The morning mist hung thick in the air as the black carriage made its way toward the heart of London. The cobblestone roads were uneven, and the wheels rattled constantly. Inside the carriage, Ciel Phantomhive sat in silence, gazing out the window. "[gentle] Young master, we shall arrive at Scotland Yard in approximately ten minutes." Sebastian spoke in his usual elegant tone. Sitting with perfect posture, not moving so much as a single finger, he looked almost like a sculpture. "[sarcastic] Yes, I'm aware." Ciel answered curtly. Outside, the London streetscape was gradually transforming. The tranquil countryside of Surrey was far behind them now. In its place stood tall buildings and brick structures blackened with soot. Through the carriage window, he could see people already hard at work in the early morning. A boy selling newspapers, a man pulling a cart, a woman sweeping the front of a pub. Every face looked exhausted. *(So this is London. The heart of Britain. Glittering on the surface, but peel back one layer and it's a cesspool of mud, soot, and crime.)* Ciel snorted. He had carried out countless missions here as the Queen's Watchdog. Aristocratic crimes, underworld conflicts, cases the police couldn't touch. Arthur Randolph was a man connected to one such case. A few minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of an imposing stone building. Scotland Yard. The headquarters of the London Metropolitan Police. Two uniformed officers stood at the main entrance, eyeing everyone who approached. Sebastian stepped out of the carriage first and opened the door for Ciel. "[gentle] After you, young master." Ciel swept his black cloak aside and stepped down. His dark hair, tinged with deep blue, was as immaculate as ever. Beneath the eyepatch over his left eye, the purple contract seal lay hidden, while only his sapphire-blue right eye gleamed coldly. He stood at a mere 152 centimeters. Dressed in a frock coat, his frame appeared even smaller. As they approached the main entrance, one of the officers looked down at Ciel with a startled expression. "[surprised] Oi, lad. This isn't a playground. If you're lost, go find a police box." Ciel stopped dead in his tracks. He raised his head and fixed the man with a steady stare. "[cold] I am Earl Phantomhive. I have clearance for the Special Archives. Verify it." His voice carried an authority that seemed impossible for a thirteen-year-old. The officer's mouth fell open. "[surprised] An... Earl? A child like you...?" "[sigh] That's why I told you to verify it." As the officer stood there, unsure of what to do, Sebastian stepped forward with perfect grace. From the breast pocket of his black tailcoat, he produced a document and held it before the officer's eyes. "[gentle] Here is the special access permit bearing the signature of the Chief Commissioner. Please, confirm it for yourself." The officer took the document and read it, rubbing his eyes several times. His face gradually turned pale. "[scared] M-My sincerest apologies! Please, go right ahead!" With a sidelong glance at the officer, who was now frantically saluting, Ciel and Sebastian passed through the heavy doors. Inside the building, it was eerily quiet, as if the bustle outside were a lie. The corridors smelled of mold and ink. Occasionally, the clatter of a typewriter or the low murmur of officers' voices could be heard. "[sarcastic] Being underestimated because I'm a child is nothing new, but honestly, it's a nuisance every single time." "[laughing] Even grown men are no match for the young master's commanding presence." "[sigh] You seem to enjoy yourself no matter what happens." "[gentle] A butler maintains his composure at all times." They descended the stairs and proceeded down a corridor leading underground. The lighting was sparse, and their footsteps echoed unnervingly. At the end of the hall stood an iron-barred door, and beyond it lay the Special Archives. In the dim space, lit only by the glow of a lamp, a single man was waiting. His close-cropped khaki hair was streaked with white. His dull gray eyes looked profoundly weary, yet deep within them lay a sharp, observant gleam. An old scar marked his nose. In his hand was a silver flask. Its contents: black tea. Inspector Arthur Randolph. Forty-five years old. A middle-aged officer worn down by having seen too much of London's darkness. "[sigh] Good grief... You actually came. And at such an early hour, no less." Randolph looked at Ciel and spoke with a sigh. His voice held a mixture of resignation and a faint trace of respect. "[serious] Inspector Randolph, time is precious. The file, if you please." Ciel stood before the desk and looked straight at Randolph. Randolph stared at the small figure for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped. Instead, he pulled a thick envelope from his desk drawer. "[serious] December 1886. The classified file on the Phantomhive Manor fire. It doesn't exist in the official police records. The only people who know about this are the Chief Commissioner, myself, and now you two, here in this room." Ciel took the envelope. His fingertips trembled ever so slightly, but no one noticed. From within, he drew out handwritten reports, yellowed photographs, and a roster of names. "[serious] The secret society, Cerberus Circle. On the surface, it was an upper-class social club called the 'Eternal Society.' Approximately thirty members. Aristocrats, industrialists, retired military officers. What they were really doing... you'll understand once you look at that file." Ciel turned the pages in silence. The membership roster was filled with the names of aristocrats he recognized. Records of meetings, procedural manuals for rituals, and incantations for summoning demons. His hand stopped as he flipped through a page densely written in