Chapter 9
The next day.
Josée wandered through the midday bustle of the royal capital, leaving the central district behind as she meandered past rows of street stalls. Torunie was a popular tourist destination, which meant the streets were lined with souvenir shops—but Josée knew better than to trust appearances.
In this country, most souvenir shops were just façades for shady operations.
Sure enough, the market stalls were overflowing with accessories that closely mimicked the trendy Lacroix jewelry. After spending hours inspecting the knockoff wares under the slowly sinking sun, Josée finally spotted something familiar.
A ring—identical to the one found on Frédéric’s corpse.
The resemblance was uncanny. Though clearly plated, the engravings on the band were surprisingly detailed, showing a level of craftsmanship that belied its counterfeit nature.
"How much is this?" she asked.
"Thirty deniers," the stall owner replied.
"That’s cheap. I’ll take one. By the way... where was it made?"
The vendor grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"A place called 'Midona' workshop. You interested in making a little cash on the side too?"
Got him, Josée thought, masking her satisfaction behind a curious smile.
"I don’t know... Is there really that much money in reselling fakes?"
"Pays better than factory work. Hell, better than being a courtesan. And if a woman’s doing the selling, customers drop their guard. You’ll make more than any guy."
Josée leaned in closer. "Where is this 'Midona' workshop?"
"Backstreet behind the Artisans' Guild, off Fifth Avenue. It’s tucked in with a bunch of low-end shops. Look along 104th Street."
"Thanks. I’ll check it out."
As she walked away, her voice dropped to a murmur.
"That confirms it. The ring on Frédéric's body was a replica..." She narrowed her eyes. "Which raises the real question—"
If that wasn’t Frédéric’s body—
"Then where did the corpse with the fake ring come from?"
By the time Josée reached the Midona workshop, dusk had given way to evening. The sky was dark, and the narrow streets were bathed in flickering lanternlight.
She knocked on the door, and a man with a craftsman’s build and rough demeanor answered.
"Excuse me," she said, putting on a polite tone. "I heard about you from a stall..."
The man sized her up. Whatever he saw, it was enough.
"Come in."
Still playing the part of an innocent young woman, Josée stepped inside the workshop.
"You here to become a reseller?"
"Yes. About this ring, though..." She held it out.
The man took it, examined it carefully, then gave a curt nod. "Yeah, that’s one of ours."
"Do you know what brand it’s supposed to be a replica of?"
"It was a custom job. The engraving took time."
"A custom order...?"
"Some noble’s wife came in. Said she wanted her wedding ring remade in a men’s size. You might not know, but nobles sometimes get replicas made—for travel, diplomacy, that sort of thing."
"When was this?"
He stepped over to a nearby ledger and flipped through it. "Order came in a week ago. We delivered it five days later."
"Was the client’s name... Suzune?"
"...How’d you know?"
Josée ignored the question.
It all made sense. Suzune must’ve placed the order right after Frédéric lost his ring at the brothel. If she picked it up five days later, that lined up perfectly with the discovery of the waterlogged corpse.
"If you’ve got other counterfeit brand pieces, show me."
"Sure. But if you want in on this, you gotta pay upfront."
"Oh my. So *this* is how your business works? You almost had me fooled."
Feigning dismay, Josée turned to leave—
"Think you can dip a toe in the underworld and walk away clean?"
The man's tone shifted. Cold. Dangerous.
Josée froze as he drew a gun, leveling it at her head.
"! What are you—?!"
"Do what I say if you wanna live."
He stepped closer, pressing the barrel to her temple.
But Josée—
BANG!
The gunshot echoed through the workshop.
The man howled in pain, blood spurting from his hand. The weapon clattered to the floor. In the same breath, Josée kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him staggering backward as the gun skidded across the room.
With a sweet smile, she drew her own pistol and aimed it at the stunned man.
"Hehe. Did you really think a woman wouldn’t be carrying a gun?"
His face went pale.
"I could tell the moment I saw it," she said. "That 'gun' of yours was just a workshop prop. Trigger was fixed—completely fake."
Still aiming at him, Josée eased toward the door.
She slipped outside, closing the door behind her—and stopped cold.
A voice cut through the night.
"What are you doing here?"
Josée turned sharply, startled.
A lone figure stood silhouetted in the moonlight. She recognized him immediately.
"My apologies," she said calmly. "I’m currently investigating a major case."
"...What a coincidence. So am I."
It was Serge.