Chapter 1: The Protagonist Dies (Mercilessly), Who Is the Murderer?
'March 7th is just too cute.'
[In essence, the Protagonist's change of Path is a projection and microcosm of the Aeon.]
"Himeko! Welt, passenger! Dan Heng, passenger! March 7th, passenger! Something terrible has happened, pom!"
Early in the morning, Pom-Pom's sharp, explosive wail shattered the quiet tranquility of the Astral Express.
"Emergency situation!"
"Conductor?"
"What happened?"
Footsteps pounded heavily against the metal floorboards as the Trailblazers of the Astral Express rushed into the parlor car where Pom-Pom was shouting. What they saw upon entering brought them to a dead halt, presenting an unbelievable sight.
Rekka. The newcomer who, just yesterday, had been laughing brightly, boasting to everyone with absolute confidence that he was destined to become the brightest new star among the Trailblazers.
Now, he sat entirely motionless in a chair. A standard-issue ballpoint pen was buried cleanly, precisely, up to the hilt in his heart. The surrounding room was an absolute disaster zone, looking as though a localized hurricane had ripped through the cabin and turned it into a junkyard.
Sheets of paper blanketed the floor like fallen snow. They appeared to have once been densely packed with frantic handwriting, but the ink was violently smeared and warped, the vast majority of the content utterly obliterated. Only a few scattered, meaningless textual footnotes survived the destruction.
Rekka's head was tilted back. His features were frozen in a mask of lingering shock, his eyes wide, as if he simply could not process the fact that he had met his death in such a ridiculous manner.
Welt stepped forward, his expression grave. He pressed two fingers against the side of Rekka's neck. Silence stretched for a heavy second.
"No pulse," the senior Trailblazer murmured, his brow furrowing deeply. "His body temperature is still dropping. The time of death must have been incredibly recent. And the murder weapon..." His gaze shifted to the plastic barrel protruding from the young man's chest. "Is this ballpoint pen."
"A... a pen? A pen can kill someone?" March 7th's voice carried a fragile tremor. She stared at Rekka's vacant, glassy eyes—eyes that had completely lost their vibrant spark. She bit down hard on her lower lip, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.
This newcomer had only boarded the Express yesterday. He had officially become a Trailblazer barely twenty-four hours ago. In that short time, he had proven himself to be an exceptionally kind person. Not the polite, socially mandated kind of nice, but genuinely, radiantly sincere.
March 7th felt a heavy ache in her chest. She felt as though she could take every single positive adjective she knew to describe a good person and apply them directly to Rekka.
"An instant kill," Welt confirmed, his voice low and methodical as he analyzed the cause of death. "There are no signs of a physical struggle on his body. The assailant acted with terrifying speed and precision."
"These writings..." Himeko murmured. The elegant navigator knelt gracefully, her crimson dress pooling around her as she picked up a crumpled sheet of paper. She sighed softly. Regrettably, there was absolutely nothing salvageable. The ink was twisted into grotesque, chaotic spirals, the original information thoroughly eradicated.
"The Express did not trigger any internal alarms," Himeko noted, her gaze sweeping over the sealed environment. "From last night until this morning, no one except the Conductor has been in this section of the train. The doors and windows are completely intact."
"A locked room..." March 7th blinked, her voice catching. "Suicide? How is that even possible? He was so cheerful yesterday! He was just smiling and saying..."
Her voice broke. She was incredibly sad. Just yesterday, he had brightly called her 'Senior March 7th.'
Beside the chair, Pom-Pom stood on their tiptoes. The small conductor reached out with trembling, fluffy paws, desperately wanting to gently close Rekka's wide, staring eyes.
"Conductor, please do not touch him," Himeko gently but firmly intercepted the small mascot. "For everyone's safety, it is best if we keep the scene exactly as it is. We need to document the environment thoroughly, and then..."
March 7th's shoulders slumped, the vibrant energy entirely draining from her frame. Even a girl as relentlessly optimistic as her felt a suffocating weight press down on her heart when facing the sudden, violent loss of a companion.
"We agreed yesterday," she whispered, her head bowing so her pink bangs hid her eyes. "We promised we were going to explore the next planet together... How could you just leave? I didn't even get a chance to take a picture of you..."
Welt stood in heavy silence. He was a veteran, a man who had weathered countless partings across different worlds. He understood the fragile, fleeting nature of human life better than anyone in the room. Yet, understanding did not breed numbness.
"His physiological functions have completely ceased, March," Welt said, releasing a long, weary sigh. "Cardiac arrest has far exceeded the optimal rescue window. His pupils are fully dilated. This single strike was executed with terrifying accuracy, directly severing his life force. Even with the most advanced medical technology available, this level of physical trauma is entirely irreversible."
