Chapter 1: Trace of Emotion — The Beginning
I've always hated the quiet before a crime scene.
It's not silence—not really. It's something else.
Something heavier.
The car rolled to a stop outside an old apartment block, its bricks soaked dark from the rain. Third floor. Room 304. A man dead in his own home. Smiling. Alone.
The detective driving didn't speak.
He didn't have to.
I could feel it—unease rolling off him like heat from a vent.
Not anger. Not fear. Just doubt. The kind that prickled against my skin like fine needles.
"Get your head straight, rookie," he muttered finally. "This one's... strange."
I didn't answer. I just opened the door and stepped out into the drizzle.
The building loomed in front of me, sagging like it was tired of holding secrets. I adjusted my coat, checked the gloves in my pocket, and breathed in slowly.
The air was wrong.
Not the smell. The feeling.
Even before I stepped inside, I could sense it pressing against my chest—fear. Strong and recent. The kind that doesn't come from watching horror movies, but from seeing something you were never meant to.
My first official case under the Special Case Division.
No turning back now.
---
The elevator groaned as it climbed, each floor humming like an anxious breath.
Third floor. The hallway was empty. Dim lights flickered above yellowing wallpaper. Officers stood outside Room 304, arms crossed, faces stiff.
They looked at me, but didn't say anything.
They didn't need to.
Why's a kid like you here?
Because I can feel what you can't.
---
Inside, the room was... clean. Too clean.
The corpse was seated in a chair facing the window, hands folded, eyes closed.
And a smile. A soft, unsettling smile frozen on his face.
No wounds. No blood. Just that same eerie grin.
Like he had died peacefully. But I already knew better.
The moment I stepped through the threshold, it hit me.
Terror.
Thick and overwhelming, like walking into a room still echoing with a scream.
My vision swayed. I closed my eyes and swallowed it down.
There was no blood on the floor.
But the walls were soaked in emotion.
> Fear. Desperation. Pain.
He knew he was going to die.
And whatever killed him... watched it happen.
---
I walked toward the body slowly.
I didn't need to touch it—not yet.
The emotion in the air was strong enough to trace without contact.
But then I saw something.
A paper on the floor, just behind the chair. Folded once, blank, slightly damp.
No one else seemed to notice it.
I crouched down and reached for it.
And the moment my fingers touched the edge—
> A flood.
> Emotion. Pure, raw, screaming.
The room blurred. The floor cracked beneath my mind.
And suddenly, I wasn't standing in that room anymore.
---
I was somewhere else. Not a memory. Not a dream.
This was what I called the Residue.
A vision formed around me—not with sights, but with feelings. Heavy, smothering, alive.
The smiling man was standing now, pacing back and forth.
His heart pounded with dread.
I couldn't hear his voice, but I could feel the panic clinging to his every movement.
Something had come into the room—not through the door. Not through the windows. Just... appeared.
And then the fear turned to surrender.
> He accepted death.
He welcomed it... because resisting would've been worse.
I tried to hold the vision, but it slipped like water through my fingers.
A pulse rang through my skull.
Snap out. Now.
I snapped back, gasping for breath. My knees hit the floor. Cold sweat ran down my neck.
The paper fluttered from my hand, still blank.
But it had spoken. Just not in words.
---
I stood up slowly as one of the officers stepped inside.
"You good?" he asked, frowning. He hadn't seen what I saw. No one ever did.
I nodded. "He didn't die peacefully."
"We didn't think so." The officer shifted. "You pick up anything?"
I looked at the paper.
Then back at the corpse.
"He saw something before he died," I said. "Something... wrong."
The air behind me felt colder now.
This wasn't just a murder. It was a message.
And I had the feeling—no, the certainty—that I had only seen the first piece.
---
To be continued...