Where will I end up this time?
Time and space twisted around Lucian Vale in a silent, lightless torrent.
Distance lost all meaning.
Colors stretched into impossible threads, and unseen forces pulled at his body from every direction as though the universe itself were trying to tear him apart and rebuild him elsewhere.
Lucian remained remarkably calm.
Before entering the world he had just left, he had experienced almost the same phenomenon.
Back then, he had been an ordinary man with no idea whether he was about to die, reincarnate, or wake up in some lunatic’s laboratory.
Naturally, he had been terrified.
This time was different.
Power had a wonderfully soothing effect on the nerves.
The beetle-marked Stand Arrow that had pierced his chest was no longer lodged in his body.
It had transformed into a dark, tattoo-like pattern on the back of his right hand.
The Red Stone of Aja was still embedded in the crown he wore, its crimson surface faintly gleaming even within the distorted passage between worlds.
The arrow, the stone, and his own immortal body—those were the three foundations upon which his confidence rested.
He had spent tens of thousands of years in the world of JoJo, long enough to witness ages rise and fade and to resolve many of the regrets he had once carried.
Leaving so suddenly was not necessarily a tragedy.
He had already lived more than enough for any ordinary person.
Lucian’s only request was simple.
Please let the next world be interesting.
“Lucian!
Lucian, there’s a commission that needs your attention!”
Much later, the same supposedly mysterious Ultimate Life Form was sitting comfortably on a plush sofa, brush in hand, desperately trying to finish the latest pages of his manga.
A cool female voice called to him from nearby.
Lucian did not look up.
His hand did not even pause.
The voice did, however, startle a small bird perched on the windowsill.
It tilted its head, fluttered its wings, and hopped farther away while continuing to observe him with suspicious curiosity.
“What is it, Boss?” Lucian asked lazily.
“Just tell me the details.
I’ll deal with it when I have some free time.”
To Lucian, accepting commissions was work.
Drawing manga was life.
Strictly speaking, he was not drawing the pages himself.
A blue-and-green humanoid figure stood at his side, invisible to everyone without the ability to perceive Stands.
Its hand moved the brush at astonishing speed while Lucian merely maintained the appearance of doing the work.
Heaven’s Door.
Borrowing a little inspiration from Rohan Kishibe’s absurd drawing speed, publishing manga for extra Mora, and then spending the profits on a drink at the best tavern he could find—now that was a respectable life.
It was not as extravagant as the endless luxury he had enjoyed during his final years in his previous world, but the peace of Nod-Krai was infinitely better than the miserable existence of an overworked employee from his first life.
“Lucian, take this seriously.”
A pair of long, pale legs entered his field of vision.
“This isn’t another request to find a lost kitten or chase down someone’s runaway dog.
A person’s life is at stake.”
The newcomer reached over, glanced at the brush apparently floating by itself, and calmly closed the sketchbook.
Lucian finally raised his head.
Standing before him was Nefer, the remarkably resourceful owner of the Curatorium of Secrets—and, regrettably, his employer.
“Boss,” he said with wounded dignity, “you could have waited until I finished the panel.”
Nefer smiled with the warmth of someone about to lead him directly into a trap.
She knew her subordinate far too well.
Lucian was lazy, shameless, and nearly impossible to intimidate, but he had one obvious weakness.
Mora.
“The commission is worth ten million Mora,” she said.
“We split it fifty-fifty.”
Lucian’s eyes lit up.
His mouth opened.
“And before you ask,” Nefer added immediately, “you do not get to choose which fifty belongs to you.”
Lucian closed his mouth again and shrank back into the sofa.
Who had trained his boss to read him so accurately?
How could she predict his thoughts before he had even finished arranging them?
“I’ll take it,” he declared, recovering at once.
“Who is the client?
More importantly, whose life is valuable enough to justify ten million Mora?”
“A wealthy merchant from Mondstadt arranged the commission before his death.
After he died, our task was to protect his son.”
