Story Recap:
The story opens with a tense romantic quarrel between Albert and Sreejal on a bustling street in Atlantis. Sreejal is frustrated by Albert's constant duties in West Asia. The argument is interrupted by a shopkeeper, and Albert buys a magical "Dragon Tears of Happiness" bracelet for Sreejal just as his phone rings with an urgent call, pulling him away from her and highlighting his internal conflict.
The next day, Moksh visits Miss Ilish at the council vehicle department. Their conversation revisits her old lessons on ancient currencies—Aetherium, Arcanum, and Echo—and the value they represent. Moksh reveals that his true purpose is to find information about his mentor, Professor Kazuto. Ilish discloses that Kazuto's final test took place in a rumored "Haunted Village" called Sugisawa-mura in Japan and that he possessed a unique power known as "Saint Eyes."
The scene concludes as Moksh receives a call from Albert, summoning him to the Grandmaster's office for an urgent matter. Moksh promises to return for his old glider, which Ilish has been keeping for him, before rushing out to face his next task.
After that:
The knock on the wooden door echoed down the dim corridor like a subtle warning.
Moksh waited, his palm still against the cold brass handle, when Albert's voice came muffled from inside.
"Come in."
The hinges groaned as Moksh stepped into the Grandmaster's study — a room that smelled faintly of old coffee grounds and leather-bound books. A clock ticked somewhere in the silence, its short hand creeping past noon. Albert was seated near the corner desk, leaning back in a chair, hair slightly disheveled, shirt collar half open. The bruises near his jaw were faint, but visible under the golden pool of lamplight.
"You called me?" Moksh asked, closing the door behind him.
Albert's tired eyes flicked to him. "The Grandmaster has something for you. Then we'll discuss the case."
Moksh scanned the room. "So… where's Grandpa?"
"Off getting a few things," Albert replied, rubbing his temple. "Just sit."
Moksh tilted his head. "You look like you just got into a fight. Badly."
Albert sighed, a lopsided smirk. "Something happened."
Without a word, Moksh reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bracelet — delicate silver links catching the light, with a small teardrop-shaped stone the color of melted emeralds.
"Here. Dragon Tears of Happiness," Moksh said evenly. "I think it's a replica."
Albert froze, shock tightening his expression. "Yes… but where the hell did you get it?"
"You need to keep track of certain things, my friend," Moksh replied, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "It probably only has a temporary effect. Won't be of much use."
Albert swallowed. His voice softened. "But… it's precious to me."
"I know," Moksh said quietly. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. "That's why I brought it back. Give it to her on your way home… or better yet, put it on her yourself."
Before Albert could respond, the heavy oak door opened again.
Grandmaster Elias entered — tall, broad-shouldered, every step deliberate, his silver hair tied neatly. Following him was his secretary, Pragya, tapping at a sleek digital tablet. The air seemed to straighten along with them.
Both men rose instantly.
"Sir," they greeted in unison.
Elias's gaze swept over Moksh, then he gestured him closer. The scent of his black coffee — freshly brewed and still steaming in a small porcelain cup on his desk — mingled with the faint tang of old parchment.
From a small wooden box, the Grandmaster took out a gleaming badge. He pinned it to Moksh's left shoulder — the cool brass resting against his uniform like a seal of destiny.
"From this moment," Elias said slowly, his deep voice carrying weight, "you are a Vacant Elite. Here is your new identification."
Moksh accepted the stiff leather ID card, its golden letters catching the light. "Thank you, sir."
Albert leaned back against the edge of the desk. "So from now on, you'll be handling South Asia — India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka… and certain zones in Japan. That's all you."
"Exactly," Elias confirmed with a curt nod.
"Understood," Moksh said.
"Then let's begin," Albert said, reaching for a folder whose corners were slightly damp from a coffee ring. "According to the report, the hotspot is Ross Island… now called Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Island. And yes, the locals claim it's haunted."
Albert's voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent — a mix of skepticism and restrained unease. Moksh leaned forward, elbows on knees, the glow from the desk lamp throwing half of Albert's face into shadow.
