Chapter 39
The enclosed room, lacking even a single window, was stifling.
Dust blanketed the irregularly stacked wooden crates. Amidst them, a low-lit lamp on a table jammed awkwardly into the space provided the only light.
A hooded man approached one of the walls. With his long fingers, he brushed a gramophone, as poorly maintained as the surrounding crates.
“Filthy.”
He blew on his dust-covered fingers. When he placed the needle onto the record, a sharp violin melody began to play.
A crease appeared between his otherwise smooth brows.
“Taste in music’s not bad.”
His gleaming eyes in the darkness turned to the woman seated beside the table. Her face, drenched in cold sweat, was met with his indifferent gaze.
“Classical music is a luxury reserved for the upper class. Surely you know that.”
The man slowly approached the woman and sat down on the chair opposite hers.
“But observing a dying person while listening to music isn’t all that bad. No, in fact, I’m quite satisfied.”
The woman clutched her throat in agony. Her ragged breaths were becoming dangerously faint.
“So you deserve a reward.”
“C-Can’t… breathe…!”
Gasping in pain, she kept clutching her throat, struggling to draw breath.
“I warned you, didn’t I? To watch your mouth.”
“W-Water… please…!”
She reached toward the glass of water on the table. The man stared at her trembling fingers for a moment—then knocked the glass away.
The woman glared at him with bloodshot, resentful eyes.
“If your life is in the gutter, then stay there. Just do the job you’re given. This wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”
Her sweat-soaked face contorted in anguish. Her shaking hands barely managed to grip a shard from the broken glass.
Crack! Shards of broken glass dug into her flesh mercilessly.
Then, with blood trickling down her fingers, she hurled a piece at the man slouched in his wooden chair. A line of blood appeared on his cheek.
The man’s face darkened as he wiped away the sticky streak from his cheek.
“I’m merciful to those who know their place.”
“P-Please… spare me…”
“When speaking to someone of higher status, you should use honorifics. Or is that too much for someone from the slums? Maybe I should punish your parents.”
Tsk. He clicked his tongue.
“But rest assured. I have refined tastes. I don’t touch things that aren’t aesthetically pleasing.”
The woman clawed at the table so hard it seemed she might break it. The sharp scratching blended with the music.
The man smiled in satisfaction.
“So instead of harming your ‘aesthetic’ self, I’ll be content to take it out on your wrinkled old parents.”
“Why… why…!”
The man strolled leisurely toward her as she screamed in pain.
He stared into her bloodshot eyes, then gently patted her head. Leaning down, he whispered softly:
“You were just unlucky. Poor and unlucky.”
The woman, already on the brink, let out a choking sound and collapsed to the floor.
“Be grateful that your family gets to see you one last time in your living state. If it takes too long to find you, you may not remain in one piece.”
Her body continued to spasm. Reddish veins bulged all over her body—then suddenly, she stopped moving.
“That was quicker than expected.”
He glanced at the watch on his wrist, then looked down at her motionless body without emotion.
“Be thankful you met an artist like me.”
Then the man removed his hood, fully revealing his face. Light blonde hair gleamed in the dim room.
His brows furrowed as he looked at her, but soon returned to their usual straightness.
He knelt beside her. After staring at the splotchy marks spreading across her skin for a while, he finally opened his tightly closed lips.
“Yes, this should be the reason for your death: a punishment for daring to covet something meant only for the upper class and for using a forbidden invention.”
It was, in its own way, a satisfying composition.
Ahin and I, along with unseen escorts, rode the train for three straight hours and finally arrived at Boeln Station.
“Ma’am, is this Boeln?”
Ahin’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed a pamphlet from the corner of the station.
Boeln—an industrial city that experienced explosive growth thanks to the railway business of the Russell Marquisate.
As its reputation suggested, tall and dense buildings lined every street. I wasn’t sure how busy the capital, Baden, was, but with its emphasis on tradition, it likely had fewer modern buildings than this place.
Though it was my first time visiting, I wasn’t too anxious. My purpose was clear, and I wasn’t alone.
However…
‘How do I get to the Carriat Hotel?’
I’d told Johannes I was going to the herbal market. The escorts probably believed that too.
But if I suddenly veered off course, they’d grow suspicious.
Reporting to Johannes was the right thing to do, of course.
As I stood idly at the carriage terminal lost in thought, Ahin asked with concern in her voice.
“Ma’am, is something wrong?”
“Hmm? No… I just thought I heard a friend was staying at the Carriat Hotel, and I might stop by.”
Standing still too long would also look suspicious. As I shut my eyes briefly, Ahin tactfully asked again.
“Are you worried it might cause trouble?”
I slowly nodded.
“Yes. But I have a very good reason for going.”
“Then use me as your excuse. If you’re just stepping inside briefly, the escorts won’t follow you into the hotel anyway…”
“Would you really?”
With Ahin’s help, I quickly hailed a carriage.
After passing through the relatively quiet Boeln Station, the carriage entered the bustling city center and eventually stopped in front of the Carriat Hotel.
The hotel was smaller and more outdated than others nearby. The thought that my father might be staying here made my heart pound.
“Ahin, can you promise that whatever happens inside stays between us? No matter what?”
“Of course. I promise, ma’am.”
Standing at the entrance, I took a deep breath and, after securing Ahin’s promise, stepped into the hotel lobby.
Despite its modest exterior, the interior was neat. It looked like it had been recently renovated.
I went straight to the front desk and, praying it wasn’t some cruel joke, asked:
“Um… Is there a guest named Isaac Prim staying here?”
For a moment, the staff’s expression froze.
“Just a moment, miss.”
As he checked the guest list, he looked up again.
“Do you mean a middle-aged man?”
“Yes, that’s right! Is he in his room right now?”
My hands trembled involuntarily. I braced myself, hoping for the answer I wanted.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not currently staying here. He’s a long-term guest, but he hasn’t shown himself since the first day.”
“That can’t be… He told me to come here…”
“What’s your name, miss?”
Shocked and crestfallen, I quickly replied to his follow-up question.
“Edith Prim.”
His expression softened with a faint smile.
“Ah, then yes. He left instructions to give you his room key.”
Room 709
He handed me the key.
“…So I’m allowed to go up?”
“Of course. Mr. Prim said his daughter could go up if she came.”
It was too easy. Suspiciously easy…
Even as I took the key, doubts lingered. But I couldn’t turn back now.
Besides, this was inside a hotel. Nothing bad could happen here. I quickly got into the elevator.
Room 709
Ahin and I got off at the correct floor. We stopped in front of the door bearing the same number as the key.
Who knew a simple number could strike so much fear into me?
Even if the person who reserved this room really was my father, the staff said he hadn’t shown up since the first day.
So now, the only thing I could hope for was that he was still alive.
I swallowed nervously and inserted the key. Click—the rusty lock clicked open.
As the door slowly creaked open, my face drained of color.
“Johannes…?”