Nefer sat opposite him and placed several photographs on the table.
Lucian picked up the first.
He stared at the unfamiliar face.
Well.
That was certainly a person.
He flipped to the next photograph—and immediately recognized the red-haired young man in it.
Wasn’t that Master Diluc, Mondstadt’s unofficial Pyro Archon?
Lucian’s expression froze.
A dead merchant from Mondstadt.
A red-haired son.
The Northern Intelligence Network being asked to intervene after the son ventured into dangerous territory…
That meant this commission was not merely troublesome.
It was tied directly to a particularly unpleasant part of Diluc Ragnvindr’s past.
“Boss,” Lucian said, slowly raising his head, “is it too late to withdraw my acceptance?”
He widened his eyes, adopting the most pitiful expression he could manage.
Nefer’s smile became dangerously gentle.
Her narrow, serpentine pupils shimmered with an eerie green light.
“What do you think?”
Lucian immediately regretted speaking too quickly.
Damn it.
She should have told him the target first.
“The merchant’s son, Diluc, is the person you’re going to rescue,” Nefer continued, as calm as though she were asking him to collect a parcel.
“He is currently in Snezhnaya, deep within Fatui territory.
Find him, keep him alive, and return him safely to Mondstadt.”
Lucian stared at her.
Nefer stared back.
The silence lasted several seconds.
“So,” Lucian finally said, “you want me to walk into the Fatui’s homeland alone, tear a red-haired nobleman out of their hands, and escort him across half the continent.”
“That is an acceptable summary.”
“Then regarding our division of the reward—”
“Fine, fine.” Nefer waved one hand, already tired of the negotiation.
“Eighty-twenty.
You take eighty.
I take twenty.
Are you satisfied now?”
Lucian sat upright at once.
“Boss, your generosity is as boundless as the night sky.”
“Save it.”
As if suddenly remembering something, Nefer reached into her coat and produced two sealed envelopes.
“The first contains the payment conditions for the rescue commission.
According to the rules of the Curatorium of Secrets, it must be opened in front of the client.
Since the original client is dead, you will open it after you find Diluc.”
She handed him the first envelope, then raised the second.
“This one concerns another commission.
Once you reach Mondstadt, deliver it to Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius.
He will provide the reward after reading the letter.”
Lucian accepted both envelopes and narrowed his eyes.
Nefer had added more work so smoothly that he almost admired it.
Almost.
She had conceded an eighty-twenty split on the main commission.
Naturally, she intended to recover her losses elsewhere.
“Very well, Boss.” Lucian tucked the envelopes away and rose from the sofa.
“Once I leave, try not to miss me too much.”
He gave her a playful wink.
Nefer’s face darkened immediately.
“The moment you walk out that door, I’m hiring a replacement.”
“You say that every time.”
“One day, I’ll mean it.”
Lucian opened the front door of the Curatorium of Secrets and stepped into the daylight.
A brilliant sight immediately struck his vision.
He threw one hand over his eyes.
By the Seven…
what enormous headlights.
“Mr.
Vale?
Is something wrong with your eyes?”
Lauma stood outside the entrance, watching him with sincere concern.
Her radiant antler-crown caught the daylight, and the gentle air surrounding the Moonchanter made the small bird from the windowsill flutter happily toward a nearby roof.
“It’s nothing,” Lucian said quickly.
“A gust of wind blew dust into them.
They’re just a little dry.”
He cautiously lowered his hand and forced his gaze to remain at a respectable height.
“Miss Lauma, the Boss is inside.
You can speak with her directly.
I’ve just received a commission, so I’m in something of a hurry.”
He stepped to one side, intending to escape before his eyes betrayed him again.
Lauma immediately moved into his path.
“Mr.
Vale, I did not come to see Boss Nefer.
I have a commission specifically for you.”
She spoke quickly, evidently afraid that he might vanish if she hesitated for even a moment.
“Oh?”