Albert continued: "The report claims a witch lives there. So far: twelve murders. Paranormal police at first dismissed it as rumour. Then brown sugar trafficking surfaced — suggesting gang rivalry. But… when our brigade sent two officers, they found one truly anomalous location: The Sebastian House."
Pragya's eyes darted up from her tablet — even she seemed unsettled.
Albert lowered his tone, almost a whisper.
"Built during the British era by Mr. D. Sebastian for a life of vanity… now a hollow ruin. The kind locals pass by a little faster than necessary. The officers found traces of black magic practiced inside. The drug route was the cover… but we still don't know who's performing the rituals."
Elias added, fingers tapping his porcelain cup, "The officers reported something else — strange behaviour among the locals. Uncooperative. Eyes that looked… distracted. As though guarding something."
"What about police collaboration?" Moksh asked.
Albert set his coffee mug down — the soft clink marking a pause. "The local police found nothing. And every victim…" His voice trailed, and he opened the folder to show photographs. The air cooled between them.
Moksh skimmed. Burn marks. Stab wounds. No fuel traces.
The first victim: Manisha, 19, found 52 metres north of The Sebastian House. Burned, then stabbed four times.
The second: Saheli, 18, same method, 52 metres south.
The third through seventh: girls between 16 and 19, all near the house.
Moksh exhaled. "Looks like a pattern killer."
Albert shook his head grimly. "Then the eighth victim broke the chain."
Abhik, 21 — a tourist YouTuber. Burned, stabbed in throat and hands, mutilated in the worst way… left 104 metres away on a hill.
The ninth victim, Rajiv Joshi, local journalist, killed in his own garden — same method.
Then, finally, three older women in their thirties.
Albert's voice lowered further, almost hesitant to say it aloud. "We caught Robin Sen, a small-time brown sugar dealer — but he's just a pawn. Hypnosis revealed nothing."
Moksh leaned back in his chair, the badge cold against his shoulder. "Then I guess we're going ourselves."
Albert smirked humorlessly. "We? No, just you."
Elias's quiet but firm voice cut through the air like a blade: "Mr. Albert, you're going too. The case will yield faster."
Albert groaned under his breath. "…Yes, sir."
As they left, Albert muttered, "I'll get you back for this."
Moksh smirked without looking at him. "Try me."
The corridor outside smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans — Pragya must've passed earlier with a steaming cup. Moksh walked ahead, his steps echoing against the marble. Albert's mood shifted when he saw the figure at the end — Sreejal, leaning casually against a pillar, scrolling her phone, unaware they'd spotted her.
Moksh grinned mischievously. "Take your time, you two lovebirds," he whispered to Albert before darting off.
Albert nearly stumbled to a halt, catching his breath. "Moksh!" he called after him, but his partner was gone, leaving behind the faint echo of laughter.
Sreejal's eyes lifted. She sensed Albert's tension instantly. "Another case?" she asked cautiously.
He exhaled and explained quickly, words tumbling together — Ross Island, the witch, the murders. Her brows furrowed, and then… she pouted.
"You're always busy with these cases," she said, crossing her arms. "And you barely talk to me anymore."
Something shifted in Albert's expression — the hard investigator melting into the man she knew. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and held out the silver bracelet Moksh had returned earlier. He gently slid it onto her wrist, his fingers brushing her skin just a moment longer than necessary.
Sreejal blinked, surprised. Her lips curved slightly despite herself. "Where did you get—?"
Albert interrupted, voice low. "Is it possible that you could want something and I wouldn't give it to you? Now…" He hesitated, eyes locking with hers. "…I want something from you. Will you give it?"
Her heartbeat was suddenly louder in her ears. "…What?"
"Let me go on this case," he said, managing a small smile.
She pretended to think, though her fingers instinctively touched the bracelet. Finally, she raised one eyebrow. "On one condition—next time you take me to a fancy restaurant."
Albert chuckled softly, leaning against the pillar. "Promise."
Somewhere far off, the smell of coffee drifted again.
Two days from now, they'd be standing on Ross Island — where the air would smell not of coffee, but of salt, rain, and perhaps… fear.