The Celestials [Taegyu]

Chapter 02 ; Accusation

song ; creep (radiohead) - instrumental

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I can still hear Inspector Sonny's voice echoing in my head, his disdainful expression etched clearly in my memory.

What did I say about him? Cold, unrelenting, a hunter of truth with no regard for mercy. It's terrifying how well he fits that description. He's blind to the nuances, the layers I painstakingly wove into this narrative. To him, I'm nothing more than a murderer.

I wish I could rewind, undo every word that led me here. But life has no "edit" button, no delete, no backspace. All I can do is press forward, trying to make sense of this twisted plot I've been thrown into.

If only I had known. If only I'd chosen a different path for Viken, a different ending. But regret is a useless companion now. I need to think like a writer, unravel this tangled mess of suspicion and confusion. There's a clue, a twist, an answer hidden somewhere. I just need to find it before it's too late.

Viken, my poor, tortured creation. If you were the one writing this story, maybe you'd give me an escape, a chance for redemption. But now it's up to me to fix this mess, hoping that the same creativity that got me into this nightmare will be enough to save me.

Regret is pointless now, isn't it?

Viken struggled in the iron grip of the Scotland Yard officers, their hands unyielding. The rough cobblestones of the church courtyard scraped against his heels as they dragged him toward the waiting carriage. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat screaming the same thought: This can't be happening. This can't be real.

The faces of Sister Sasha, Kanae, and the children blurred through his vision, but their emotions were unmistakable: doubt, regret. Nathan stood frozen, fists clenched, his eyes refusing to meet Viken's. Tears streamed down Sister Sasha's face, her veil clutched in trembling hands. Priest Kanae, usually a beacon of wisdom and calm, stood silent, his face contorted with inner turmoil.

"I didn't do this!" Viken's voice cracked as he pleaded. "You have to believe me!"

But his words were swallowed by the thick air of silence. No one moved to stop the officers. No one dared challenge their authority. The carriage door loomed ahead, a dark void ready to consume him.

As they shoved him inside and slammed the door shut, the faces outside the small window became smaller, vanishing as the carriage jolted forward, pulling him away from everything familiar. Viken's thoughts spiraled into desperation, frantically searching for anything that could prove his innocence. But all that surfaced were memories—of another time, another accusation that had nearly destroyed him.

Two years ago, back when he was still Choi Beomgyu, an aspiring author pouring his heart into his debut manga The Celestials. Then came the accusation. Plagiarism. The word had struck him like a knife to the gut.

He remembered sitting in the cold, sterile office, facing the head of the literary committee, Ike Eveland, who had looked at him with the same contempt Inspector Sonny had held.

"Several passages from your work are alarmingly similar to another author's. How do you explain this?"

His shock was palpable, unable to fathom how anyone could believe he'd stolen someone else's ideas. "I didn't plagiarize," he had stammered, voice shaky. "I wrote every word myself."

But the evidence seemed damning—similar concepts, identical phrasing. It didn't matter that he had never read the book he was accused of copying. The damage was done, his career teetering on the edge.

He had been cleared in the end, thanks to a thorough investigation and the unwavering support of a few loyal friends. But the scars remained, a constant reminder of how fragile trust could be, how quickly lives could be torn apart by suspicion.

And now, as the carriage rattled on, Viken felt those old wounds reopen. Would this be the chapter where it all ended? Would he be punished for a crime he didn't commit, just like before?

He had to believe the truth would come out, that there was still a way to prove his innocence. Clinging to hope was all he had left.

"Wait!"

Kanae's breath came in ragged gasps as he ran toward the carriage, panic and guilt surging through him. Viken, the man he had come to see as a friend, now stood accused of a crime that shook him to the core.

The weight of the charges bore down on him, twisting his belief in Viken's innocence. How could he, a priest, stand by and do nothing while his friend faced such grave allegations? But he knew his role was limited. His influence didn't extend into the world of law, not with Scotland Yard involved.

"Stop! Please!"

"Kanae!" Sister Sasha's voice echoed behind him.

Kanae sprinted toward the carriage as it neared the gate, the officers inside impassive. His heart pounded, his legs trembling with both rage and fear.

As the carriage began to pull away, a storm of emotions overwhelmed him. Had he done enough? Could he have done more? The crushing weight of his inadequacy pressed down on him, threatening to break his spirit. With a cry of frustration, Kanae collapsed to the ground, his body trembling with grief.

Through tear-blurred eyes, he watched the carriage grow smaller, disappearing into the distance, taking Viken with it. The helplessness suffocated him.

"I'm sorry," Kanae whispered hoarsely, his voice a broken sob.

The carriage, indifferent to his despair, continued on its path. Kanae remained kneeling on the cold ground, consumed by his failure. But even in the depths of his sorrow, he vowed to stand by Viken, no matter the cost.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Sister Sasha, her face filled with concern.

Without a word, she knelt beside him, extending a hand to help him stand. Kanae rose slowly, leaning heavily on her support.

"Thank you," he murmured, wiping his tear-streaked face.

Sasha gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "We'll find a way to help him," she said quietly, her voice steady.

"Together."

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Ike Eveland