Stirring awake, Moriarty groggily looked around. He was in his bedroom, lying on a king-sized bed draped with velvet sheets. The bedframe, quite popular in Loen, was supported by four thick pillars connected to an upper canopy of soft cloth.
Moriarty glanced at the clock and realized it was nearing three in the afternoon. He stared at himself blankly, sitting there for a moment, before simply falling back into the mattress.
"Fuck it… I'm too tired. My current attire isn't that bad anyway. I didn't even change before falling asleep."
Laying there, he wondered what kind of information he could wring out of today's Tarot Club meeting.
After a few moments, he had solidified several questions:
Confirm the nature of the Criminal pathway and its corresponding sequence names, if possible.
Gain some information about the world of the Beyonders—especially important groups and any mystical methods.
Gauge the accessibility of formula recipes for the Criminal pathway, considering the acting method for Sequence 9 was proving quite difficult for him.
The moment he finished making his mental notes, he felt a strange pull—followed by a flash of red light—dragging him above the gray fog.
Within the majestic, colossal palace…
Moriarty's form converged from specks of red light, materializing into a high-backed chair beside Mr. Hanged Man. Across from them sat Miss Justice.
"Congratulations, Mr. Devil and Miss Justice. You are Beyonders now," Mr. Fool said calmly, acknowledging their ascension into the world of mystery.
Both Miss Justice and Moriarty were surprised, though Moriarty made a deliberate effort not to show it. Unlike him, Miss Justice spoke with a faint tremor.
"Thank you, Mr. Fool… and thank you, Mr. Hanged Man."
"That was much faster than I expected," The Hanged Man admitted honestly.
Moriarty offered thanks to no one; after all, his advancement was due solely to his own circumstances and choices.
Mr. Fool didn't press the topic. Instead, he tapped his glabella lightly and said with a small smile, "Lady, Sir, have either of you found Roselle's diary?"
Upon hearing this, Miss Justice didn't answer immediately as she once did. Instead, her crystalline eyes widened slightly as she glanced toward The Hanged Man, her gaze scrutinous.
The Hanged Man subconsciously straightened his posture. After a few seconds of silence, he finally said, "I found two pages of Emperor Roselle's diary. I've memorized their contents."
"I have one page," Justice said softly, her silhouette blurred by the fog as though distanced from the conversation.
"Pretty good," Mr. Fool praised gently.
"Should we 'express' them now?" Justice asked, calm and composed.
"Yes," Mr. Fool replied.
Moriarty, along with the others, remained silent, their attention focused intensely on the figure sitting at the head of the long bronze table.
After a long pause, Mr. Fool smiled. "My apologies—I was too absorbed in reading them."
Justice calmed the faint envy in her heart and smiled politely. "I understand. I hope one day I'll be able to exchange information about the diary's contents."
"That will require a price." Klein smiled, glancing at Justice and then letting his eyes drift toward the silent Hanged Man.
Justice pressed her palms together and lowered them slightly.
"Mr. Fool, Mr. Hanged Man, I have three questions. If the answers require a high price, tell me what you want. I will try my best to obtain it."
"No problem," The Hanged Man replied succinctly. Mr. Fool merely leaned back, getting comfortable.
After thinking for a few seconds, Justice asked, "My first question is… what does 'acting' really mean? I've noticed the remnant psyche in the potion has tiny effects on me. Is that because I've been acting as a Spectator already?"
The Hanged Man didn't speak. He simply turned to The Fool, waiting for him to answer.
Mr. Fool rubbed a finger thoughtfully along the edge of the table. "Let me explain with an analogy. Imagine the core power of your potion as a tightly guarded castle. The remnants of the psyche that cause backlash reside within that castle. Our goal is to eliminate them and become the true master of it.
"There are two ways to do that. The first is to forcefully invade the castle. This has no guarantee of success and will most likely injure you—unless you possess overwhelming strength. Naturally, none of us are capable of that.
"The second method is to have the owner of the castle extend an invitation. This invitation lets us bypass the guards and slip inside unnoticed. Then we can finish off the enemies easily. But the invitation specifies the appearance and behavior of the guest.
"So we must disguise ourselves—act—as the guest. Do you understand?"
Moriarty felt an epiphany stir in his mind as he half listened.
Acting as the potion's name… embodying its essence… becoming indistinguishable from the potion itself. What is a Criminal? Someone who commits or breaks moral and legislative laws. Which matters more—the moral norms, the innate rights, or the written legal rules? Could I break a law that is redundant, ancient, technically still enforced yet never pursued? Like that ridiculous London law about not carrying a fish in a suspicious and dangerous manner… absurd rules forgotten by time.
He continued listening, though he lacked the context to fully grasp everything. Still, he made mental notes of key ideas—especially Mr. Fool's interest in the Antigonus family, an ancient family according to The Hanged Man.