Lota Orphanage.

In the morning mist, the matron cautiously peeked her head out from behind the door, eyeing the man in front of her dressed in a black suit.

"Sir... may I ask who you’re looking for?"

"Hello."

Moen removed his top hat and offered a polite greeting:

"I am Bruce Wayne, a... philanthropist."

"A philanthropist?"

The matron still wore a suspicious expression on her face. However, the moment Moen handed over a gilded card, the doubt and coldness on her face melted away instantly, like snow in the winter sun.

The card bore official certification, detailing how this gentleman named Bruce had funded numerous academies, donated countless supplies, and had even personally distributed food to the starving poor in the Lower City District during the winters. A nobleman of rare kindness and deep affection for the underprivileged, beloved by the masses.

The matron immediately changed her demeanor, adopting a warm and welcoming attitude as she ushered Moen inside with respect.

"Oh, sir, why didn’t you notify us in advance? We haven’t prepared anything for your visit."

"I wanted to see the orphanage in its most authentic state. It will determine the extent of my donations."

Moen smiled faintly as he followed the matron into the orphanage.

But his smile gradually froze.

From the outside, hidden behind the tall walls, his vision had been obstructed.

But upon stepping through the gates, he realized how utterly dilapidated this orphanage was.

At the far end of the spacious yard stood a row of mud-brick houses, evenly arranged. Yet time had left indelible marks on the buildings. The walls were riddled with cracks, most of the windows were broken and patched with paper, the roofs bore several large holes haphazardly covered with straw.

The yard itself was expansive, sparsely populated with trees and makeshift play structures.

But these accommodations—could they truly survive the winter?

"How is it this run-down?"

Moen frowned, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

"Surely the orphanage receives government funding?"

"That funding... it’s too little," the matron said hesitantly, nervously fidgeting with her worn apron.

"And over the years, the funding has become less and less. The authorities don’t believe our orphanage has much of a purpose anymore, as there are hardly any adoptions each year. If it weren’t for the generous donations from kind-hearted people over the years, this place would’ve closed down long ago."

"No one adopts the orphans?"

Moen looked puzzled and was about to ask further when a clear chime echoed through the courtyard.

And with that sound, the entire orphanage seemed to awaken.

Minutes later, children, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, emerged from the houses and made their way to a small side room. There, the matrons assisting them began the morning routine of washing up.

"This is..."

Moen's chest tightened as he noticed the sight before him: every child bore some form of disability.

No hands. No legs. Blindness. Deafness. Cleft palates. Albinism.

These children passed by him, and not one of them was entirely whole—or in other words, none could be considered a "normal" child.

"So this is why no one adopts them?"

Moen suddenly understood. A group of disabled children—who would want to adopt them?

But then his heart clenched painfully.

"These children can only stay until they’re eleven years old?"

"You know?" The matron's face twisted with bitterness and guilt, her eyes reddening as she spoke.

"There’s no other way. Ensuring they have a safe childhood is already the best we can do."

"I see."

Moen couldn’t help but sigh.

Indeed, as the matron had said, for a poor orphanage like this, this was the most they could achieve—it wouldn’t be fair to demand more.

Such were the limitations of this era.

"Are all the children in this orphanage disabled?"

"Yes, they’re all children rejected by other orphanages, each with some defect or another."

So they only accepted children other orphanages refused, those who were flawed?

Then that senior of his...

Wait. Strictly speaking, though his senior was physically whole, she might, in this orphanage, have been considered the most flawed child of all.

Moen continued the tour with the matron, who guided him around.

The physically impaired orphans gazed curiously at Moen, clearly intrigued by the rare arrival of a guest.

Moen responded with gentle smiles, pulling out an array of candies, snacks, and toys, seemingly out of nowhere as if performing magic. Laughter soon echoed throughout the orphanage as the children reveled in this unexpected delight.

However, out of the corner of his eye, Moen caught sight of a little girl keeping her distance, unwilling to come closer.

…

Later, Moen was introduced to an elderly woman with snow-white hair, the headmistress of the orphanage.

After some introductions, Moen directly explained his reason for visiting.

"I’m here to investigate someone."

"Who?"

"Anna Kablin."

"...And what’s your relationship to her?"

"A friend."

"A friend?"

The headmistress gave him a slightly surprised look, scrutinizing him carefully.

"That girl, who was always so closed off, has a friend?

"More surprisingly, judging by your demeanor, you’re not just a friend, am I right?"

With the seasoned wisdom of someone adept at reading people, the headmistress seemed to have anticipated everything. She handed Moen a stack of documents.

"There’s honestly not much to investigate. That child was nothing more than an ordinary, isolated girl during her time here—anti-social and somewhat erratic when alone."

"No, Headmistress, what you’ve told me so far already sets her apart from any ordinary girl," Moen retorted with a slight chuckle, taking the documents and flipping through them.

The file was rather thin, merely containing cursory records about the girl.

On the pages, the girl described matched exactly how his senior had described her younger self. She would sneak out early in the mornings, run wild for a while, then return.

