From the nightstand in the bedroom, Detective Dustin pulled out a pile of pill bottles, confirming that the missing person had recently suffered from severe mental exhaustion. He’d made multiple hospital visits, including two full checkups in just one month.
Hastur forced Detective Dustin to read both medical reports aloud, as their pages fell just beyond the range his 3 points of Intelligence could discern.
“He’s perfectly healthy.”
“Yeah…” Detective Dustin recited the string of numbers listlessly, his fear completely evaporated.
Right now, he just wanted to punch his overbearing, unreasonable partner—but the massive debt prevented him.
“Satisfied? Anything else you need me to read? The Lumina Daily? A bedtime story collection?”
Hastur picked up on the hint of sarcasm in the gray-haired detective’s scent. “I believe the medical reports are important clues.”
System-certified by his 3 points of Intelligence! It couldn’t be wrong!
The detective rubbed his temple. “Fine, fine… whatever you say. Can we leave now?”
The on-site investigation was complete. They’d only confirmed that this missing person had joined the Cradle Cult—no leads on his whereabouts.
Detective Dustin decided to head back to the Police Station to check for similar past cases, like monster sightings… He glanced at Hastur. “How are you handling breakfast at the Orphanage today?”
Hastur, lost in thought about how much of the documents’ content was true and how much was fabricated (especially that great-uncle kinship): “…”
Forget breakfast—even last night’s midnight snack remained unsolved. Hastur’s gaze drifted momentarily, hoping those pinhead-sized meat lumps posed a threat no bigger than their size.
One look at Hastur’s silent response, and Detective Dustin felt a massive headache coming on. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t hired a cook? —Oh, right, with everything that’s happened today, I forgot. I suggested hiring one just today… well, yesterday daytime.”
They’d been working the case from four in the morning until nearly six.
Detective Dustin let out a huge yawn. “Come on, let’s head to the Orphanage. I’ll make breakfast for you all.”
Hastur accepted Detective Dustin’s kind offer and summoned the hovercar waiting outside on Vanilla Street. They climbed inside.
“…” Detective Dustin’s yawn caught in his throat. He stared at the hovercar like a slack-jawed statue.
The poor detective’s pupils quaked, his heart quaked, his wallet quaked. “This… this car—you didn’t call it to save me too, did you?”
An ordinary working stiff on the brink of bankruptcy wanted nothing more than to faint right there in front of the hovercar.
~~~
No matter how much he wanted to deny reality, the debts still had to be paid.
The Police Station’s standard-issue Brain Core had run a vitals scan. Two hours ago, if not for Hastur’s timely injection, Dustin would have died of shock. No amount of money could buy back a life like that.
As Hastur listened to the gray-haired detective’s thanks, he sent a message to Ithaqua:
【The detective’s coming to make breakfast. Stay in the patient’s room and take care of him. Don’t come out.】
Thanks to Dr. Raymond’s contribution, Ithaqua now had a spare phone to stay in touch with Hastur.
【Understood.】
【But Father, doesn’t the Orphanage’s gas stove have a pipeline issue? Can the detective even use it?】
—That was precisely what Hastur wanted to know.
Eager to prove himself, Hastur followed Detective Dustin off the hovercar and into the kitchen, glaring watchfully the whole way.
He glanced again at those pop-up notifications:
Gas stove: 【This is a soft-hearted man with deft hands. It is willing to open itself fully to Detective Dustin.】
Fridge: 【Even a cold heart will melt for delicious food!!】
Sink: 【It longs to wash away the detective’s fatigue with the warmest flow of water.】
Self-proof thwarted and humiliated, Hastur: “…………”
It’s nothing.
Even the inner voice emerged to console him.
Your path lies not in the kitchen, but in the distant cosmos… far beyond the range of mortal eyes, beyond human comprehension.
But I can’t even make a normal breakfast.
A dejected Egg Yolk Jellyfish drifted out of the kitchen. He had no mind even to listen as Detective Dustin analyzed the day’s case over breakfast.
