After four long years, I was finally free. There he was—my father, standing and waiting for me. As I stepped out, he wrapped me in a tight embrace and murmured, "I'm sorry, son. I abandoned you to suffer on your own. Are you alright?" But I shoved him away. "Stay back. I don't need you anymore. I've learned to survive without you." He stood there, motionless, his voice shaky as he whispered, "What did I do wrong?"

From that moment on, I set out to find a place to stay and a way to earn a living. I found a place affordable enough to call home and began working at a construction site to make ends meet.

One day, we were hit with shocking news: our manager had died by suicide. With no one else to step up, and because of my reputation as a problem-solver, I was appointed as the temporary manager until a replacement could be found. In that short time, I earned more than I ever had before. When the new manager arrived, I chose to resign, feeling an unsettling sense that something wasn’t right.

I spent a week without work, and soon my money ran dry. Desperate, I started looking for a job again, but found nothing. Exhausted, I sat on a bench in a park, watching children play. It was a rare moment of peace, far away from the stress and worry. In that brief instant, I wished I could just disappear.

Then, a young man in a wheelchair rolled toward me. His legs were gone, but he had a handsome face and a warm, gentle expression. As he arrived, children flocked around him like he was a beacon of joy; it was clear everyone admired him. He looked over at me and wheeled closer. "Hey, are you new around here?" he asked with a friendly smile. "Who, me?" I stammered. "Uh, I’m just a wanderer, looking for a job to make a living."

Our conversation flowed effortlessly: "Oh! Do you have a place to live?" he asked.

"N-no, I'm homeless," I replied.

"Then you can stay with me and we will divide the rent."

"Sorry, but won’t I be a burden on you?"

"It won’t be a problem. I live alone, and I could use a friend."

People like him still exist? "O-ok, but I don’t even know your name."

"Oh, right! My name is Ethen Sterling. And yours?"

"Nero Wolfsbane." I hesitated before asking, "May I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"What’s the reason your legs are completely cut off?"

"Oh, my legs? Actually, when I was 7, they were crushed in a road accident."

"Is that so? And where is your family?"

"They left me."

Ethen then shared his story with me. He told me about his twin brother, who was just a few minutes older and excelled in everything. His brother loved him deeply, and they came from the wealthiest family in Eabis—the esteemed Sterling family. However, after Ethen lost his legs in the accident, his parents abandoned him at an orphanage. In their eyes, having a disability was a taboo, and they believed that every descendant of the Sterling family had to be perfect to uphold the family's pride.

Ethen continued, explaining that after the accident, a middle-aged man, who had lost his wife, took him in—but he was anything but caring. Instead, he abused Ethen, treating him cruelly. Unable to endure it any longer, Ethen eventually escaped from the man's home and found refuge elsewhere.

One day, his twin brother discovered him and embraced him tightly, overjoyed to be reunited. His brother offered him a place to live and still visits him from time to time.

Ethen then took me to his home, and I began living with him. 

Four weeks later, Ethen’s brother came by for a visit. Ethen’s brother was just as kind as he was, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart. The only way to differentiate between the two was Ethen’s disability. His brother stayed for the day, leaving shortly after he arrived, as he had come in secret, hiding from their parents, who still disapproved of Ethen. 

Three days later, a police car pulled up in front of Ethen’s house. They knocked on the door, and I answered. The officers asked for Ethen, so I called for him. When he wheeled out, one of the cops made a phone call.

A short while later, something completely unexpected occurred—Ethen’s parents arrived, tears streaming down their faces, and they embraced him, sobbing. “What happened? Mother! Father!” Ethen cried out, but his parents remained silent. Concerned, I turned to the officer. “What happened?” I asked. He delivered the tragic news: Ethen's brother, Boyd Sterling, had fallen from a high building, leading to his death.

After hearing that, I turned to Ethen and said,

“Ethen, may I tell you the truth about why your parents are here to see you again?”

At my words, his parents shot me a furious glare. His father stood up, grabbed my collar, and hissed,

“Don’t stick your nose in our matters.”

“I don’t want to, but I’m just standing up for what’s right,” I replied. 

Ethen intervened, saying, “Father, tell me the truth.” His father swung a punch at me, but I blocked it.

“Ethen, your father won’t tell you anything. I will,” I said firmly. 

“What is it, Nero? Tell me,” he urged. 

"Your brother Boyd has died. Now that your parents don’t have anyone else to call their descendant, they’re coming to you again." 

Ethen turned to his parents and asked, "Is it true?" 

The room fell silent. Frustrated, he shouted, "I asked if it's true that my brother Boyd died!" 

His mother nodded, tears streaming down her face, and said, "Please, Ethen, come back. We are sorry." 

"How can I? The only person who loved me is gone, and I know, you know, everyone knows that I can't replace him." 

"Ethen, you have to come back to us, please." 

In the end, Ethen’s parents succeeded in bringing him back home, though his father still despised me. However, they allowed me to live with them at Ethen’s demand. 