Lucian raised one eyebrow and leaned casually against the doorframe.
“In that case, Miss Lauma, I’m listening.”
Seeing that he was willing to hear her out, Lauma released a quiet breath of relief.
The slight movement nearly caused those formidable “headlights” to blind him a second time.
Lucian concentrated fiercely on her face.
“A bird that was sold to Snezhnaya recently managed to fly back to Nod-Krai,” Lauma explained.
“It brought me troubling news.
Among the current Fatui Harbingers, there is one who may be the Moon Goddess worshiped by the Frostmoon Scions.”
Lucian’s relaxed posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
A Fatui Harbinger suspected of being the absent goddess of Lauma’s people.
This was beginning to sound alarmingly familiar.
“I would like you to verify the report,” Lauma continued.
“Should the Moon Goddess truly be in Snezhnaya, please deliver a message on my behalf.
Tell her that the Frostmoon Scions are waiting for her return.”
She delivered the entire request in one breath.
Lucian developed a headache before she even finished.
He was already being sent into Fatui territory to steal Diluc from under their noses.
Now Lauma wanted him to investigate one of the Harbingers as well.
At this rate, why not ask him to drag the entire Fatui headquarters back to Nod-Krai while he was there?
“Well…” Lucian began.
His face tightened with visible conflict, as though Lauma had asked him to wrestle an ancient dragon with one hand tied behind his back.
Lauma’s heart rose into her throat.
“You’ll have to pay extra,” he finished.
His troubled expression vanished.
Since the two commissions lay along the same route, he might as well earn additional Mora.
He had heard excellent things about Mondstadt’s wine, and excellent wine was rarely cheap.
Lauma exhaled in enormous relief.
A proper smile returned to her face, and even the antlers crowning her head seemed to glow a little brighter with her improved mood.
“That will not be a problem.
I will transfer the commission fee through Boss Nefer later.”
Lucian’s expression changed immediately.
That absolutely would not do.
If Nefer learned the amount, she would take another cut.
He leaned closer to Lauma and lowered his voice.
“Miss Lauma, there’s no need to involve the Curatorium over such a small matter.
We can treat this as a private favor between friends.
When I return, you can simply give the payment directly to—”
Lauma’s lips curved into a mysterious smile.
She said nothing.
She merely looked at him with such quiet amusement that a chill crept across Lucian’s skin.
He slowly turned his head.
Nefer was standing directly behind him.
Lucian had no idea when she had opened the door, but the look in her eyes was extremely dangerous.
“The Curatorium of Secrets accepts this commission,” Nefer announced.
Her smile did not reach her eyes.
“Lucian, do you remember the rules of this establishment?”
Lucian took one careful step backward, scratching his head as an awkward laugh escaped him.
“Of course, Boss.
Employees of the Curatorium are forbidden from privately accepting commissions.”
“Good.
I was worried your memory had failed.”
“But this is different,” Lucian said quickly.
“Miss Lauma isn’t hiring me as an employee.
She’s asking for help as a personal friend.
Friends help each other.
I wouldn’t make the same exception for just anyone.”
He retreated to Lauma’s side and placed a familiar hand on her shoulder.
Lauma’s body trembled faintly at the contact, but she did not move away.
Instead, she nodded in support.
“That is correct, Boss Nefer.
This is a request from one friend to another.
Could the Curatorium make an exception and refrain from taking a share?”
Nefer looked at Lucian’s hand resting on Lauma’s shoulder.
Then she looked at Lauma.
Then she looked back at Lucian.
For some inexplicable reason, irritation surged through her.
“Do not let it happen again,” she said at last.
“This time, I’ll pretend I heard nothing.”
Before either of them could respond, Nefer stepped back inside and slammed the door of the Curatorium of Secrets shut.
It was the middle of the day.
She had just closed the entire establishment.
Lucian and Lauma remained outside, staring at the door.
Then they turned toward one another.
Neither of them seemed to understand what had just happened.
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