Bang.
The recorder clattered across the concrete.
Perry's spine slammed into the support beam, ribs crunching like dry bark. A hot stab of pain bloomed through his chest. He slumped to the floor, air wheezing out of him.
Footsteps. Slow. Familiar.
The silhouette that stepped into view had a warm smile.
The same smile from yesterday's case briefing.
His lungs rattled. He knew what this was.
"I should've... known," he rasped, metallic taste pooling on his tongue. "I had you."
The figure knelt. Picked up the recorder.
Then walked away.
System initializing…
Fatal trauma confirmed. Case unfinished.
Detective-class host: Perry Adlai.
Activating Contingency Protocol: Emergency Rebirth.
Locating compatible vessel…
Reconstructing consciousness…
He woke up with a goat licking his face.
Perry shoved it away, blinking hard. Too bright. Too green. Too… alive.
He sat up slowly, hands braced on strange knees. They were thinner. Lighter. Wrong.
Nearby, a muddy puddle offered a murky reflection.
It wasn't him.
Younger. Leaner. A crooked nose and dark, shoulder-length hair. No scars. No frown lines.
His face was gone.
He stared at it.
"…What the hell is this?"
A replacement.
You have been reincarnated into a Tier-0 civilian body.
All traces of your previous identity—physical, magical, and divine—have been erased.
Facial structure, arcane signature, and public records have been fully reconstructed to ensure no past associations remain.
He blinked.
"So no one can recognize me?"
Correct.
This vessel was chosen for full compatibility and low exposure risk. Former host deceased due to mana feedback rupture.
He examined his hands. No tremors. No callouses. Just smooth, unfamiliar skin.
"…Alright."
He stood up, brushing hay and goat hair off his shirt. His palm brushed something round in his pocket.
A coin pouch. He checked inside.
Five silver pieces.
Clean. Untouched.
Initial startup funds: 5 silver coins.
Note: All future expenses fall to the host.
He raised an eyebrow.
"I assume you didn't just save me for fun."
Correct.
System designation: Protection-Class Investigation Protocol.
Function: To ensure the host's survival by granting absolute immunity during active investigations.
Perry narrowed his eyes. "Define 'active.'"
A valid case must be filed with a certified Bureau. Once accepted, the host becomes untouchable—physically, magically, and divinely—until that case is resolved or closed.
He folded his arms.
"And if I never file?"
You remain fully mortal and vulnerable. Re-death probability: 92.6% within 48 hours.
"Comforting."
Additional subsystems include:
Truth-Lock Barrier — deploys automatically when a registered case reaches its crime scene and a suspect is present. No one can exit with evidence or interfere until the deduction is delivered.
Rank System — each solved case upgrades your tier, unlocking access to more complex investigations and better pay.
Report Cycle — every 7 days, you must submit an update or the case auto-closes, revoking immunity.
Mission Queue — optional objectives may be presented for bonus rewards.
Perry stared into the open countryside. A wooden sign pointed vaguely toward "LIONA." Smoke curled over rooftops in the distance.
"And what's your cut in all this?"
System quota must be met via case resolutions to maintain long-term operation.
"So I solve crimes, and you stay alive too."
Affirmative.
"And you chose me… because?"
You were the highest-logic surviving host within acceptable failure thresholds at time of trauma.
He gave a slow blink. "That sounded like a long way of calling me desperate and stubborn."
Also accurate.
He rubbed his face.
"…Fine. But I'm watching you."
Noted.
He walked toward the village.
Perry didn't stroll in like a lost traveler. He circled once from a distance, noting building materials, guard routes, smoke trails.
He logged faces, exits, and where children gathered. A stone-throwing game used floating magic rings.
Magic.
Great.
He made for the square, where a wooden board sagged under parchment notices.
Crimes. Assignments. Investigator names.
"Spellbook theft – Tier-2 – Pending"
"Well poisoning – Tier-3 – Closed"
"Goat disappearance – Rankless – Ongoing"
And beside the board—a stone building etched with a balance and magnifying glass.
The Bureau.
He didn't walk in yet. He waited, leaning against a cart, watching the flow.
Guards came and went. Someone dropped off a sealed scroll. A girl exited crying.
He filed it away.
Then he walked in.
The Bureau smelled of ink and dust.
The clerk didn't look up. "Name?"
"Perry."
"Rank?"
"None."
"Testing or filing?"
"Filing."
She paused, finally looking up. "Newcomer?"
"Something like that."
"One silver."
He handed it over.
A form slid across the desk, along with a used quill.
Case Title
Summary
Suspects
Assigned Investigator
Fee: Paid
He stared at it.
He didn't know this world. No one knew him. He had no leads. No shelter.
But he had one thing: the system.
And that meant… loopholes.
He wrote in clean block letters:
Why Was I Reincarnated?
The clerk blinked. "That's your case?"
"I'm alive. That's suspicious."
She looked from him to the form, to the coin.
Then shrugged. "We've had worse. One guy once filed a case to investigate why his cat hated him."
Stamp.
Token.
Done.
Case registered: "Why Was I Reincarnated?"
Status: ACTIVE
Investigation immunity: ENGAGED
Suspects: None
Truth-Lock Barrier: INACTIVE
Next report due: 7 days
A small badge slid across the desk. Simple wood, etched with Bureau runes.
She yawned. "Good luck investigating yourself."
Outside, the wind felt different.
Not warmer. Not colder.
Just distant.
Like the world now had to ask permission to touch him.
He flipped the token once, caught it mid-air, and pocketed it.
Immunity triggered.
He had time now.
Next: food.
He wandered the market square. Not aimlessly—carefully. Watching hands. Eyes. Transactions.
A boy nudged a crate. A woman adjusted her dress too tightly. A merchant's mana stones changed positions between glances.
At a bread stall, Perry murmured, "The woman in the red shawl. She slipped a roll under her scarf."
The baker blinked. Then yelled.
Perry walked away with half a loaf tossed at his chest.
By nightfall, he found an inn.
Not the glowing one with flower pots.
The Crooked Door leaned left and smelled of burnt turnips.
Perfect.
The innkeeper, a burly woman with one eye, sized him up. "Room's a silver."
He flashed the token.
She grunted. "Rankless?"
"Currently."
"Three copper, no screaming."
He dropped the coins and went upstairs.
The loft room had a bed, two boards nailed into a wall, and a window that didn't shut.
He shoved a barrel against the door and sat on the edge of the bed.
Flipping the token between fingers.
Immunity: confirmed.
Case: filed.
Currency: dwindling.
All actions led here, step by logical step. But the nagging thought wouldn't leave.
Why this system?
Why him?
Why save someone who was already bleeding out?
Optional Mission: Ask a local for theories about reincarnation.
(Reward: 2 copper)
Perry snorted. "Not unless you want to hear conspiracy theories about turnip gods."
He dismissed it.
By morning, whispers started.
"He's investigating himself."
"He's not even Tier-1."
"That guy blinked once in an hour."
He didn't mind.
He helped a boy catch a pickpocket. Warned a weaver about a hexed dye. Identified a fake Bureau token from a scammer.
Not for coin.
Just to stay sharp.
And because solving things scratched an itch that dying hadn't erased.
Some thanked him.
Some offered stew, or fruit, or fabric.
He accepted. Silently.
Let them wonder.
Let rumors spread.
He didn't correct them.
That night, lying in the crooked room beneath the warped ceiling, Perry stared into the dark.
His case was fake.
His power was real.
And the world didn't know what to make of him.
Exactly how he liked it.