Back to the present…
Everyone stared at Philip in stunned silence after he addressed Patricia as that dreadful, wretched thing.
But how did he know about it?
The last time they checked, no one had ever told him anything. They themselves weren't even certain what it truly was, and they hadn't thought it was something to discuss with Philip.
Yet little did they know—the man they had kept the truth from was already deeply entangled in it. So much so that he was willing to commit murder for it.
But why?
Why would he do that?
What exactly was his connection to the thing?
Everyone wanted to know.
"Philip… what are you talking about? What do you mean? What did you just call me?" Patricia asked, her voice trembling.
Philip relaxed his stance, meeting the bewildered stares around him. Their expressions carried the shock of recognition.
'So… they do know about the bloody thing. But they tried to hide it from me. I guess there is no need to conceal myself anymore. Time to come clean about my actions.'
His gaze fell on Patricia, and his heart ached. 'At least I owe her that much.'
Philip sighed, stepping away from her and averting his eyes.
"I know you must hate me right now. Hate me for doing something so horrible to you. I don't blame you—I deserve it." He turned his back on them, facing the window, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I can't believe that after all these years, I still ended up like my father… hurting the ones I love, even when I never meant to."
Patricia glanced at the others, confusion etched across their faces.
Although she was angry and hurt by Philip's actions, Patricia still looked up to him as a father figure. Over the past few months, she had even grown fond of him.
She wasn't ready to forgive him—not yet, perhaps not ever. She may never want to see him again for the rest of her life. But before she made such a harsh decision, she needed to know the real reason why.
Patricia exhaled and stepped toward him. "Well… I am still alive. I didn't die on that track like I should have. And I think the most reasonable thing to do right now is for you to tell me the truth about your motives. Don't you agree?"
Philip chuckled briefly, then exhaled heavily. "Of course. I suppose I have to come clean now—before I meet my fate, taking residence in a cold, lifeless cell of the WFAB prison."
Isaac's fists clenched at his sides, trembling with fury. "You knew this was coming, Saccoth. So you'd better explain yourself clearly right now. Maybe then your sentence could be reduced, and you might live long enough to see your grandchildren before you leave this world."
Philip snorted. "Of course. Tsk… typical. But I'm sorry to disappoint you, Agent Phillips. I've already gambled with my life for too long. I can no longer contain it—not the way I thought I could."
Without waiting for a reply, he hurled his staff to the floor, tossed his hat onto the desk, removed his jacket and draped it over the chair. Then, with deliberate slowness, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
"You all want to know the reason… why I did this despicable thing to my own best friend's child, don't you?" His voice was steady, almost cold, as he finished unbuttoning.
"Well then… behold."
He turned to face them and pulled off his shirt.
"Haaa!"
Everyone gasped, their eyes widening in horror at the sight before them.
Black, snake-like veins coiled around Philip's arms and torso—so eerie, so grisly, they looked alive.
Patricia's horror was greater than the rest. Her mind flashed back to that dreadful night when she saw those same eerie, glowing blue veins pulsing in Isaac.
'Is he going to turn like this? Just like Saccoth…' Her thoughts whirled with dreadful questions as she turned to Isaac, whose face was ashen with shock.
Patricia's gaze shifted back to Philip, and she inched closer.
"Wha… what is this? Philip… how did you become like this?" she asked, her voice trembling, her expression now etched with concern instead of fury.
Philip's heart ached at her words. He looked at the others, then back at Patricia.
"It's… a sign. A sign that my time is up," he muttered. "That I am leaving this world. And my children… they will be left with the same burden I carried for years." He gave a bitter chuckle, tears glistening in his eyes. "And I didn't have enough time to fix it."
Patricia gasped, inching closer, her eyes glistening with tears.
"What? What didn't you have enough time to fix, Philip? Please, I beg you… tell us. Maybe—maybe we can help you. Maybe we can fix it together. Please, tell us what happened. What's going on?"
Philip sniffled, fighting back his tears. "Thank you for offering your help, Patricia. But after what I did to you… I don't think I deserve it. Besides… I'm already beyond saving." He picked up his shirt and slipped it back on.
