The palace had returned to its usual rhythm.
Servants moved quietly through corridors.
Officials came and went.
But inside the Emperor's study—
The air felt heavy.
Unsettled.
—
Scrolls lay open.
Documents stacked neatly.
Yet—
The Emperor's attention was fixed on something else.
—
Four thin sheets of paper.
—
Suicide notes.
—
He picked one up again.
His fingers brushed lightly over the ink.
His gaze sharpened.
—
"…Same."
—
He placed it beside the others.
Lined them up carefully.
—
Same structure.
Same words.
Same tone.
—
As if—
Written by the same person.
—
His brows furrowed.
—
"…Impossible."
—
A man's last words—
Should be unique.
Desperate.
Emotional.
—
Not—
Copied.
—
His fingers tapped slowly on the table.
—
"…Four different people."
"…Four different lives."
"…Same ending."
—
"…Same words."
—
Something was wrong.
—
Very wrong.
—
A faint knock interrupted his thoughts.
—
"Enter."
—
The door opened.