Detective Dustin was a bit thick-skinned and didn’t notice the dean’s minor frustration. He whipped up breakfast in short order, wiped his mouth, and stood up.
He strode toward the Orphanage’s front door. Just before stepping out, he paused, turned back, and looked at Hastur with solemn gravity.
It was six o’clock, and the dawn light bathed everything in warm gold.
The detective’s gray hair turned into a soft puff of golden fluff, his light blue eyes translucent in the gentle glow.
“What you’ve done today—including your willingness to adopt Ithaqua, risking your life for him, and spending a fortune—is profoundly noble.”
“Phoenix District rarely sees such nobility. There were times I thought about abandoning this forsaken place altogether… I’m glad I met you before I could, Dean.”
He touched the badge on his chest and spoke to Hastur in a tone as solemn as an oath.
“No matter what happens during the investigation ahead, no matter if those evil god monsters exist or not, I will stand in front of you—if death comes to claim your life, it will have to step over my corpse first.”
The detective’s resolute voice soon faded in the sunlight of the entryway. He didn’t linger, simply nodding curtly before turning and leaving.
Hastur stood alone at the door, swept up in bewilderment.
…You should turn him into a familiar.
That voice fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
He would become your most loyal vanguard.
Hastur pulled himself free from that strange surge of emotion and refuted it clearly: He would only be loyal to justice, not to a monster.
Boom…
The newly installed door slammed shut with a heavy thud, blocking out the sunlight behind its thick panels.
Hastur floated up the stairs to the second floor and entered the infirmary dormitory. “How is he doing?”
It was six-ten.
If he didn’t leave by six-thirty, he’d be rushing to work, and Hastur hated scrambling around in a panic.
~~~
In the dormitory bed, Finnian had overheard the entire conversation between Dustin and Hastur through his modified cochlea. His impression of the orphanage was entirely renewed.
First, the child named Ithaqua had taken good care of him, diligently changing the ice compress on his forehead to reduce his fever. Those light, gentle movements proved the boy wasn’t a bad kid.
Second, that father with the strangely muffled voice had rushed out to save the detective, adventuring into the case for both the child and the cop. That made him a good father, a good dean.
He heard the detective’s patrol car sputter away, and then the dormitory door was pushed open.
The father walked in with light steps. “How is he doing?”
—He had been well cared for, so he should express thanks and explain the risks of sheltering him to this father and son.
With that in mind, Finnian mustered the strength he had been saving and opened his eyes. “Thank—”
His words caught in his throat.
His eyes widened as they met two clusters of dim yellow light at point-blank range, lights that promptly vanished into a hollow, profound darkness.
Were those eyes? Was that a face? He couldn’t comprehend it.
All sounds seemed to recede into the distance. Someone had chiseled a massive hole in his body. His life, his soul, flowed out like pale water, endlessly draining from his shell toward some unknown void.
He heard the sticky squelch of his brain lobes writhing inside his skull, heard the dense rustle of tendrils sprouting in his lungs—
He slammed his eyes shut.
~~~
Hastur hadn’t expected that by simply lowering his head, he would lock eyes with the injured man. He couldn’t see! Looking every bit like a blind man with his eyes open, he asked Ithaqua, “Is this his face?”
Ithaqua replied, “…Yes. It seems you unfortunately met his gaze, Father.”
Hastur straightened up on reflex. “Did he warp?”
“No.” Ithaqua watched the clue-giver reopen his eyes with curiosity. “His willpower seems particularly strong. Hello, sir. May we have your name?”
“…” Finnian tried opening his eyes again amid the father and son’s exchange, his mind flooded with a torrent of thoughts.
Why was this monster asking the kid next to him if this was his face? Couldn’t It see him?
Why was the monster helping the cop hunt monsters? Infiltrating humanity? Or infighting among monsters?
—Oh god, that furry freak’s eyes were like two burning planets. This was way too fucking unscientific!!
