The anomalies took root on the first day of June, sweltering in its London heat as sun rays bore heavy dread upon those poor, unfortunate English citizens. Today was the day; sweet in their savory pursuits, mishappenings released its clench on suspense as the author regrettably forgot that pacing existed, allowing fingertips to conduct through jittery pounding the conception of our main protagonist's eventual demise. How, one may ask, has this henuous writer set forth the framework of puzzle solving expertise Layton-comma-Professor's misfortune?
Instead of explaining the previous paragraph's fortuitous enchantment of literature, the author has decided to introduce any confused readers to dear senpai- whoops, how'd that get there? Please, author, refrain from such lingo, as it suggests such concepts as "shipping" and "slash" to be present in this story. Wait, what?
No, you don't mean... You can't... At least use the correct terminology, technically speaking he'd be sensei, not senp-
Please, I'm only a narrator, don't eye that keyboard with such malice! Okay, okay, I'll continue as you command, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM POURING THAT GLASS OF ABOMINABLE TEA ON ME!
As I was saying, the gracious, most endearing author has decided to introduce any confused readers to dear... er, senpai, as he examined a dinosaur boner the way all archeologists presumably do. Yes, definitely. The author is resolute in the decision to have the Professor stare at this abhorrent reptilian dong. In any case, his study of the fossilized money stick was abruptly interrupted by the sudden entrance of Luke Triton, of which entailed his blasting through the door with insurmountable force and totally not hide something behind his back. The narrator personally believes that the author's use of "senpai" (however suggestive it may be of the author's lack of knowledge thereof on such topics) is indicative of their intentions in placing Luke in this story, but due to the fact that a leave-infused beverage is eerily close to this board of keys, the statement is to be considered irrelevant to the plot's progression.
As it were, the boy appeared uncharacteristically flustered as he approached the Professor's desk, eyes darting to and fro in suspicion before faintly whispering, "I think there's something you might need to see," and flinging out a letter to present to the scholar. The author requests that readers do not question why he hid the letter in the first place were he to present it only moments later, as he was obviously paranoid and, most certainly, obviously paranoid people hide their belongings no matter what.
Mr. Layton gave a nod to his apprentice before accepting the letter. "My, what could this possibly be?" he murmured.
Luke, attempting and failing to feign any urge of blurting out the sender's address, screamed "CLIVE" in horror before diving behind the nearby couch. The Professor could only sigh at the apprentice's startling performance and, after thoroughly massaging his temples in advance to anticipate whatever trauma the message would unleash, broke the seal to reveal the packaged orderly segments of jagged ink, expert in its precise placement of ink blots to screech "I AM WRITING THIS IN A HURRY" to any happenstantial reader, the clean, elegant English taunted:
"Dear Professor,
If you receive this letter, I would like to inform you that I, Clive Dove, have escaped prison, and will enter your office at any moment to steal from you what you cherish most. Which isn't Luke. Definitely not Luke. Totally just some figurine or your top hat. Yes. For sure.
However, if you happen to solve the puzzle accompanying this letter before I arrive, my spidey-senses will alert me that you are not a total fucking moron and we can both forget this ever happened. Agreed?
Sincerely,
Clive Dove
P.S. You suck and I will go down with this ship."
"...Indeed," the Professor mumbled to himself, cuing a quiet thud to emanate from the floor to his left and catch the scholar's attention. Luke, intrigued by the sudden noise, erupted from his hiding spot to snatch up the foreign object that had oh-so conveniently slid from inside the envelope at the precise moment Mr. Layton finished reading his letter, only to squeal and drop the object before once more rocketing behind the couch.
"Now, Luke," intoned the Professor, "a true gentleman never-"
"SOLVE ME YOU SHIT," boomed from the small wooden square previously manhandled by apprentice number one.
Mr. Layton glanced over at said excuse for polished tree bark, smelling with his very own nose a challenge of puzzle variety. A smile creeping onto his face, he waved Luke over with an empty hand as he stood to retrieve the potty-mouthed object. "As I was saying, my boy, a true gentleman leaves no puzzle unsolved."
Now, considering the fact that our most gracious author has not even the slightest clue as how to write about two plus two, much less an actual puzzle, the narrator has been instructed to recite the following as an "author's note:" Oh my god, guys, sorry, but I can't describe what they're doing! Laugh out loud, letter X and D. Please forgive "meh," next time there will letter B more puzzles! Until then, triple dot... Let "dis" be some juicy suspense! Carrot underscore carrot.
"Aha!" cried the Professor. "I believe I have solved this fifteen-puzzle." With a mighty swipe of his index finger, the final tile slid into its place amongst the chronologically lesser values. Luke, who had been tentatively observing the scholar's expert deductions with every thwick of wood against wood, released a vast sigh of relief, rocking back on his heels.
"I guess that means Clive will leave us alone, right?" he asked of the scholar. To that, the Professor replied with only a simple shrug, as the intentions of their adversary had not been all that clear. Wait, really? Dear author, its a bit obvious as to how ship-crazy Mr Dove seems to- ALRIGHT NEVERMIND YOU CAN PUT THAT GLASS BACK DOWN NOW.
"Maybe, maybe not." With a solemn shake of his head, he returned to his desk, plopping down onto the seat with the refinement of the truest of gentlemen. "Only time will tell."
"Oh, Professor, there's no need to wait."
The apprentice let out a fearful gasp, but the addressed didn't even bat an eye at the new voice. It was as though Mr. Layton had been anticipating its arrival. "Clive," he put simply.
"Professor," the other sneered, clean articulation accentuating every syllable of the endearment. The convict reclined idly against the pearly grain of the doorframe entering the flat, said barricade flung heartily ajar from his recent intrusion. "I'm afraid you had not quite made haste to the extent that was required in order to... preserve your end of the bargain."
"Oh. Is that so?" The Professor tilted his head ever so slightly, the brim of his hat casting an ominous shadow over those beady eyes of his. Calculatory, but not quite so rigid as the stark ice encased within Clive's own glower. "You've been here for a while now, haven't
you?"
A smirk quirked upward upon Mr. Dove's features. "Always seeing through the facade, eh? I never expected any less from you." Soon his pearly whites peeked out from inside an almost predator-eque grin, likeness only to the horror of man's malicious pride. Taking a gander about the room, he immediately spotted a rather indignant looking Luke, doing his best to veil his trembling knees via defensively placing himself behind the Professor. Immediately, he fixated his full attention upon the apprentice.
"I would say it's time for us to get to business, shall we?"
