Moriarty revisited the information and all his inferences about the murder. His initial discovery had led to a thorough investigation, but a small conversation with an associate revealed that the case had been transferred to another police department—clearly a Beyonder unit. Today's newspaper lifted a weight off his chest and, more importantly, gave him enough confidence to finally step into the Beyonder world himself.
Standing from his lounge chair, he walked to his desk, cluttered with sets of ingredients and a small cauldron. Following the Criminal potion formula, Moriarty carefully added each component. He had taken a day off specifically for this, using a close friend's death as an excuse.
The cauldron held a liquid resembling crude oil—dark and yellowish, with occasional velvet streaks of blue. Transferring it into a cup, Moriarty drank the potion in one swift motion.
As it slid down his throat, illusory murmurs and overlapping voices rushed into his mind. A sharp, splitting pain struck him, the veins on his forehead bulging grotesquely.
"Ahh—!"
A strangled whimper escaped as he dropped to his knees.
Through the pounding pain, a single word beat relentlessly through his mind: Focus. As he repeated it, an illusory image of a beaded bracelet formed in his consciousness. Unknowingly, Moriarty had begun cogitating, allowing him to endure the potion's violent effects. After several agonizing moments, his body finally calmed.
Drained, he glanced at the grandfather clock.
It was still only 10 in the morning.
"Fuck… it… I'm sl…eep…" he muttered in a broken, staccato manner .