Bailonz Street 13

He must have been cornered to the edge of the bed because of me. From the bed, shrouded in a canopy that concealed the interior, I faintly heard Liam’s voice.

“Why ‘Don’t come near me’? Are you going through puberty? What’s wrong with you? You need to get better so we can go home.”

“No…”

This is strange. Why is Liam Moore sounding so weak?

The Liam Moore I remember is a smart, arrogant young man, who lives for his own satisfaction. He’s sensitive and willing to give everything to his people, sharp and straightforward outside but somewhat tender at home—a charming contrast.

But there’s no weakness in him. Even with a knife to his throat, he’d calmly deduce the origin of the blade and the background of the attacker. There’s no way he’d be scared of me.

“Let’s talk.”

I pushed through the vines, dragged a chair over, and started speaking.

“How’s your health?”

“Go away. There’s nothing to talk about.”

The reply came quickly.

Nothing to talk about? You?

I laughed in disbelief. Could it be that he’s in such a state he can’t even tell me about his condition?

I could faintly imagine Liam Moore’s appearance: pale as a ghost, leaning against the headboard, looking emaciated. My tearful detective looks good even when sick, but this was unacceptable. We shouldn’t be in a parallel existence like this.

As I reached out, the air around the canopy resisted intensely, desperately blocking my approach.

Not that he’s trying to fight me, but how bad must he look to go to such lengths? I ground my teeth. I’m not usually in the best mood, but today, irritation was surging.

Then it happened. Something sharp deeply scratched my palm. It burned. The sudden pain made me withdraw.

“Did you just hurt me?”

That Liam Moore?

At first, I was surprised, then I felt absurd. I flipped my hand to check my palm.

But then, something strange happened.

There was no wound on my palm.

I was definitely cut. I felt the skin tear and something hot flowing, but there was no wound. It felt surreal.

Pain intensifies the more you recognize it, but it doesn’t disappear. It’s designed to linger as an afterimage to torment you. But as soon as I stopped thinking ‘it hurts,’ the pain vanished as if washed away.

“Why?”

Why doesn’t it hurt?

No answer came from inside the canopy.

Come to think of it, the surroundings were very dark. The brightly shining vines were nowhere to be seen, and everything was black. The bed with the canopy was the only thing visible in the ominously thick darkness.

This is far from a normal situation.

“…Liam?”

Ignoring the resistance, I reached out and grabbed the canopy.

The thick fabric opened easily, despite its previous resistance, and inside was…

A face I recognized. Black hair and grey eyes that were not easily seen in others. But it was rounder, smaller, and younger-looking.

It was Liam Moore. But at the same time, it wasn’t.

Liam Moore, looking about eighteen, was lying on the canopy bed.

I must be crazy. For a moment, I thought I had gone mad and slapped my cheeks hard. But it didn’t hurt. Like my cut palm, there was just the act of ‘slapping’ without any sensation.

“Liam?”

As I stood there with my mouth agape at the unreal scene, the eighteen-year-old Liam Moore raised an arm to cover his eyes.

“Stop calling me.”

His voice, slightly higher and sounding very weary and despondent, mumbled.

“Leave me alone. Stop tormenting me by pretending to be human….”

I collapsed into the chair in shock.

What is this? Why is Liam younger? Outside, Owen and Herschel are there. What is this, a curse? But how is this even possible?

Time is reversing for William Moore in 19th-century London, but wait, is this reality?

But it was definitely reality until a moment ago. The sensations I felt running here were all real. It must have turned into unreality at some point without me noticing.

Overwhelmed by sudden fear, I jumped up and ran to the door I came through. I frantically yanked at the doorknob, but no matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. I screamed.

“Owen! Get me out of here! Something’s wrong!”

“Owen?”

The eighteen-year-old Liam asked from the bed.

“This is the first time you’ve called out a name other than mine. Who’s Owen?”

Voice? Can’t he see me?

I slowly turned my head in disbelief.

A Liam who doesn’t know Owen. My confidence evaporated. I wanted to punch the me from five minutes ago who thought I could save Liam Moore.

What do I do? I felt helpless. Still, this is Liam, so maybe if I talk to him, he’ll understand.

I trudged back to the bed and managed to speak.

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“Right next to you!”

But he looked around with blank eyes, muttering.

“Not here.”

This crazy kid. Can’t he see me? He used to see things others couldn’t from a young age. Herschel said so. Herschel, that liar.

I sat on the bed. As the bed slightly tilted under my weight, Liam finally looked in my direction. Rather than seeing me, it was more like he sensed ‘something’ where I was.

“That’s strange.”

He muttered. His dry hand reached out. I extended my hand toward his, but it passed through his hand as if I were invisible. Gasping, I heard Liam ask.

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I…”

“Why are you acting like you know me?”

I couldn’t answer. Whether I had really travelled to the past or was seeing an illusion, I didn’t know what to say to this young Liam Moore.

If it’s really the past Liam, what should I do? I can’t tell him he’ll be in danger because of me later. The butterfly effect of my words could be terrifying.

If it’s just an illusion, for some unknown reason, will talking to an illusory Liam bring me back to reality?

“I…”

“Are you here to curse me again?”

I took a slow, deep breath.

Calm down. Whatever you say, it can’t get worse than this.

“No, I won’t do that.”

Young Liam laughed. It was the same laugh I remembered, so I was at a loss for words. I should be comforting him, telling him I care about him and don’t want to hurt him. But this young Liam, who doesn’t know me, was so shocking I couldn’t decide how to approach him.

So, I hesitated for a while before revealing half the truth.

“I got lost. I was trying to find someone.”

“Owen?”

“No, someone else. A very pretty and lovable crybaby.”

He was looking at the area around me with a subtle expression. Propping himself up on the mattress, Liam spoke.

“You’ve wandered into the wrong place.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe it myself….”

As I mumbled to myself, Liam laughed again.

Just a few exchanges and he seemed to let his guard down. He laughed easily and trusted quickly. The thirty-year-old Liam Moore wouldn’t have done that. He would have doubted to the end, dug in, and pursued the truth. The one in front of me was indeed a young and innocent Liam.

With a more relaxed face, Liam asked.

“Should I help you?”

I observed the adolescent Liam for a moment.

His shirt was a bit too big, and he wore cotton pants. His complexion was pale, and his bangs were stuck with sweat. His eyes were reddish underneath. He didn’t look well.

“…You’re sick. How can you help me?”

When I asked that, Liam looked visibly offended.

“I’m not sick. I just need some rest.”

“Then you should rest. I can manage on my own. I’m older than you and have been through more than you think. It’s best for kids to just lie down and sleep.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen.”

Well, that’s still a kid. I quietly muttered to myself as I reached out to Liam.