She would use the money she earned to buy candy for the matrons to distribute but never interacted with the other children in the orphanage.

There wasn’t anything extraordinary about her—the file revealed no significant insights.

"Has Senior Anna... that is, has Anna Kablin ever returned here since leaving the orphanage?" Moen asked softly as he closed the file.

"No," the headmistress replied decisively.

"No?"

Moen momentarily froze.

That doesn’t sound like something Senior would do.

"Not even once?"

"Not once. She hasn’t come back, nor has she sent money to help the orphanage. Once children leave this place, they have nothing to do with us anymore, do they?"

The headmistress abruptly grew cold.

"Mr. Bruce, even if you’re Anna’s friend, if your purpose isn’t to donate to the orphanage, please don’t waste our time. I have many matters regarding the children to attend to."

"…No."

Moen fell silent, looking out the window as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists, whispering to himself.

He felt like the headmistress was hiding something.

"Let me stay a bit longer, just a bit longer."

Behind the orphanage stood a large plot of farmland owned by the institution.

It was harvest season, and after breakfast, the children—ahead of their age in maturity—took up various tools and helped the matrons gather the crops.

There were toddlers no older than three or four, some walked with crutches, and others had to feel their way forward.

And yet, this group of children, abandoned by fate, appeared joyful here. Their faces radiated innocent smiles.

Moen walked to the edge of the field, where the children, upon seeing him, waved enthusiastically, calling out, "Mr. Bruce!"

Moen smiled back and nodded graciously. Clearly, the candies and toys from earlier had earned him their goodwill.

But inwardly, Moen felt no joy.

The purpose of his visit—why he had come—remained just as unclear. Even though the elder had sent him here to possibly uncover some kind of truth, how was he supposed to find it?

His senior had left this orphanage ten years ago. And considering what the headmistress had said—that she never returned—the connection had long been severed. How could there possibly be any "truth" left to uncover here?

The incident from not long ago... and this orphanage... there seemed to be no connection whatsoever.

"So, it seems I’ll have to give up after all?"

Instead of wasting time on something so nebulous, it would be better to figure out how to deal with the Moon of…

Hmm?

Just as Moen's frustration nearly boiled into murderous intent, his eyes landed on a tree by the field.

Beneath that tree, completely out of place from the lively atmosphere around her, sat a young girl dressed in black. Alone, she concentrated intently on drawing something.

It seemed the orphanage staff had long grown accustomed to the girl’s aloof nature. Not even the matrons paid attention to her obvious act of "slacking off."

"That girl…"

Moen recognized her. During the candy and toy giveaway earlier, she was the one child who had not been drawn over.

"This feels… oddly out of place," he murmured to himself.

…

…

"What are you drawing?"

The little girl looked up cautiously, her wary gaze settling on the stranger beside her.

After a moment, she curled her legs inward and murmured softly,

"A cake."

"A cake?"

Moen's eyes fell on her drawing board, and his lips twitched.

It looked more like a millstone.

"Do you like cake?"

"Mm-hmm. I love cake. It’s sweet and delicious, and blowing out candles is really fun."

"Then…"

With a swift motion of his hand, Moen produced a small, fragrant cake as if performing a magic trick.

Waving it slightly, he offered a mischievous grin—the kind someone might call a "shady uncle luring kids."

"Do you want some?"

"Wow... it smells so good."

The little girl sucked her finger, her gaze fixed greedily on the cake, nearly drooling.

But after hesitating for a moment, she reluctantly tore her eyes away.

"Big Sister said I can’t just eat food from strangers."

"But I’m not a stranger, am I? Look, your friends ate my snacks just now, didn’t they? And nothing happened to them."

"This…"

The little girl hesitated again, fidgeting anxiously for a while before finally giving in to the temptation of the cake. She took it from Moen and began devouring it in big bites.

She ate with delight, her cheeks puffing like a squirrel’s—adorable.

Watching her, Moen felt some of his inner unease dissipate.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he turned his focus back to the girl’s drawing.

Once one recognized it as a cake rather than a millstone, its essence became clearer.

Bright, colorful, adorned with brown dots resembling chocolate—it depicted a birthday cake, the sort few in the Lower City District could afford.

Wait.

A birthday cake?

Moen suddenly looked up at the dilapidated orphanage.

Could this orphanage really afford to buy cake for its children?

Yet this little girl had said cakes were delicious and candle-blowing was fun. That meant she had actually eaten them before.

She had just mentioned her older sister.

It felt like grasping at something, and Moen's heart suddenly began to race.

"Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Mm…" The little girl nodded vaguely.

"You... how old are you this year?"

"Ten."

Ten years old, which was almost the age to leave the orphanage. Among the group of children there, it was unlikely anyone could be referred to as her big sister.

In other words...

"The cake... was it for your birthday this year?"

"Mm."

"Was it your big sister who bought you the cake?"

"Mm."

The naive little girl continued to savor the cake with full focus, completely oblivious to the fact that she was gradually falling into Moen's trap.

