[Red Text = Bold, Blue Text = Underlined, Gold Text = Bold+Underline. This story was deleted from my original account for some reason I cannot even begin to guess, so I'm going to be reposting it here. Since I'm reposting it, I decided to go all out and rewrite a few parts as well.

I tried to keep Lion's gender hidden for obvious reasons.]

"Ah yes," said the woman behind the curtains. "Welcome, welcome. I take it from your bored look that you have finished playing with Beatrice's gameboard, didn't you? But you are still not satisfied. You ripped out her guts, you theorized and you destroyed everything, but that's still not enough for you, is it?"

The theatregoing witches cheered loudly, nodding. It seemed as though they were all in agreement regarding that issue.

The woman sighed heavily, indicating he wasn't particularly happy with that issue. But nonetheless, it had to be addressed. People tore apart Beatrice's gameboard because they wanted a pure mystery even if they had to kill her to obtain it. Well, she couldn't just ignore that desire, could she? Such a pure, cruel desire needed to be rewarded with the right kind of cruelty.

"I'll tell you what, I'll give you a brand new gameboard. I'll even go ahead and say it, this gameboard is a mystery. It is completely solvable by human beings," she said in red. The crowd looked up, more interested than ever. A mystery was just what they were hoping for.

Though the woman remained covered by the curtains, they were transparent enough for the threatregoing witches to see her finger being raised high up in the air, to notify them she meant to add something else.

"Yes, that's what you want, isn't it? A pure mystery. But see," she said, her voice growing lower and an underlying cruelty becoming noticeable, "you only think you want it."

The witches didn't respond. They didn't know what the woman meant, but something about her tone told them that they were not meant to respond.

"You complain that Beatrice's mystery wasn't fair, it relied on cheating, on tricks that no one could have ever noticed, that she didn't fight you one on one...don't you see? She was being kind to you when she did that." The woman laughed loudly. "Because when the mystery isn't fair, you can blame your incompetence on the lack of information. You can say you lost the fight because you were a boxer fighting someone out of your weight class. But in a pure mystery, you got no excuses, no friends, no hope."

The woman laughed madly once more. She seemed to be enjoying her cold, harsh words she leashed out at them. "In a pure mystery, if you lose, you got no one else to blame but yourself! Beatrice was being kind by giving you an excuse to run away! I will not accept forfeits. You are not allowed to blame magic. The culprit in this gameboard is bound by human reality. This means that no magic was involved in the game!"

The woman stopped for a moment, almost as if to consider whether or not to say this next insult, but finally opened her mouth and said, "If you fail to solve the mystery, it will be your fault and nobody else's."

She was taunting them. The threatregoing witches knew that. Yet, they couldn't resist. They thought they could handle the mystery. So they reached out for it, ready to attack this new gameboard.

"Oh, you want to know what the gameboard is about? I'll tell you. It revolves around a certain man, one from a dimension above the island of Rokkenjima. Of course, despite this man's heavenly status, this tale will feature no magic once the crime starts—after all, this is a mystery. This man is one you are very well acquainted with. The mysterious being that entered the gameboard against his will and defeated Beatrice's illusions without much effort.

"The man who elucidated the mystery and brought to a close Beatrice's gameboard, curiously enough, was in no way officially connected to the game; and in all the published accounts of the murder his name was not once mentioned. And yet, had it not been for him and his novel methods of criminal deduction, perhaps the truth behind Beatrice's games would never have been revealed. Ushiromiya Battler proceeded dogmatically with the evidential appearances of the crime during the first four games, whereas the operations of the criminal were being conducted on a plane quite beyond the comprehension of the ordinary investigator. Of course, though Battler eventually understood Beatrice's heart, this took him five entire games despite being previously acquainted with her. This man who, of sedulous and disheartening analysis, eventually ferreted out the source of the horror in a single game, is the one this gameboard shall focus on. His name is something you are well aware of—Willard H. Wright."

The woman cackled loudly, finally revealing her true nature—a terrifying witch.

"Let the games begin—or how do we say it in the mystery genre? Oh yes, the game is afoot."

The brown haired man screamed, his arm swinging in a perfect sideways motion and just barely hitting his target. He twisted his knees and quickly landed using his arms to regain his equilibrium. Glancing over at the other side, his eyes followed the plastic bullet clumsily returned towards him, his legs jumped over it, and his shoulder's firm, quick motion smashed the object just to the left of his opponent's legs.

"You are good," said the young, golden haired aristocrat.

"I had a good teacher," the man in front of him responded.

The young aristocrat went by the name of Lion. Acting disinterested was a quality a young heir should always have in mind, as losing one's cool was not approved of by potential business partners. However, the curious combination of being drowned in sweat and being on the losing side of the scoreboard left little doubt that Lion must have been quite angrier, in contrast to the smile the young heir gave to the young man by the name of Willard H. Wright.

