The Magicless Deduction
"What do you think, Goddess? Is Sherlock really Sharon?"
The Goddess responded to my question.
"Well now. I haven't a clue."
Her bland answer deflated me instantly. Well, it was my fault for trusting the Goddess in the first place.
"But one thing is certain."
"What's that?"
"That you'll keep crossing paths with that detective girl."
This time, I nodded in easy agreement. Setting aside the Goddess's dramatics, it was obvious I'd clash with Sherlock often. It felt less like coincidence and more like she was dead set on catching me.
"When will the absorption finish?"
"Well now. Give it until tomorrow night, to be safe."
Not too long, then. Until absorption wrapped up, it was smarter to rest rather than jump into the next job. Absorbing a gem's power boosted my abilities, but there was no need to push it prematurely.
So I decided to enjoy a rare leisurely day off tomorrow.
"How do you plan to spend your vacation?"
"Lazing around the house, obviously."
The best way to relax was holing up indoors, away from the hassle of going out. I'd browse news on Phantom Thief Raven and the reactions, chuckling to myself. Ahh, just thinking about it felt fulfilling.
The crimson glow of the setting sun painted the evening sky. People bustled homeward, wrapping up their daily routines.
Amid them wandered a lone girl.
Walking the streets brought a cacophony of sounds. Among them, the grumbling of middle-aged men brushing past tickled her ears.
"They couldn't catch him last night either."
"The cops are done for. They'll never nab him."
"Britannia in an uproar over one lousy thief. End times, I tell ya."
Nothing special—just the usual laments and gripes. Lately, everywhere you went, the air was thick with the same tired chatter.
Even the headlines hawked by sprinting newsboys brimmed with Phantom Thief Raven stories.
In less than a month, one man had transformed London's landscape.
"……"
The girl, clad in a beige hunting hat and Inverness cape, eyed the scene with a complicated expression before resuming her stride.
Her destination: the art gallery, site of yesterday's heist.
By the time she arrived, the scene buzzed with unexpected crowds. Even a day later, reporters loitered for scoops, while police scrambled for any overlooked clues—a chaotic collaboration.
Of course, the police barred civilians, reporters included.
"No further entry."
Sherlock didn't flinch at the officer's block. "I have Detective Gadget's permission."
"Ah, right. Go ahead, then."
No verification needed—she slipped past the police line effortlessly, free to roam.
If I'd been Raven in disguise, it'd have been a laughably easy breach. I'll mention it to Gadget later, she thought, heading straight inside.
"Hm?"
Gadget, investigating within, turned at the girl's footsteps.
"...What the hell. How'd you get in?"
"Dropped your name, and it was a free pass."
"Ugh! Those damn idiots…!"
Fuming at the lax handling, Gadget sighed. "Sorry, but there's nothing for you here. Thanks for yesterday, but this is police turf now."
"I'm a detective. I can help."
The detective stood firm against the dismissal. Gadget fixed her with a cold stare.
"What kind of help? You gonna guarantee we catch the phantom thief with you around?"
"I'll uncover the trick, like yesterday."
"With magic, right."
"I'm not some idiot who relies only on magic."
Gadget shrugged. No one would buy it.
"Everyone says that. Almost never backed by action, though."
She fished a cigarette pack from her coat pocket, lit one with practiced ease, and took a drag.
"Know how the public views mages?"
"...Not kindly. I know."
"Yeah. And you know why."
It wasn't one incident. Society's tide naturally widened the rift between normals and mages.
"The age of mystery fades. It's the era of iron and man rising—not magic or myths."
Inevitable, really. Magic had always been the privilege of the elite few, from ancient times to now, never breached.
Civilization's boons, though? For everyone. The unchosen masses shared equally in its power. Cities swelled, industries boomed on iron's back, toppling magic's mystique.
"Think of the steam trains crisscrossing Britannia. Know the daily ridership? Could magic replace that?"
Obviously not. The gap would only widen with time.
So people wondered: Was unruly, elite-only magic even necessary?
"...What does that have to do with now?"
"Your deductions were impressive, Sherlock. But if they hinge on magic, what then? Do we twiddle thumbs waiting for the great mage detective?"
Gadget's point was simple: You couldn't standardize a catch on unregulated magic.
"Got it. I understand."
"...Sorry. Didn't mean you're useless. Just…"
Sherlock cut the perfunctory apology short, deadpan. "I just need to prove it?"
"Pardon?"
"Uncover Raven's trick with pure deduction—no magic."
Gadget let out an involuntary chuckle at the girl's bold retort. She's no ordinary kid. That tenacity had nearly cornered even Raven.
"Fine. But can you? It's been a day already."
Plus, police probing might've contaminated evidence. They'd tried preserving the scene, but clueless mishaps happened.
"It's fine."
Sherlock trudged deeper in. First, the painting's spot. The site was preserved—even the torn screen lay on the floor.
No obvious traces at a glance. Police would've spotted easy ones first.
Next, the statue where the thief sat. Then the escape window, tracing the path meticulously.
"……"
"Find something?"
Whoosh. Ignored, Gadget awkwardly lowered her hand. Not deliberate—the girl was laser-focused, missing even a direct call.
After checking the grass outside the window, Sherlock returned.
Gadget, assuming failure, consoled her. "It's okay. We've poked around since yesterday—nothing."
"I figured it out, roughly."
"...Pardon?"
To the baffled detective, Sherlock launched into her reasoning.
"First, the wall where the painting hung—see the drag marks?"
"Hm... From the screen?"
Squinting close, something was there.
"No. Too thin for the screen's edge. Needs thread-fine line."
"Thread?"
Her explanation accelerated like machine-gun fire.
"Next, ceiling above the statue. Hook marks there too. Yesterday, the painting passed exactly under it into Raven's arms."
"Uh, did it...?"
Struggling to keep up, Gadget interjected.
"So thread moved the painting? But can you levitate it midair with invisible thread without snapping?"
"Not easily. Probably magic."
Gadget agreed. Last night's scene defied non-magical explanation.
"Then the Mana Detection Sensor?"
The crux. If magic, how'd it evade detection?
"...That's."
Sherlock faltered for the first time—stuck on the core trick.
But not a total bust.
"Thread traces led outside. Magic cast from there, or some method."
"The thief stayed inside from entry to escape."
"...Yeah. But high chance of that."
Sherlock stuck to her guns. Logical enough—Gadget nodded.
"Got it. We'll log it in the report."
"Thanks."
Sherlock lingered, prowling the scene, but true to her word—no magic.
"Boss. Who the hell's that kid?"
"Beats me."
A subordinate eyed the girl curiously. Gadget shared the intrigue.
Sherlock. Rings a bell...
Staring at the detective girl's back, she ordered, "Dig into her. Everything on 'Sherlock.'"
"...Me?"
"Want me to do it?"
"...Yessir. On it."