Chapter 50: Do you think I’m stupid and heartless?
Stranger
That massive steel palm slapped down with the whistling sound of rushing wind. “To the left! That’s the entrance!” In the spot where the giant hand had just burst from…
The Fake Detective Miss Now Scamming People Again with a Priest!
Chapter 49: This fisherman doesn’t use bait or bait the area; he just lets people take the bait willingly.
Some scenes, even if you were to wear out an “Encyclopedia of Weirdness,” wouldn’t have a corresponding entry. Take the current situation, for example. “Hallelujah” still echoed over the river.…
Chapter 48: The Strange Newsstand Owner and the Cherry Season on the Seine
The two of them walked down the stone embankment of the Seine. The river was still a pot of tomato hash, though the water level had receded a bit, revealing…
Chapter 47: The Twelve Places Buried Alive by Documents and the Humanoid Stamping Machine
A rickety copper sign hung at the entrance of the Twelfth Bureau of the Paris Police General Headquarters. Even before stepping inside, the overpowering stench of tobacco wafted out, nearly…
Chapter 46: The Adorable Three-Flower Ghost and the Poor Allergic Boss
This time, Vivian heard it clearly; the sound was coming from behind that stack of boxes. The scratching sound was rhythmic. One, two, pause. Then another. The sound was a…
Chapter 45: The Busy Detective and the Haunted Old House
Vivian stood before the carved mahogany door, the brass gas lamp in her hand emitting a faint, rhythmic hissing. 10 minutes ago, Mrs. Durand — a widow as plump in…
Chapter 44: That generic-looking homeless man on the street, go cook me two dishes.
Inside the office, the only sound was the *tick-tock, tick-tock* of the wall clock. Cicero curled up in the armchair, a cup of steaming black tea in his hand. His…
Chapter 43: The Seine River Turns into a Cracking Tomato Stew
The wind along the Seine River is always cool. Vivian clutched her collar tightly and quickened her pace to catch up with the black figure in front of her. “Boss,…
Chapter 42: When it comes to extortion in Paris, we still have to look to Cicero.
One week later. By the banks of the Seine. The weekend sunlight was uncharacteristically gentle, spilling across the red and white checkered tablecloths of the outdoor café. The air was…
Chapter 41: My Love is a Sigh Imprisoned for Life
“Is it… finally over?” Cicero wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Not yet.” He watched the black mist, which was still trying to reform despite being shattered, his brow furrowed.…