The Invitation

Charles and Sebastian made their return from the Hidden Domain, having satisfied their curiosity with its myriad mysteries. After exploring that strange realm to their hearts' content, they took a carriage back to the Department of Supernatural Suppression and Defense to return the vehicle before parting ways to head to their respective homes.

Upon reaching his own residence, Charles spotted Mrs. Wilson, his neighbor, tending her garden at a rather late hour.

"Good evening, Mrs. Wilson. Still out in the garden this late?" he called out in greeting.

She turned and offered him a warm smile. "Good evening, Charles. I'm just checking on my night-blooming jasmine to see if it's opened yet. Oh, by the way, a letter came for you while you were out. I slipped it into your mailbox."

"Thank you for letting me know, Mrs. Wilson," Charles said, inclining his head politely. "I'll go check it now. Have a good night."

He then walked over to the mailbox and found the mentioned envelope—a fine piece of stationery with an official wax seal, something not often seen. Taking the letter in hand, he headed inside, went straight to his bedroom, and set the mysterious correspondence on his desk, though he did not open it right away.

Sinking onto his chair with a sigh, Charles found his mind spinning with the memories of what he had seen in the Hidden Domain—the monstrous creatures, the curious crowds, and the trove of wondrous magical items. The images lingered vividly, refusing to fade.

Those extraordinary sights had so captured his attention that his earlier anger about Roland's abrupt release felt surprisingly muted. It now simmered as little more than a dull frustration. He couldn't help recalling how Joseph had told him simply to come see the "other side" of the world, fueling his curiosity instead of letting him stew in anger. 'Perhaps he did it deliberately,' Charles thought, 'to distract me from my rage over that nonsensical order to free Roland.'

After all, seeing Roland walk away had made their risky investigation seem almost meaningless, depriving them of crucial information they had hoped to glean.

Yet, on the other hand, what Charles had witnessed beyond the veil—an entire hidden realm of enchantments and mysteries—was so fascinating that it now overshadowed his lingering resentment. He found himself torn between astonishment at what he had experienced and irritation over the unanswered questions about Roland's release.

Drawing a deeper breath, Charles let his whirling thoughts settle. Then, curiosity stirred anew. He turned to the sealed letter on his desk. Its high-quality paper and wax imprint made him wonder who might have sent it. Carefully, he peeled the seal away and scanned the contents. The message read:

"To the Honorable Detective Charles Ravencroft, with utmost respect,

I take this opportunity to cordially invite you to a dinner banquet at my estate, three days hence in the early evening.

This gathering is to celebrate the kingdom's recent victory and the safe return of our brave soldiers. I have organized this event for friends—and those who may become friends—and I would be most delighted if you would grace us with your presence.

I do hope you will accept my invitation, so that you might partake in the evening's congenial atmosphere and converse with other distinguished guests.

Should you wish to attend, please notify me within two days prior to the event, so that I might prepare a suitable reception in your honor.

With greatest esteem,

Christopher Darcy

Host, Darcy Estate"

Charles laid the invitation aside, mulling it over. The letter was essentially a summons to attend a nobleman's banquet in three days' time. He felt torn—his main priority was still tracking down Michael, and he worried the banquet might interfere. At the same time, refusing a noble's invitation risked offending someone of higher standing, potentially causing more trouble than it was worth.

Although Charles was bone-tired from the night's strange excursions and wanted nothing more than to rest, the invitation weighed on his mind. After some thought, he decided he would speak to Edward tomorrow and ask for leave. If Edward refused, that would give him a solid reason to decline. If the request was granted, he would have no choice but to attend, distasteful though the idea might be.

In truth, Charles secretly hoped Edward would say no. 'I have no desire to wade into the tangled politics of high society,' he thought to himself. Among nobles, alliances were formed and broken with disconcerting ease. One misstep—siding with the wrong faction, even unintentionally—could paint a target on his back.