He exhaled, wiping his eyes. "But since I did that to you… I suppose it's only right that I owe you an explanation. The truth."
He buttoned his shirt slowly, his voice steadying. "But I think you might want to take your seats for this one."
Everyone exchanged uneasy glances before moving to the lounge area of the office.
Philip finished dressing, then joined them.
"First of all…" Philip began. "Before anything else, I want to offer my deepest and sincerest apology to Patricia. I know what I did to you was terrible, and no amount of explanation or truth can erase such a betrayal. I truly understand if you never want to see me again, or if you choose not to forgive me—even after this. So…" he paused, exhaling heavily, "…I am sorry."
He looked around the room at the expressionless faces and sighed.
"Anyway… my condition is unique. It's incurable—at least by normal machines or medication. To be cured, to be free, I must do something… something far beyond ordinary means."
"Like killing my sister? What kind of disease is that, huh? One that's cured by murder?" Alisha snapped, glaring at him.
"A curse, Alisha," Philip replied, locking eyes with her. Her expression faltered, shock widening her gaze. "It's a curse. And trust me—it requires more than just sacrificing the ones you love. It demands far more. More than you can imagine."
"Like what, exactly?" Davis pressed.
Philip gave a low, bitter chuckle. "Mmm… something beyond your wildest imagination, Agent Hammock." His gaze shifted, settling back on Patricia.
"Anyway… I think it's more reasonable if I continue with my story, yes." Philip paused, sighing heavily. "A long time ago—about 650 years ago—my great-grandfather, Alexander Philip Saccoth, worked for a world-renowned thriller novelist named Paul Macguillary."
At the mention of the name, everyone's ears perked up.
Paul Macguillary—the writer of the mysterious novel they had been searching for: The Dark Knight and His Tulip.
Mr. Saccoth's grandfather had worked for him. The revelation was shocking, unexpected.
Philip felt the shift in the room, the sudden tension. He realized these people already knew the name and the man he had spoken of. But to what extent, he wondered.
"Paul Macguillary was more than just a novelist. He was an explorer, an adventurer… and also.... a spy. He formed and led a secret world security service called the Black Phantom Tulips. I now believe this organization evolved into the current world security agency—the WFAB—operating directly under the Supreme President of Aphilis. I don't know how, but I have reason to believe that the ancestors of Aphilis's president were part of the Order as well, and took control after Paul Macguillary's death." He paused, his voice heavy with implication.
"Anyway… my grandfather was not merely a disciple of Macguillary. He was his best friend, his partner. Even though they had a master-and-servant relationship, Macguillary trusted him like a younger brother. He treated him like family…" Philip's voice trailed off, lost in thought.
Philip shook his head, cleared his throat, and continued.
"Anyway… I don't know all the details, but according to my family, Mr. Macguillary sent my grandfather, Alex, on an important mission to find something special—a box that carried a key to uncover a mystery. While my grandfather was gone… something terrible happened to Paul Macguillary.
When my grandfather returned, he found Macguillary lying on the floor of his study… in a pool of blood. He had been brutally murdered—by someone… or, in my family's version, by something."
Philip's voice dropped lower, his words heavy.
"They said my grandfather found a piece of paper on the floor. On it, written in Macguillary's own blood, was a single word…" He drew a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the room.
"Chronalis."
The room grew heavier with tension, as if a ticking time bomb had just been set, ready to explode at any moment.
"My grandfather saw that piece of paper, and before he could even process what was happening, another servant walked into the room. He saw Macguillary lying in his pool of blood… and my grandfather, covered in it." Philip paused, sighing deeply. "My grandfather was accused of murdering Macguillary. The case ruined our family's reputation for generations.
Nobody knows exactly how, but ever since that day—when our grandfather was falsely accused of murder—an awful curse entered our bloodline. It's called the Time's Curse. It begins slowly, feeding you with obsession… the need to find Chronalis, to prove its existence. It's like a slow poison. At first, it seems manageable, but then it begins to consume your conscience, giving you vivid dreams that fuel your obsessive desire to seek it. The more you give in… the more time devours you. Hence… what you saw."
