The Master rotated the watch in his hand slowly. "Strange... someone who can afford a timepiece like this, prowling about our black market?" He paused briefly, his piercing eyes fixed on Charles. "Or perhaps... you didn't purchase it with your own money?"
Charles deliberated silently, weighing how to respond. Lying might complicate matters, but revealing the whole truth could be dangerous. Finally, he decided on a middle path.
"I'm a detective," Charles answered, observing the Master's expression carefully. He intentionally concealed the fact that he was an officer of the Special Unit.
"A detective?" The Master raised an eyebrow, a thin smile appearing on his face. "And what would a detective want here? Surely not looking for contraband?"
"I'm searching for someone..." Charles replied cautiously, choosing not to mention the name or description of the person he sought. "A doctor who disappeared."
The word 'doctor' caused a subtle change in the Master's expression—just for an instant, but not quick enough to escape Charles's notice. The Master placed the watch slowly back on the table. "Disappeared, you say?"
"Yes. He was reportedly seen in the black market about two weeks ago."
"Interesting..." The Master leaned back in his chair, his relaxed posture seemingly at odds with the tension in his voice. "And why are you hunting for him? Is he someone important?"
"Before we get to that, I'd like to ask you something," Charles looked directly at the Master. "Since you oversee the black market... you likely know who comes and goes."
The Master offered a faint smile. "I only manage business in this district. The black market has too many visitors for me to remember everyone."
"But what about someone whose goal wasn't to purchase goods in the market?" Charles observed the Master's eyes glinting slightly.
The Master fell silent for a moment before leaning over to whisper to one of his subordinates. The words were too faint for Charles to catch. The subordinate nodded and hurried out, leaving tension hanging in the air. Charles could feel the atmosphere growing heavier.
"Who do you really work for?" the Master asked.
"I was hired by his relatives," Charles answered, maintaining an even tone.
"Strange..." The Master frowned. "That relatives would hire a detective with an expensive watch from a distant land." He slammed his hand down on the table. "I ask again, who are you really?"
Charles decided to reveal more of his identity. "Charles... Charles Ravencroft, from the guild."
The Master's expression changed, his eyes reflecting thoughtfulness. "Ah... the famous detective," he nodded slowly. "I've heard of your reputation but never expected to meet you in person."
"Then you know I'm not here to cause trouble," Charles said. "Just looking for someone."
The Master remained silent for a moment, stroking his chin slowly. "And why you? Why would his relatives hire someone of your caliber?"
"Finding missing people isn't usually dangerous work," Charles leaned back slightly against his chair, trying to appear relaxed as he recalled his feelings when first accepting the assignment at the guild. "And the pay was good... so I took the job myself."
The Master narrowed his eyes at Charles. "And now?" he smirked, his tone mocking. "After being dragged here, do you still claim it's not dangerous?"
"Now I know it is dangerous," Charles replied evenly. "I've known since what happened at the black market."
"Then why continue investigating?" The Master tilted his head slightly. "Why risk your life?"
An image of Michael's wife's face flashed through Charles's mind—eyes filled with worry and sorrow, praying for her husband's return. The little boy clutching a pillow, innocent and uncomprehending, not knowing why his father hadn't come home, unaware that he might never see his father again for the rest of his life.
"I simply don't want to see the disappointment in those waiting for the return of someone important..." Charles answered softly. "That's all."
The Master remained silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "You're quite the empathetic one, aren't you, detective?"
"But you know... life is filled with disappointments—both temporary ones and those that follow us to our graves."
"Some people are disappointed waiting for loved ones to recover from illness, only to be let down in the end... Others hope for seriously injured loved ones to survive, praying to everything they've ever believed in and never believed in..."
"Yet they end up disappointed when their loved ones die... disappointed in everything they prayed for, in the very things they once had faith in, disappointed for the rest of their lives."
"It's sad that family will have to be disappointed..."
"You know where he is?" Charles asked directly.
The Master was silent for a moment, just for a flash, before answering, "No."
"You really do know..." Charles said slowly, his voice confident.
"What makes you so certain?" the Master asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Charles remained silent.
"You realize I could force you to talk?" the Master emphasized again.
"First, if you truly didn't know, you would have denied it immediately. Instead, you spoke about disappointment," Charles answered. "When something is excessive, it often reveals its flaw."
"Second, when I said you knew his whereabouts, you paused momentarily. Though brief, that was another telling sign."
A thin smile appeared on the Master's face. "I've learned something... truly worthy of your famous detective reputation."
The Master sighed softly before rising from his chair. He walked to a glass display cabinet and took out an old bottle of brandy along with two glasses.
"Some matters..." he remarked while pouring the drinks, "are more complex than you can understand, Mr. Ravencroft."
He returned to the table, placing a glass in front of Charles. "Sometimes, when a person disappears... it's because they've chosen to disappear."
"That's why he came to you," Charles said, causing the smile on the Master's face to fade instantly.
The Master stared at Charles intently, as if reassessing his conversation partner. "Truly a detective... but sometimes, knowing too much isn't always beneficial."
"But if I knew too little," Charles sipped the brandy in his glass, "I'd have no chance of helping him."
"Help?" The Master chuckled softly. "You think he needs your help?"
Just then, there was a soft knock at the door. One of his subordinates entered the room deferentially, bending to whisper in the Master's ear. The Master's expression changed slightly as he listened.
"Excuse me for a moment," the Master stood, nodding to his two remaining subordinates to watch Charles.
He followed his man out, leaving Charles sitting with the brandy in his glass and an uncomfortable silence, under the watchful eyes of the two burly men.
Charles could hear faint conversational murmurs from beyond the door—whispered voices too soft to make out clearly. He tried to turn and look, but one of the guards immediately moved to block his view while the other gave him a cold, warning glare.
Charles had no choice but to return to his seat, pretending to casually sip his drink while his ears strained to catch every sound. Though the voices were broken and unclear, he tried to grasp whatever words he could.
The door opened with a creak. The Master stepped back in, accompanied by his subordinate and another man. Their shadows stretched long across the floor beneath the lamplight.
"This is the man looking for you," the Master said to the man.
The stranger slowly approached, bending down to examine Charles closely. Charles stared back, mentally reviewing information from the notice at the guild. Michael Berg, a tall man with tanned skin, black hair and a beard adorning his face, with a distinctive large mole under his right eye...
As the man came close enough for a clear view of his face, Charles immediately sensed something was wrong. The man before him bore no resemblance whatsoever to what he remembered.
Stout build, pale complexion, light brown hair, a full face with wrinkles. A memory flashed in his mind—another notice at the guild, and images from the abandoned clinic. Everything connected in an instant.
"Roland... Bradford," the name escaped Charles's lips.
His heart pounded. The expectation of finding Michael crumbled, replaced by the surprising discovery of the man who had disappeared before Michael, the other man he had also been searching for, now appearing before him in this place.
"Who are you?" Roland asked, his eyes studying Charles warily.
"Charles Ravencroft, detective from the guild," Charles answered, trying to maintain a steady voice. "Your family hired the guild to find you."
He knew he was lying, but it was the safest choice at the moment. Better than revealing that he was a Special Unit officer investigating the disappearances of both Roland and Michael. Otherwise, it would likely end with someone lying on the floor, while another might be left gasping for breath, gravely injured.