"Then... the sister who bought you the cake, is her name... Anna?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the little girl's round eyes widened sharply. Her adorable face showed a terrified expression, and the piece of cake she hadn’t finished fell to the ground. But she no longer cared about the sweet cake; clutching her drawing board, she was ready to flee.

However, how could Moen possibly let her run away?

"Don’t run, please, don’t run."

Moen placed a trembling hand on the little girl's shoulder and said, "I’m not a bad guy. I’m a friend of your sister Anna. Really, I’m her friend."

"Friend?"

Suspicion filled the little girl’s face.

But just as Moen was wracking his brain to win her trust, she suddenly leaned closer to him and sniffed him a few times.

"Sister’s scent..."

The distrust in the little girl’s gaze gradually faded. "You smell like sister."

"Scent..."

Moen froze.

He had indeed been in close proximity to Anna—actually, it could even be considered intimate proximity.

But after soaking in water for so long, could the scent still linger?

"I remember that Senior... Anna also had a very keen sense of smell…"

Moen suddenly recalled this little detail.

This offhand remark seemed to fully earn the little girl’s trust. She sat back down and blinked at him, saying, "You know this... You’re really sister’s friend?"

"Yeah."

Moen nodded vigorously, then couldn’t help but reveal a slightly mysterious smile.

"And in the future, I might not just be her friend."

"Not just her friend?"

The little girl blinked in confusion. With her innocent little mind, she couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind Moen’s words.

"Let’s not talk about that for now."

Moen returned to the main topic. "Since you trust that I’m your sister’s friend, can you continue answering my questions?"

The little girl thought for a moment. "Sister told me not to tell these things to anyone else, but if you’re her friend, it should be okay."

"On your birthday, the one who gave you the cake... it was Anna, right?"

"Mm."

"Then when is your birthday?" Moen stared into the little girl’s eyes, feeling slightly nervous as he asked.

"It’s…"

The little girl counted carefully on her fingers.

"Seven days ago."

Seven days!

Moen’s heart trembled.

That was precisely the first day of Open Day—the day Tyke Rod was killed!

"Was it at night?"

"Mm, because during the daytime, the nuns would find out."

"Did she stay for a long time?"

"Mm, a long time."

Moen suddenly lowered his head, staring at the bizarrely-shaped cake drawn on the board. His face showed a complicated expression, as if he weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

At night.

It was also the time when Tyke Rod was killed.

And this orphanage was on the opposite side of the city from where Tyke Rod had been killed.

Unless Senior could fly, there was no way she could’ve traveled across the city in such a short time.

But in a city like this, flying was strictly prohibited.

In other words...

Senior couldn’t have killed Tyke Rod. She had the perfect alibi.

"But why… why didn’t Senior just tell the truth?"

During the interrogation at Silence Agency, she could’ve told the truth.

It wasn’t hard to prove something like that.

After all, even for serpentification patients, whether they’ve committed murder or not makes a world of difference in the consequences they face.

The difference between life and death hinged on that single truth.

So why...

"Could it be…"

Abruptly, a thought crossed Moen’s mind, and he looked back up at the little girl.

"Can you... stand up and twirl around for me?"

The little girl tilted her head in confusion, but obediently got up and spun around.

Her slightly polished black dress flared out, making her look like a fluttering butterfly in mid-dance.

In that instant, Moen finally understood the source of the lingering sense of incongruity.

—This little girl was physically sound.

But in this orphanage, which only accepted disabled children, being physically sound was the greatest abnormality.

So even without peeking under the girl’s long sleeves as she spun—where those bandages accidentally revealed themselves—Moen knew what it meant.

She... had serpentification.

Just like Senior, she had serpentification.

That’s why Senior didn’t tell the truth.

Just like during their first date, when she’d been scratched yet still bandaged the kitten’s wounds.

That mischievous, playful, prank-loving girl, who was kinder and gentler than anyone else, had always been protecting this little girl.

...

...

"I have to go now."

Moen patted the little girl on the head.

"So soon?"

Already fully “corrupted” by Moen’s cake-bringing strategy, the little girl blinked reluctantly.

"Don’t worry, soon you’ll get to eat cake often. But for now, I can’t stay with you. I have something very important to do."

"What is brother going to do?" Somehow, the little girl had naturally started using this affectionate term of address.

"Hmm, what am I going to do… Let’s see…"

Moen adjusted the brim of his hat, looking up through the edge of it to the not-so-bright sun.

A pleasant smile spread across his lips.

"First, I’m going to go beat up a few bad guys. Hmm... though they probably don’t even count as 'guys'. Then, I’ll stop some sinister plots. If I can kill that thing while I’m at it, that’d be great. If not... I’ll find someone to kill it for me.

And finally… I’ll drag a certain lying troublemaker back home and spank her so hard she won’t be able to sit for days."

"You’re not allowed to spank my sister!" The little girl bared her teeth and claws, a fierce but still adorable protest.

"Haha, I won’t spank her."

Moen bent down and pinched the little girl’s soft, chubby cheeks.

"But as for making her unable to get out of bed for days... I’m definitely doing that! No one can stop me—not even Jesus!"

"The dark god won’t stop me either."

...

...