Beneath the Truth/Prologue

Japanese: https://ncode.syosetu.com/n6185ha/1/

Chinese: https://wangyidiwurenge.lofter.com/post/1fce5dfa\_1cc4662aa

Secrets about Mr. Inference, Lady Truth, and "D.M.".

Is the truth true, or is the truth false? Melody Manor Investigation; search begin.

——————————————

**Nocturne**

The delicate night breeze could not dissipate the lingering heat of the day, the haze of the moon could not serve as perfect garments for the summer night.

In the quiet manor, someone played a melody of Schubert's, serving as a final gift to the day.

The sound of the violin was melodious and conveyed thousands of emotions, wafting across every corner of the manor——

Through the basement, to an elderly man replacing the labels on two pill-bottles appearing to be identical;

Through the back door, to someone stealing through the night to deliver a letter with no receiver specified;

Through the guest bedroom, to someone using a measuring tape to rehearse for the final time;

Through the attic, to someone caressing the brand-new golden fireplace poker beneath their pillow, unable to sleep;

....

The pitch of the melody fluctuated between highs and lows. From the gap in the window's railings it brewed, taking with it the nighttime breeze and shattered petals, and suddenly erupted.

As if it were a firework.

The finale gradually dropped, concluding at the hall on the first floor of the manor.

Then, the impartial moonlight carved the shadow of a tall, thin figure. The man's finger swiftly moved across the violin's strings, his fingertips glowing underneath the cold, silvery light. His eyes were closed, his posture stern, his temperament as elegant as the violin music that echoed.

As the last note faded, an old, deep voice spoke:

"Master, the preparations are ready."

The one referred to as "master" opened his eyes, ones bluer than stars of the cold night, but flooded with a coldness that served as an oxymoron to the tune he had played; like a prowling, scaled snake's eyes in the darkness, pupils that concealed bloodlust, eyes that would make others shudder on sight.

He was the youngest master of this manor in all time. His gentle demeanor and gentleman's manners made him a famous aristocrat, referred to by the world as D. M.

"Hum." D. M answered in an indifferent tone.

His heart seemed to be somewhere else. He flung the violin away, and with a single hand he took his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the door.

As the violin, flying in a perfect parabola curve, was about to collide into other objects in the room, the elderly butler hurriedly took a long stride and steadily secured the violin and bow midair. Today, he had saved the priceless treasure one-hundred-and-fifteen times.

Speedily catching up to his young master, the old butler observed the emotion on his face, pondered then spoke: "Master, is intervention truly needed this time? I worry..."

Upon hearing his butler's words, D. M stopped at the door and glanced at his butler. Fixing his gaze for a moment, he turned to look at the Muse painting fixed to the room's wall.

"There's no need. After all, is it but a circus performance." D. M looked back, his tone indifferent as the tone one would assume when disposing of unsavory pastries, "Are you suggesting that they are of some other worth?"

The elderly butler nodded, his head lowered, not daring to speak another word.

D. M suddenly thought of a certain person as they spoke of 'worth', and his interest was piqued: "Any clues about the new painting on 'The Great Detective's' side?"

"Nothing new has been reported." The butler shook his head, and added, "It seems the detectives do not know the secret of the painting."

Yet D. M interjected; "I know, and so I'll let him know this time." And his tone changed yet once again. "How is our 'new lead actor' faring?"

His butler responded: "Ever since he received the invitation letter, he has not rested for a single day nor night, instead weaving through his script tirelessly. He will certainly arrive at his appointment tomorrow."

The corners of D. M's eyes lifted, and he began to laugh: "When stranded in a ditch, who can turn down an offered rope? Although, the truth is nothing as naïve as the story beneath his pen. Everything comes at a price." D. M's eyes glimmered like a lake of unknown depth; gentle at first glance, yet ice-cold beneath the surface.

"Let them do as they wish, just don't disappoint me during tomorrow's performance." From his mouth sprung slow words and a satire laugh as he disappeared into the corner.

The butler stood before the door alone, observing the Muse painting. He sighed and slowly closed the door of the hall.