After that incident, Ethen seemed somewhat hollow. He hadn’t even begun to heal from the trauma when another blow struck him: his brother’s death wasn’t an accident—it was a murder. I asked Ethen if he wanted to find his brother’s murderer. He looked at me, a mix of hope and uncertainty in his eyes, and replied, "Can we?" I responded with the iconic line, "Nothing is impossible," and from that moment on, we became our own investigation team. 

First, I visited one of Boyd’s friends, Nathaniel. He greeted me warmly, even offering me coffee, which I politely declined. 

Wasting no time, I dove straight into my questions. "So, did Boyd have any enemies or anyone who disliked him?" I asked. 

Nathaniel shook his head. "I don’t think anyone could have a problem with someone like him. Boyd was the kind of guy who’d apologize even for mistakes he didn’t make." 

"Okay... then, could it have been something related to an inheritance issue?" I probed. 

Nathaniel thought for a moment. "Well, it was just Ethen who could be involved in the inheritance." 

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"You have a point," I admitted, "but Ethen has been with me the entire time, and he never left home. Plus, he’s disabled." I continued my investigation, but I found no solid leads. 

Next, I went to the crime scene where Boyd had died. I began by questioning the building’s watchman, who told me, 

"I just started here yesterday. The previous watchman resigned and moved to Virmip, a city in Eabis." 

Not wanting to waste any time, I headed inside the building and asked security to show me the footage from the day of Boyd’s death. To my shock, the footage was missing—it had been completely erased. 

I hurried back home and began packing for Virmip. It seemed likely that the former watchman might know something and could be either threatened or manipulated by the murderer. I needed to find him before it was too late. 

Ethen and I traveled to Virmip and asked the locals about Elias Granger, the former watchman. After some searching, we finally tracked him down. Ethen stayed at the hotel while I went to Mr. Elias’s home and knocked on the door. His wife answered, greeting me warmly, 

"Oh! A good young man! How may I help you?" 

I asked if I could speak with Mr. Elias, and she invited me inside. 

"Come in,"

 she said kindly. When I entered the house, Mrs. Granger directed me to sit on the couch and then called for her husband. Mr. Elias walked into the room, but something about him seemed off—his expression was tense, and there was an unsettling unease in the air. 

As soon as Mr. Elias saw my face, his expression shifted to one of anxiety, and he suddenly began screaming, "Get me my gun! Give me my gun!" before collapsing to the ground, unconscious. I quickly took Mr. Elias to the hospital, and his wife came along. Once we arrived, I gave Mrs. Elias my phone number, asking her to call me when her husband regained consciousness. 

Some time later, I returned to the hospital with Ethen to check on Mr. Elias. Thankfully, he had regained consciousness. I turned to Mrs. Elias and asked if her husband often fainted like this or if it was a rare occurrence. She assured me that he was a strong man and that this had never happened to him before. Meanwhile, Ethen was engaging in a polite conversation with Mr. Elias, trying to help him feel more at ease.

Mrs. Elias and I entered the room to see Mr. Elias. This time, he smiled upon seeing me and politely asked for his bag. However, something about his demeanor didn’t sit right with me; it felt too calm given the circumstances. Mr. Elias asked for his bag, and his wife handed it to him. As he reached inside, I remained cautious, unsure of what he was after. I asked,

"Uh, so... did you by any chance see anyone with Boyd at the crime scene?"

He laughed, pulling out a pistol and saying,

"Why are you asking when you already know everything?"

Suddenly, he pointed the gun at his wife. I lunged to stop him, managing to wrestle the gun from his grip. But in a flash, he grabbed a vase and hurled it at me. I dodged, but he rushed at me, overpowering me and snatching the gun back. Before I could react, he shot his wife. 

He then turned the gun on Ethen, laughing maniacally. Ethen, unable to fight back due to his disability, tipped his wheelchair over and scrambled to hide beneath the hospital bed. Seeing that Ethen had hidden under the bed and realizing he couldn't get to him in time, he pointed the gun at himself and... bang... shot himself. The sound echoed in the room, and in an instant, he was gone.

Ethen, hearing the gunshot, thought that Mr. Elias had killed me and was coming for him next, screamed,

"HELP! HELP! HE WANTS TO KILL ME NOW!"

Hearing the gunshots and Ethen’s desperate cries, the hospital staff rushed into the room. Seeing Mr. and Mrs. Elias dead and Ethen hiding under the bed, they immediately misunderstood the situation. Without hesitation, they tackled me to the ground.

They called the police, and despite my attempts to explain, no one listened. I was locked behind bars—my second time being captured by the police.

Ethen was in deep trauma, unable to say anything in my favor. Five days later, the police received a call from Victoria Hospital, saying they had footage of the incident. Meanwhile, Ethen still believed I was dead. The police checked the footage, which clearly showed what had happened, and they released me, apologizing for the mistake. But despite being cleared, those five days were gone, wasted, with Ethen and I left to deal with the aftermath of the tragedy.