He paused, his face somber. "None of my ancestors survived past the age of fifty." He gave a bitter chuckle.
"I am the first, after 650 years, to pass that age. I thought I could live a little longer… but now, it feels like an impossible dream." His voice broke as he sniffled. "And now I think I know why… why the obsession didn't overtake me so quickly."
He looked at Patricia.
"It was because of him. Your father, Patricia. I don't know how, and I can't even explain it. But whenever I was with your father… all my restless thoughts, my obsession with finding Chronalis, never bothered me. It was as if your father was a healing balm to my soul—a rescue in the middle of a storm. But when he died… I broke apart again. And it became worse.
Unlike my own father, who became a violent drunkard and a negligent man who abandoned his family and hurt those he loved, I tried to keep it under control. I turned my restless desire into something more productive—horse racing, building business empires, and allowing myself to feel and give love to the people I cherished. But alas… I still ended up committing the horrific after all."
His eyes filled with regret as he looked at Patricia.
"When we were in Costa Rica, just after you finished your interview about winning the Speed Race and defeating Eldorado, I followed you to the stables to congratulate you. I saw the two of you arguing and even wanted to intervene… but then I felt it. I saw it. Both you and Eldorado were covered in a mysterious blue circle that glowed for only five seconds. And then, suddenly, you were in front of him, and he was screaming in pain as his finger melted.
I didn't know if what I saw was real or just my imagination. But whatever it was, it awakened my cursed obsession. I lost myself, Patricia. I lost myself to the point that…" He paused, tears streaming down his cheeks. He lifted his trembling hands.
"These hands… did the most unforgivable thing. And I am sorry. Even though I now know the truth—that it does exist—it no longer feels like a victory. It is a curse indeed. And now… I will leave it to my children. My precious children…" He sobbed.
Patricia's tears flowed freely as she rose from the sofa, knelt beside Philip, and gently lifted his face.
"Hey… hey. It's okay. It's okay. I know this feels like a nightmare. Believe me—we're all living the same thing, aren't we?" She turned to the others.
The group shifted uneasily in their seats, murmuring in agreement.
"Yes. But what's important right now is understanding what we're up against. To know what we're fighting, so we can unite and stand together to find a solution. So it won't take advantage of us anymore. That's what matters most now. So I beg you, Philip… tell us everything you know about Chronalis. Do you know what it is, or what it does?" Patricia's voice trembled with urgency.
Philip looked at her, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes. He couldn't tell if it was for him or for something greater. But if this was the only way to atone for his sins before death, then…
Philip drew a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak—when suddenly his throat tightened, as though the air was being squeezed out of his lungs.
"Haaa… huh…" He gasped desperately for breath.
"Philip! Philip, what's wrong? Philip!" Patricia cried, her voice breaking as she saw his face turning purple, as if he were choking.
The room erupted into panic.
But in the chaos, Philip's narrowing eyes caught sight of Isaac—whose gaze glowed an eerie blue, a sinister smirk curling on his lips.
Isaac gave a small, mocking wave before rushing toward Philip, who was collapsing sideways over the couch.
"Zarveth nahl'kai veyrion… sel'thur ek'voss ren'dral.
Myr'kai ulthar ven'dros, thal'kren behal'dor.
Vel'kai sharron ek'thel… veyrion ulthar'sai.
Nahl'kai… sharron vel'dros.
Somnus ek'chrona… eternalis.
Til'kai ven'thar… princessa ek'voss… kissar ven'dral.
Mmmm… ulthar kai'neth.
Goodnight."
These were the words that echoed inside Philip's mind as his consciousness began to slip away. They were spoken in a strange, eerie language—but somehow, he understood them.
"Not so fast, my little one. I can't let you reveal me just yet. We are still playing a little game of hunt and seek, and I haven't found my prize. So why don't I give you a little rest for your worries? Don't fret—it's only a little sleep. For eternity. Until your princess charming wakes you with a beautiful… kiss. Mmmm… goodnight."
Philip turned slowly, his fading vision catching Isaac's glowing eyes. Isaac smirked as Philip's senses shut down.
"Call an ambulance!!" Patricia's panicked voice warped in his ears.
Then—darkness.