His relationship with Joseph was a rare exception. Their bond stemmed from genuine friendship and trust, rather than mutual benefit or political maneuvering. He preferred to keep it that way. In any case, with the ongoing search for Michael still unresolved, he assumed Edward might not permit him any personal leave at such a crucial time.

Charles let out a long sigh, eyeing the letter as if it were an enemy. At last, he set it aside, headed to his bed, and allowed himself to collapse onto the mattress. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and he hoped a full night's sleep would fortify him.

...

"Certainly," Edward said. "I grant your request."

Charles was so taken aback that he momentarily forgot how to respond. He had been all but certain Edward would tell him no. Instead, the division head sounded perfectly agreeable. Then Edward reached for another letter—much like the one Charles had received—an invitation to the very same banquet.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Edward looked toward it. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Joseph, standing tall and composed. Spotting Charles, he greeted him cheerfully. "You're in early. What brings you here?"

"I was asking for some leave," Charles said. He lifted his own invitation from Edward's desk. "I got this in the mail yesterday."

Joseph took one look at the letter and grinned. "What a coincidence. I'm here to ask for leave too." He produced a near-identical envelope in his hand.

Edward observed the two letters, glancing from Joseph's to Charles's and back again. "You can both take time off, then. Joseph, keep an eye on Isabel for me. I'll send her in my place."

"You're not going, Chief?" Charles asked curiously.

"I'm buried in work," Edward explained. "After busting the Script-Decipherers, I'm still knee-deep in interrogations. There's a long queue of suspects whose questioning isn't done yet."

At the mention of the Script-Decipherers, Charles took the opening to ask, "Have you uncovered anything else, sir? Any clue why they're so keen on finding Michael?"

He paused, immediately uncertain if such information was confidential. "Though if it's classified, please don't feel obligated to share."

Edward waved off the concern. "It's not that sensitive. We've learned they believed Michael possessed an ancient formula for a body-splitting potion. That's why they were after him."

Charles cocked his head. "Didn't they doubt the validity of that rumor? Couldn't it have been a lie?"

"I thought so too, so I tried probing deeper. Turns out their 'informant' had the knowledge and codes to contact them through their internal channels, so they assumed they were dealing with a genuine ally. As for Michael's whereabouts, they don't know any more than we do."

He offered a resigned shrug. "That's all we've gleaned so far, so I'll keep questioning other members. If anything new comes up, I'll let you both know."

"Understood. Thanks, Chief."

Joseph had nothing more to add—he had gotten the leave he came for. He left the office with Charles following close behind. Yet just as the door shut, a thought struck Charles: he had never attended this sort of high-level event and had no clue how to properly respond to a noble's invitation, nor how to prepare.

Glancing at Joseph, he said, "Hey, could I ask for your help with something? It's about the banquet…"

Joseph turned, walking alongside him. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"I just realized… I don't even know how to write a formal acceptance. What wording should I use?" Charles ruffled his own hair in exasperation. "And then there's the matter of what I'm supposed to wear—"

They moved past the secretary's desk outside Edward's office. The young woman looked up, her emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity at their worried expressions but chose not to comment. The two men paused to exchange polite greetings with her, and she answered with a cordial smile. Having observed the necessary courtesy, they continued on.

Joseph resumed their conversation. "Oh, that's easy. Just send back a short note: 'I am most honored by your kind invitation to attend the banquet…' something along those lines. As for what to wear, leave that to me."

"Writing the reply would be enough help," Charles protested. "No need to go to any more trouble."

Joseph shook his head. "That won't do. First impressions are everything—especially among noble society, where reputation is everything."

"But—"

"No 'buts.' We'll go pick out some proper clothes and accessories for you. I'll even cover the cost upfront. You can pay me back whenever. You'd just turn green if you had to shell out a fortune on new clothes all at once."

"Who are you calling stingy? That's not fair!"

Joseph smirked. "Is it, though? The minute you found out you could be reimbursed for carriage fare, you started calculating your entire month's travel expenses."

"…"

Charles had no retort; after all, it was true.