Latin. There, he found the remnants of pages that someone had torn out. "[angry] ...Who did this?" Ciel's voice dropped low. Several pages had been torn. The crucial sections had been cleanly removed. The identity of the summoned demon, the detailed conditions for the sacrifice, and the results of the ritual. "[serious] I don't know. When I retrieved the file from storage, it was already like this." "[cold] An inside job, then." "[sigh] Most likely. There may be someone within the police force who was connected to the Circle." Ciel clenched his teeth. The clues to the truth of that night had been stolen from him in this manner. Randolph took a sip of tea from his flask and continued in a heavy tone. "[serious] That's not all. Recently, strange rumors have been circulating in Whitechapel. They say remnants of the Circle have been sighted at a pub called the 'Iron Crown.'" Ciel's expression shifted. "[surprised] Remnants? Most of the members should have died in that ritual." "[serious] There are survivors. Likely three to five of them. One of them may be hiding in the basement of an abandoned church." Ciel fell silent for a moment. *(Survivors... there are survivors.)* A restlessness stirred deep in his chest. There were others, besides himself, who had lived through that night of terror. Sympathy and revulsion welled up simultaneously. They were accomplices. They had tried to make him a sacrifice. And those very people were still breathing. "[cold] What are these remnants trying to do now?" "[serious] I don't know. But there's no doubt they're plotting something sinister. They're devil worshippers. They're either trying to reclaim something, or planning a new ritual." Ciel clenched his fist. His nails bit into his palm. *(They haven't finished yet. Which means... my revenge isn't finished either.)* At that moment, Randolph pulled a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. "[serious] These are backup notes I kept at home on my days off. I haven't shown them to anyone." Randolph flipped through the notebook and opened it to a certain page, showing it to Ciel. There, scribbled in haste, was a single line in Latin. "[serious] 'The sacrifice for the summoning shall be a pure-blooded child who has reached their thirteenth birthday.' ...That's what was written on the torn pages. I had made a copy." A chill ran down Ciel's spine. *(Back then, when I was ten... did I meet some kind of condition?)* Conditions befitting a sacrifice. He had possessed them. It was no coincidence. That ritual had been prepared deliberately, with a plan. "[whispers] ...Sebastian." "[gentle] Yes, young master." "[serious] Do you know? Why I was chosen that night." A smile remained on Sebastian's lips as he tilted his head. "[cold] Who can say? I am merely an entity summoned by the young master. As for why you were chosen... is that not something you yourself know?" It wasn't an answer. As always. But this time, his words stuck in Ciel's mind with unusual persistence. *(I myself know? That's impossible. I'm just...)* Ciel started to think, then shook his head. Now was not the time for that. "[serious] Inspector Randolph. I will track down the whereabouts of those torn pages and the objectives of the remnants. Do you have any other information?" Randolph sighed. He placed his flask on the desk and leaned forward, both hands on the surface. "[serious] If I get any more involved as a police officer, my position will be in danger. It's certain there's a traitor within the force regarding those torn pages. If I make the wrong move, I could be eliminated as well." Ciel silently met his eyes. Randolph had a family. He was torn between his sense of justice as an officer and his desire to protect his loved ones. "[serious] But... even so, I have one lead. There's an informant named Lau at Grimsby Wharf. A man who knows the darkness of Chinatown well. He might know something about the movements of the Circle's remnants." Ciel grimaced. Grimsby Wharf. The lowest depths of London. A place swirling with crime, opium, and smuggling. The name Lau also rang a bell. An Oriental informant who would sell any information for money. Someone who would commit betrayal without a second thought. Not a man one could ever like. "[sigh] That shady character." "[laughing] Yes, shady beyond compare. But the quality of his information is reliable." Ciel handed the envelope to Sebastian. "[serious] Sebastian, hold onto this file. Next stop is Chinatown." "[gentle] As you wish, young master." Ciel turned back to face Randolph. "[serious] You have my thanks. But I can't involve you any further. I'll handle the rest." Randolph looked surprised for a moment, then gave a wry smile. "[sad] To hear such words from a thirteen-year-old boy... Still, be careful. The remnants of the Circle are dangerous. They've already tried to kill you once." Ciel turned his back and began to walk. He passed through the iron door of the archives and climbed the stairs. Sebastian followed close behind. "[cold] Young master, shall you go to the wharf alone? Or shall I?" "[sarcastic] Of course you're coming. You're a butler, so protect your master." "[laughing] I am a butler, through and through. As you command." When they stepped outside, the morning mist had still not cleared. Climbing into the carriage, Ciel gazed out at the gray city spreading beyond the window. *(They're still alive. And I will not run.)* What had been written on the torn pages? What were the remnants trying to do now? And why had he been chosen as the sacrifice? Anxiety continued to burn deep in his chest. But he was no longer afraid. The truth he needed to reach had finally begun to take shape. The carriage quietly set off, heading toward Chinatown. Outside the window, the London sky, shrouded in soot and mist, stretched on, bleak and endless.