"So... we're heading to the rooftop now?"

"The barrier's feedback can only be checked at the barrier log terminal."

"Even so, the killer wouldn't just leave the terminal unguarded," Anhans shot York a look reserved for fools. "If they let it keep recording, wouldn't that expose half their plan?"

"Everyone knows that. But we can't ignore it—not when we might find new clues."

York tried to reason with the stubborn Anhans, but their opinions clashed sharply.

"I think it’s more likely a trap. Think about it: Uncle Klafa’s murdered, the manor’s sealed by a barrier, our two prime suspects among the Shadow Attendants are dead, and we’re all stuck. When people hit rock bottom like this, they’ll desperately latch onto any half-decent lead. It’s called..."

"...a form of suggestion effect."

Anhans whipped toward the voice—only to deflate when he saw it was me.

"When emotions run low and security feels scarce, psychological dependence spikes. People become highly suggestible. Even a shred of comfort or a flicker of hope can feel like salvation, making them believe anything."

"......"

I trailed off as the air turned thick with awkwardness.

York frowned slightly when I glanced at him.

I backtracked instantly.

"But... Brother York makes a good point. Stagnation is our real enemy. Without action, we’ll never move forward—"

"—Exactly. This level of investigation is necessary," York cut in.

"But what if the killer *wants* us to check the terminal? They might’ve set traps or planted false data there," Anhans argued. Half his insistence was bravado, but his logic held weight.

"How about this?" Ellen proposed. "Split up. Some go to the rooftop; others stay in the hall."

"Perfect!" Lux agreed. "Ellen or Dorothy—the strongest—leads the rooftop team. The other stays to guard the hall."

"But then..."

Molly’s voice trembled before fading. We all understood.

The killer could be any of us.

That included Ellen and Dorothy.

If one stayed behind with others while the other left... what if the one left behind was the murderer?

"I hate to say it," York hesitated, "but Ellen and Dorothy should stick together. To... keep each other in check."

"...Hmph."

"Ah..."

Ellen and Dorothy exchanged a glance, then looked away. Awkward, yet practical. Keeping them together minimized risk. But it created a new problem: any investigation—rooftop or elsewhere—required moving as one group with both powerhouses present. Otherwise, those separated from them became easy targets.

Which meant a dilemma: checking the rooftop terminal demanded everyone go together. But if it *was* a trap, the whole group would walk into it.

Anhans broke the silence.

"Hey, hey—stop overthinking! At this rate, we’ll do nothing at all."

"...Weren’t *you* the one warning about traps on the rooftop?" Liliana snapped. Anhans ignored her.

"I mean Ellen’s original plan was solid: split up. Some stay; some investigate."

"But those left behind—"

"Liliana-*chan*," Anhans puffed his chest, grinning. "Ellen and Dorothy are strong, sure. But don’t forget—you and I aren’t exactly weak."

His arrogance wasn’t baseless. An Intermediate Magician-level puppeteer under twenty? In Arlen Kingdom’s noble circles, that *was* impressive. Liliana, nearly qualified for her own Intermediate Magician exam, matched him well enough. Together, they were a force to reckon with.

York stroked his chin, weighing options—

"...Fine. We’ll do it your way."

---

The group ascended toward the manor’s highest point—the rooftop.

The "advance team" settled on York, Ellen, Chloe, and Nerlis. Anhans, Lux, Liliana, Molly, and Nia remained in the hall.

Tiny fireballs floated around the four climbers—a defensive measure from Chloe.

"Hope nothing goes wrong..." York muttered, glancing back down the stairs toward the hall.

"Relax. Anhans acts cocky, but he’s actually thoughtful and reliable."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, huh?"

"I’ll actually agree with this musclehead. Anhans *is* talented."

"Yeah, yeah..."

York tuned out their bickering. His nerves stayed taut. He turned to Nerlis, trailing behind.

Gray high-collared sweater. Plain long skirt. Black tights sheathed her calves down to soft-looking ankle boots. Her clothes were utterly ordinary—no hint of nobility in the fabric or cut. Yet her face...

Silver-gray hair fell like silk. Her features held a dreamlike delicacy: lashes like spun crystal, pale blue eyes like sea-born gems, a petite nose, lips pale and fragile-looking. Her complexion was porcelain-pale, suiting her slender, curvaceous frame beneath those humble clothes.

Objectively, she was breathtaking.

But... she had no allure.

York could *analyze* her beauty, yet feel zero attraction. At home, she’d always been the ghost among siblings.

*Strange.*

He replayed everyone’s reactions since the murder. Nerlis had shocked but never panicked. Calm. Insightful.

*Could she be... overlooked talent?*

Guilt pricked him. As the eldest brother, he’d barely noticed her.

"Hey... Nerlis?"

"Yes, Brother York?"

A faint smile touched her lips—so slight, it was impossible to tell if it was genuine or polite.

"You... uh..."

Words failed him. Comfort her? Discuss the crisis? Apologize for years of neglect?

As he fumbled, Nerlis tilted her head, rescuing him.

"Worried about me? Don’t be. I’m... holding up."

"...Right. Just... don’t push yourself. Tell me if anything troubles you."

"Thank you for caring. Honestly... I *am* scared. But rationality keeps it in check. A little fear... helps stay alert, I suppose."

Her rushed words tangled slightly. A blush crept up her neck.

*Thwack!*

"Ohhh? Little Nerlis blushes? Adorable~" Ellen slapped Nerlis’s shoulder, nearly sending her tumbling down the stairs. Nerlis flinched back—then froze, panic flashing across her face.

"Ah! Sorry, Sister Ellen! I just—"

"Ellen!" Chloe chided softly.

"Yeah, yeah... I can’t prove I’m not the killer. Of course you’d be wary." Ellen raised her hands, chuckling dryly. "I just realized... you’re actually pretty great."

"As if she wasn’t before," Chloe shot back.

"Shut it. I mean... sorry. I always saw you as this plain, forgettable girl. Barely noticed you when I visited. But now? You’re steadier than the rest."

"I feel the same. You’ve been... mature. Unlike Liliana’s group—they’re still reeling."

"A-Ah, Sister Ellen, Sister Chloe... you overestimate me. I just... thank you..."

Nerlis’s voice shrank to a whisper. Her head dipped, hiding flushed cheeks. In that moment, she looked genuinely sweet.

Tension melted unnoticed. The four reached the rooftop terrace.

---

*Perfect.*

Control eye movement frequency. Force a blush with precise breath control. Measure facial expressions in millimeters. Time tiny gestures just so.

With these pieces aligned, steering others’ thoughts through "casual" cues was effortless.

I scanned their faces through my hair—reading micro-expressions.

Mission accomplished.

*"The overlooked, capable introvert shines in crisis. Earns siblings’ respect. Flustered by praise, hides behind bookish logic to mask shyness."*

That’s how they saw me now.

Humans are contradictions. In trouble, they crave reliable allies—but resent needing anyone stronger.

So I balanced carefully: calm competence when speaking, earning their trust. Then, when praised, shy fluster and awkward deflection. A subtle show of weakness. It let them feel superior—*"Our little sister still needs us"*—while feeding their pride in "helping" someone.

However it worked, their trust in me grew. Safer ground. Later, if conflicts arose, these three influencers might actually listen to me.

All that mattered was the outcome.