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[Still, Watson is kind, so I’ll give him a chance.]

What a pompous object.

The flying gas lamp was my first impression when I saw Watson.

He had an incredibly arrogant attitude at first glance.

Moreover, it smelled like blood, wasn’t cute, and had a creepy voice—definitely an object I wasn’t particularly interested in.

Though I wasn’t that interested, it seemed the detective needed it to figure out the location of the mirror, so I obediently listened.

If he wasn’t, I would’ve at least given him a slap on the head…

As Watson jabbered away to the detective, boasting, he suddenly caught my gaze and took an unexpected action.

Smoke began to pour endlessly from the lamp, enveloping the camp.

It felt like stepping into a cloud.

This cloud seemed to swallow sound, making the clamor of the detective and his junior echo from far away.

In the moment when no sound could be heard, a blood-red lightning streak flashed within the cloud, creating an intriguing atmosphere.

Is this some horror attraction like a haunted house? I thought, as a giant shadow began to loom from within the cloud.

Watson, looking down with a gigantic body akin to a mountain, appeared incredibly powerful and robust.

But to me, he felt like a cute pufferfish, puffed up in fear.

[‘Eyes’…?]

[I definitely felt ‘eyes’, didn’t I?]

[Am I just imagining it?]

Watson looked at me and spoke.

Since I was the concept of a non-communicative object, I could only tilt my head? and pretend I didn’t understand.

[You have no intelligence? Can one have ‘eyes’ and be without intelligence?]

[No foresight, no clairvoyance, no telepathy.]

[Still, I feel ‘eyes’. Is it an illusion?]

‘Eyes’? If it means some special eyes to see something, then I do have one.

An eye that sees the method of killing targets.

The enormous Watson spun around me, peering around before retreating, smoke dissipating.

It seemed somehow related to bothersome matters, but since I couldn’t communicate at all, it seemed to pass.

Indeed, being a non-communicative concept was correct!

*

The smoke that Watson suddenly expelled devoured everything around it, only to vanish again shortly after.

“Senior, what on earth just happened?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like much has changed…”

The junior, frightened by the sudden situation, clutched a hammer tightly in his arms, looking as if he’d swing it at anyone approaching.

The Gray Reaper was still looking at Watson with an indifferent expression.

Though Watson appeared nonchalant, he clearly was concerned about the Gray Reaper.

“No, something definitely has changed. Watson’s attitude has shifted slightly.”

Watson, who had exuded the impression of looking down on everyone without end, now seemed to exhibit a bit of caution after the smoke cleared.

Was it caution, or was he perhaps scared of something?

Watson averted his gaze from the Gray Reaper and continued speaking.

[If you cheat, it’s only death.]

[But I’ll give you a chance.]

[Because Holmes is special.]

“What kind of chance are you talking about?”

At my question, Watson pondered deeply before providing an answer.

[I’ll give you a very light penalty.]

[You must absolutely not leave this camp. You can’t leave until the request is completed.]

[I think that’s a fair penalty.]

[If Holmes fails the request, he dies there.]

[He’ll burn up with the missile!]

Indeed, as Watson said, it was a ‘light penalty.’

With barely less than 24 hours left, even if I went outside, I wouldn’t find effective methods.

I might as well crawl into a sinkhole, as resolving the issues here was the best choice.

However, just because the difficulty wouldn’t change didn’t mean I could resolve it.

One solution popped into my head.

Watson can communicate.

He had a clear self-awareness.

Objects that demand a price often provide outcomes beyond their abilities if the price is sufficiently paid.

Could we consider Watson a type of object that demands a price?

Moreover, he was an intelligent object that could engage in dialogue.

It would be possible to negotiate.

No, I must negotiate.

“Watson, let’s make a deal! Tell me the location of the object that creates butterflies!”

[No.]

[Are you trying to avoid the ordeal?]

[Are you giving up on the case?]

Trial, giving up, request, cheating—these are the keywords Watson is fixated on.

The ‘Holmes’ that Watson speaks of sounds inconsistent and confusing, but it seems more like an entity that bravely tackles difficult trials to resolve cases.

Therefore, the word ‘Holmes’ would likely hold the key to negotiation.

“Watson, let’s make a deal! I will complete another trial befitting Holmes. So tell me the location of the object that creates butterflies!”

[Trial?]

[The trial we’re providing is probably tougher than the current case, right?]

[Actually, Holmes might be able to handle this request.]

[It might be a matter that takes the 0.1% chance of resolution straight down to 0%!]

“Sure, but I still want to make a deal!”