When I met Ethen, he was overjoyed. His eyes lit up, and he said, 

"Come here!" 

As I approached, he pulled me into a tight hug, holding on as if he never wanted to let go. 

"I’m so glad you’re completely okay," he whispered, relief evident in his voice. 

We went back to Hcaraka, the city where we lived. I resumed my investigation into the Elias family's deaths as well as Boyd's. Determined to uncover the truth, I knew that there were still unanswered questions lingering in the shadows. 

Now I want *you* to narrate, Ethen.

Okay... now it's my (Ethen's) turn to narrate. 

So, over a month later, when Nero was out on investigation at 21:11, I heard a scream—it was my mother. Hearing her scream, I wheeled out to see what was happening. As I emerged, I found my father and some servants outside my mother’s room, knocking on the door mercilessly and shouting, 

“Honey, what happened? Open the door!” 

I told one of the servants to break the door. He quickly ran outside and returned with a hammer. With one powerful swing, he shattered the door open. Inside, we found my mother curled up in a corner, trembling and gasping, 

"It's the end! The ghost is here!"

 Everyone rushed closer to my mother to calm her down, but I remained the farthest from her, nearest to the door. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me and turned to see a figure wearing a hard mask with a carved smile. He was dressed in a coat and a necktie, standing there calmly, one hand raised as if signaling something. I asked, 

"Who are you?"

But he remained silent. A wave of danger washed over me; I could sense that he was after something truly sinister. In a panic, I shouted, 

"RUN!" 

To everyone in the room. But in the end, I was the only one to escape before the room erupted into flames with a deafening blast, my wheelchair shattering in the chaos. I crawled desperately outside, my heart racing. Just then, the masked man emerged, gun in hand, singing a creepy, slow, and gloomy song: 

"Run as far as you can, 

Through the night, through the pain. 

Can you hear the haunting call? 

Flee from the ghosts that rise and fall."

I gathered my strength and asked again, "Who are you?" 

He stopped his eerie singing, tilted his head slightly, and replied in a chilling, almost mocking voice, "Ghost." The word echoed in the air, sending a shiver down my spine. His presence felt otherworldly, as if he truly embodied the name he gave.

I stared up at him, my voice trembling as I asked, "What do you want?"

He began walking toward me slowly, each step deliberate, his voice calm yet filled with an unsettling conviction. 

"This world is rotten," he said, his tone cold and final, "and I am going to restart it."

There was no hesitation in his words—just a quiet, terrifying certainty. The closer he got, the heavier the air became, as if he was pulling the very life from the world around him.

I screamed, crying out for someone, anyone, to help me. But no one came. He continued his slow, menacing approach, his presence suffocating. When he finally reached me, he crouched down, his cold breath brushing against my ear. In a chilling whisper, he said,

"You are in hell, now."

His words froze my blood, and I felt trapped, as if the entire world had closed in on me.

Suddenly, without warning, he picked me up with ease and carried me out of the burning mansion. I was too shocked to struggle or resist. Once we were outside, he handed me my phone, his eerie demeanor unchanged. He spoke just two words, his voice cold and commanding: "Fire brigade."

My hands trembled as I took the phone, unsure of what to make of his sudden shift. He had just threatened me, yet here he was, calmly telling me to save the house. I quickly dialed the emergency number, my mind racing.

A car suddenly sped towards us, screeching to a halt. The masked man glanced back at the mansion one last time before climbing inside. The number plate was covered by a cloth, making it impossible to trace, and I couldn't recognize the vehicle at all. As soon as he was in, the car took off into the night with terrifying speed, vanishing into the darkness.

I sat there, still in shock, the flames roaring behind me. Moments later, the fire brigade arrived, but by then, everything was already lost. The mansion was consumed by fire, and the masked man, the 

"Ghost,"

 had disappeared.

As I sat at the fire brigade station, numb from the shock, the weight of the tragedy finally hit me. My parents, the servants—everyone inside the mansion—had been killed in the fire. The masked man, that 

"Ghost," 

Had left me with nothing but fear and unanswered questions.

With trembling hands, I called Nero. When he picked up, I barely managed to get the words out, 

"Nero... the mansion... it's gone. My parents, the servants... they're all dead. The fire... it took everything." 

For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Then Nero responded, his voice calm yet full of concern, 

"I'm on my way, Ethan. Hang in there."

Nero arrived at the fire brigade station, sprinting toward me as soon as he spotted me sitting there, my face pale and my body trembling. He knelt beside me, his eyes filled with concern and urgency. 

“Ethan, are you alright? What happened?” he asked, his voice soft yet firm.

I could barely speak, my voice shaking. 

“It was... it was him, Nero. The man in the mask... he burned everything. My parents, the servants... they’re all gone.”

Nero’s expression hardened, a mix of anger and determination. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. 

“We’ll figure this out, Ethan. I promise. Whoever that masked man is, he won’t get away with this.”