Himeko stepped closer to the chair. With steady, respectful hands, she reached out and gently straightened Rekka's rumpled collar.
"Our immediate priority, aside from uncovering the truth and ensuring Rekka receives an explanation... is to allow him to rest in peace."
March 7th sniffled loudly, her voice thick and congested with unshed tears. "According to the traditions of the Trailblaze... should we... should we send him back to the Sea of Stars?"
"Under normal circumstances, yes," Himeko nodded slowly. "The Sea of Stars is the final, eternal resting place for all Trailblazers. However, our current situation is highly irregular. The exact cause of death remains undetermined.... we must consider the distinct possibility that someone is actively targeting the Express, or targeting Rekka specifically. Sending his body into the vacuum of space so rashly might not be appropriate."
"I will help."
The quiet voice came from the shadows near the doorway. Dan Heng, who had been standing in absolute silence since they arrived, finally spoke up.
His usually stoic, unreadable gaze carried a complex, turbulent emotion. Just yesterday, before Rekka had officially boarded, Dan Heng had coolly told the newcomer, 'I do not care if you want to become a Trailblazer.'
Yet, seeing that same young man sitting dead in their own home the very next morning, while the entire crew slept completely unaware... it felt utterly, sickeningly absurd to him.
The atmosphere inside the parlor car thickened, becoming suffocatingly heavy.
"I'll... I'll go find a piece of clothing to cover him with," March 7th stammered. She desperately needed a task. If she stood still for even one more second, her tears would truly fall. She turned her back to the group, not wanting anyone to see her reddened eyes. "We cannot just let him sit here like this..."
"This is the reality of the Trailblaze," Himeko said softly. "We never truly know which will arrive first, tomorrow, or a fatal accident. But since he willingly chose to walk this Path, I want to believe... he probably felt no regrets in his final moments, right?"
As March 7th took a step toward the hallway, Himeko's voice suddenly sharpened, stopping her in her tracks.
"Little March, do not wander around randomly just yet. On the Express... the murderer might not have left."
Those words acted like a bucket of ice water poured over the crew. The grief in the room instantly transmuted into razor-sharp vigilance.
March 7th froze immediately. A dark, gravitational distortion warped the air as Welt's cane materialized in his grip. Across the room, Dan Heng's spear appeared in his hands, his knuckles turning white around the shaft.
"It is merely a possibility," Welt stated, his grip tightening. "But it is a variable we cannot rule out."
"Pom-Pom felt something strange board the Express earlier!" the conductor suddenly squeaked, shaking their head anxiously. "And then... now that feeling is completely gone, pom!"
Welt turned his intense gaze downward, his brow furrowing. "That feeling? Conductor, can you describe this sensation more specifically?"
Pom-Pom's furry little face scrunched up in deep concentration and lingering tension. "Pom-Pom cannot quite explain it... It felt like something pierced directly through the hull of the Express. But not in the way things enter through the doors. It was incredibly fast. Pom-Pom even thought it was just an illusion..."
"Who could possibly do something like this?" March 7th demanded, her fists clenching tightly. "Why kill Rekka? He was so nice..."
"Perhaps the root of the issue does not lie with Rekka himself," Welt countered smoothly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "But rather with what he knew. Or what he was doing."
The former Herrscher pointed the tip of his cane toward the sea of ruined documents blanketing the floorboards.
"This destroyed content might be the key. After executing the strike, the murderer deliberately took the time to destroy these records. This means the murderer absolutely does not want us to discover what Rekka was researching before he died."
Desperate for a clue, March 7th squatted down. She reached out, trying to carefully piece the torn scraps of paper together. But the writing was hopelessly distorted, bleeding into the fibers in chaotic, unnatural patterns. She could not decipher the original form at all.
"I can't see anything..." she muttered dejectedly. "It looks as if someone deliberately erased them with something."
"Do not touch that."
Startled by the warning, March 7th instinctively dropped the scrap of paper in her hand. She stood up, taking a step back, her gaze accidentally landing squarely on the chair.
And then...
"A GHOST! AHHHHHH! HE'S COMING BACK TO LIFE! AHHHH!"
March 7th's shriek was an devastating, ghost-wailing crescendo of pure terror. The sheer volume of it was enough to make Rekka's eardrums throb with sharp, stinging pain.
"Cough... cough, cough, cough!"
A violent spasm wracked the corpse in the chair. The young man suddenly lurched forward, waving a hand weakly through the air.
"Not... not a ghost..." Rekka wheezed, coughing heavily. "I was revived by watching an ad... Cough, cough, cough..."
That was right.
[Erudition] Rekka was undeniably dead.
But...
[Trailblaze] Rekka had just revived on the spot!
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