The materialist stood in agony amid his shattered worldview, grasping for some unchanging way to handle the crisis. “Finnian. You can call me Finnian.”
If he set aside emotions and viewed the situation rationally, it was clear: These two monsters held no malice toward him. Otherwise, they could have struck already; there was no need to nurse him.
Sure, he had plenty on him that humans might covet, but nothing monsters would bother with.
Besides, his body wasn’t fit for intense activity right now. Making enemies rashly would be suicide.
Finnian had many flaws, but “not reading the room” wasn’t one of them.
He deliberately relaxed his body into a completely defenseless posture. His dove-gray blue eyes turned toward Hastur—he didn’t dare stare straight under the hood, just tilted his head back slightly in a lamb offering its neck to the predator’s fangs.
“Thank you for taking me in.”
The instant Finnian introduced himself, Hastur could see the man’s appearance.
He had a privileged face, blending a youth’s sharpness with a young man’s lazy wildness.
In his current meek demeanor, he’d deliberately toned down the aggressive, predatory edge of adulthood. That self-sacrificial pose, exposing his chest muscles, made the room’s atmosphere… well, not entirely suitable for Ithaqua.
Hastur caught the complex scent he classified as “seduction,” but alas, his tastes didn’t run to humans.
So his attention focused more on the newly popped-up character panel after the introduction. One line drew his notice:
【Character: Finnian (???）】
“?” Hastur hadn’t smelled any lie; this proved Finnian truly was the clue-giver’s name.
But the string of question marks trailing it hinted that “Finnian” was an alias…
Hastur’s gaze returned to Finnian. Combining the terrifyingly high stats on this character’s panel with the system’s hints, he felt like he was watching a young brown lion trying to hide its muscles and claws, pretending to be a harmless housecat.
But how Finnian chose to disguise himself wasn’t Hastur’s concern. His focus was:
“Have you heard of the Cradle Cult? What about Hastur? Nyarlathotep? Azathoth?”
Finnian raised a brow, still looking earnest. “No, sir. Unless you count your conversation.”
Hastur couldn’t discern truth from the man’s expression, so he leaned in slightly to sniff his scent.
Wary, hostile, but no malice. The man was just guarded, wearing a mask. Claiming ignorance of the Cradle Cult was true.
Hastur pulled back, regretful and puzzled, his gaze perfectly friendly and inoffensive in his own view.
But Finnian, under scrutiny from those eyes, felt none of it.
The unreal hallucination struck again: He was a cloth puppet, a rough hand yanking his soul from his body and dangling it between two black suns…
He shut his eyes once more, emptying his mind to forcibly block the discomforting visions.
When he opened them again, a sheen of sweat beaded his forehead and exposed skin. “I can do plenty of things, sir.”
His chest heaved with rapid breaths, the muscle lines drawing even Ithaqua’s glances.
“I’m good with mechanics. I can fix the faulty gas stove, or any equipment around the orphanage. Just need my injuries to heal a bit…”
He was slipping away on the spot.
Hastur smelled the lie and glanced up at the clue-giver, who absolutely wasn’t getting away.
“The gas stove doesn’t need fixing. It just doesn’t like me.”
Finnian: “…”
For real? Even now, he insisted the cooking disasters were the stove throwing a tantrum, not the stove—or himself—being faulty?
Hastur had to insist; the stove was fine! It just didn’t like him. “The orphanage doesn’t need a repairman. Just a cook.”
Finnian: “…”
That much was true.
But he’d already humbled himself offering to be a handyman. A cook?
What a waste of talent! Criminal underuse!
Finnian felt that gaze slicing into him again and ground his back teeth. “I can also make some home cooking…”
Hastur nodded in satisfaction and pulled up the exit interface, ready to head to work.
The system chimed:
【Unlocked Hidden Character Profile Collection!】
【View Character Story?】
Hastur: “…”
Unlock the character story? Now? One second before logging off for work?