For a moment, I thought I might be making a mistake, but I decided to trust my instincts and choices.

If I was trying to find the object myself, I had an instinct that it would be impossible to solve.

Even if I managed to find it, it would probably be after 24 hours had passed.

[Okay, then I’ll give you a trial.]

[A trial for Holmes!]

[If you fail the trial, Holmes is mine.]

[If you succeed, I will eliminate that object for you.]

Watson smiled meaningfully and unveiled the trial.

[It’s a tough trial. A difficult trial.]

[This time, Holmes is out of luck.]

[You just need to choose the object Holmes is looking for from here.]

*

The trial Watson provided was a simple photo selection.

The detective seemed to gaze intently at the photos, pondering various variables.

The junior, holding a hammer, stood beside him but seemed to be yielding no results.

‘A butterfly-producing object’

With such vague clues, I had to find the answer among over a hundred photos?

By simple probability, it was a mission with less than a 1% chance of success.

A large object resembling a door could be argued to be one from which butterflies come pouring out, while an object shaped like a butterfly cocoon could be seen as a cocoon where butterflies endlessly emerge… etc. The reasoning could be slapped together however one liked, making it impossible to logically select the answer.

Of course, I had other information, so I was able to think logically.

I knew that the object that produces butterflies was the ‘black mirror’.

Still, I didn’t let on that I knew.

I had no idea how Watson would react.

First, I should observe how the detective handles it.

*

Watson’s trial was absurd.

He laid out precisely 152 photos, telling me to select one of them as the target object.

The only clue provided was that it was an object that produces butterflies.

But that’s hardly a hint.

Choosing based solely on the hint of producing butterflies is not deduction; it’s just a ‘guess.’

Watson was right.

It was an impossible problem to solve.

Should I trust luck and take a shot?

If I was going to leave it to luck, it would be better to search the camp directly instead of making a deal.

The odds of 1 in 152 would be better!

I wouldn’t be doing something as ridiculous as leaving it to chance!

“Ha…”

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts.

Even the junior was staring blankly at the photos, trying to find something.

If I couldn’t keep my head straight here, I had no right to be a senior.

If I was going to trust luck and guess, then I needed something.

I pulled out a ‘coin to measure luck’ and tossed it.

The coin soared high, and I snatched it with my hand, opening my palm to check.

The number that came up was 20. At this moment, when I was about to leave my fate to chance, the perfect number had appeared.

At that moment, a sudden thought struck me.

As the number 20 showed up, my thoughts went elsewhere.

Am I missing something?

The junior beside me looked worried as he examined the photos.

The Gray Reaper was watching me with keen interest.

No, it felt more like a professor observing a student’s actions.

He was checking if I would select the right answer while already knowing it.

Did the Gray Reaper know something?

“Watson! Do I absolutely have to be the one to choose this photo? Can the junior or the Gray Reaper solve it instead?”

[I’ll allow the junior to solve it in place of you.]

[And the Reaper?]

[He has no ‘eyes’ and hasn’t borrowed any ‘eyes’, so it should be fine, right?]

[Okay, I’ll allow the Reaper to solve it instead.]

I had confidence in my observational skills.

Rather than leaving it to a less than 1% chance of luck, I would entrust the choice to my observation abilities.

“Gray Reaper. Help me.”

As I said this, the Gray Reaper, who had been looking at me, smiled faintly and stepped towards the photos.

Thud, thud.

The Gray Reaper picked up one photo and held it high above his head.

That photo depicted the ‘black mirror.’

[Isn’t it supposed to be solved by Holmes? Is it okay if a companion solves it instead?]

[‘Eyes’?]

[Did we allow that?]

[Isn’t it ‘eyes’?]

[Isn’t it cheating?]

[Strange.]

Watson murmured, confused.

The shapeless shadow twisted in confusion, bleeding red.

And then, that distortion suddenly stopped at a certain moment.

[Holmes. Congratulations.]

At that moment, the butterflies reflected in the monocle all rose into the sky.

Shortly afterward, the sound of a mirror breaking echoed from somewhere in the camp.

Clap, clap, clap.

I could hear Watson’s applause.

[Trial passed.]

[See you next time.]

[You survived today?]

With those words, Watson vanished in an instant.

The Gray Reaper stared vacantly at the sky.

What was he looking at? It seemed the sky was filled with the torn remnants of black butterflies.

“Junior! Run quickly!”

I dashed outside the camp to avoid being swept up by the countless falling butterfly carcasses from the sky.

By the time I turned around, the Gray Reaper had already disappeared.