"I still don't understand how you learned the game so fast." It wasn't a complaint, but it wasn't an act of praise either. Lion seemed legitimately puzzled by his friend's incredible talent.

A sword displaying a black, shining blade materialized in his friend's hand, taking the place of his racquet. Lion's eyebrows were raised, a too frequent habit since coming to live with Will. The meta-world was still as mystifying as it was the first time Lion saw it.

"Badminton is quite similar to mysteries," Will said, cutting the air, "the moment you understand your opponent's heart, the moment you understand how your opponent thinks, that's when you win."

"That's surprisingly cold for you, does that mean you only understand people's hearts so that your job is easier?"

"Not entirely."

Lion looked puzzled. Will wasn't a man who gave information out of his own free will, that was a fact Will made everyone around him painfully aware of. The first days of living with him were terribly inconvenient, not knowing when breakfast would be ready, or where the newspaper was. It was quite obvious, even to someone who wasn't a detective, that a man who didn't bother to keep any pretence of punctuality or organization wouldn't talk much about himself. His terribly uncooperative personality, combined with his reticence made understanding him quite the impossible task.

This impossibility was annoying, as Lion often wondered why Will had risked his life to fight off Bernkastel when it was clear there was no possibility of victory. The only information grasped after a long search came not from Will himself, but from Dlanor, who had come to visit them briefly to ask for advice about a case, something she was quite happy about as she had been forced to deal with paperwork for so long.

Lion was told that Will used to be known as Wizard-Hunting Wright, of the twenty wedges; the strongest inquisitor to ever live, he killed witch after witch without a second thought. His might was such that legend said he once killed a thousand witches in a single night, something that became popular knowledge quickly, as his reticence made him quite the popular subject among inquisitors to be, especially girls. Dlanor emphasized though, that the one time she did ask him about it, he fervently denied having killed a thousand witches in a single night.

"No, perhaps," Dlanor hesitated, "fervently denied might not be the best way to describe IT. He denied it...BITTERLY."

"Bitterly?" Lion moved closer to Dlanor, anxious for more information. "What do you mean?"

"I don't KNOW. Wright doesn't speak much about HIMSELF. I don't know much about what happened to him that made him change his WAYS."

"Aren't there files about the cases he worked on?"

"A FEW. But I did not bring them with ME."

"Could you please bring them the next time you come to visit us?"

"ABSOLUTELY."

Dlanor smiled, and the conversation moved on to another subject. Lion had no desire to let others know of just how important understanding Will's heart was. It was painful to live with someone who understood the inner workings of your soul so well that you felt you had no secrets anymore, while not knowing a thing about him. No, more than painful, it was annoying. Lion didn't like to lose, and this felt like losing. Lion had no idea what kind of contest this was supposed to be, but if it was one, it obviously wasn't a very competitive one.

Wasn't Will the one who said they were friends, back during Bernkastel's game? He should open up more! But again, Lion was the one who denied their friendship. Even today, Lion would still want to deny that friendship. But for completely different reasons. If a friendship between them was to be acknowledged, then something else would have to be denied, and Lion wasn't ready to do that.

"It's raining."

"Huh?"

"It's raining, let's get inside."

"S-sure!"

After being dragged back to reality, Lion ran back to the mansion alongside Will, hands on chest due to the possibility of transparent clothing due to the rain. That action was, however, useless. In all three months they had been living together for, Will had never once attempted to do anything that would cause him to find out Lion's gender. While Lion was most grateful for that, it was also quite annoying. While one normally expects a request of such a nature to be respected, one also expects a person to, in a natural act of curiosity to a growing fondness to his partner, try to understand his friend. Not so with Will. He never spoke about his past, and never pried into Lion's either. He did sometimes make long lectures about the present, but he never spoke about anything regarding the past. He did like to dabble on long speeches about art and psychology, but never without a reason.

"Really," said Lion to no one, staring at the ceiling, "you would think at one point he would have to get bored and wonder..."

Will's one passion (if a purely intellectual enthusiasm may be called a passion) was art—not art in its narrow, personal aspects, but in its broader, more universal significance. His ever growing interest in mysteries was partially caused by this, as to him there was little difference between a Van Dine and a Van Gogh. Art was not only his dominating interest but his chief diversion. He was the definite authority on Van Dine; he knew of Knox and Carr; and once Lion heard him give an impromptu speech to a few guests on Chandler and hard-boiled fiction, which, had it been transcribed, would have made a most delightful and instructive essay on the mystery genre.

He, as Lion quickly noticed, was quite prone to receiving guests. Perhaps retirement bored him, or perhaps people merely felt attracted to his mysterious, intellectual nature. The young aristocrat met many of Will's acquaintances during those brief months, one more mysterious and unique than the other. Lion, seeing that Will had accidentally scheduled three people in one day, quickly fixed his schedule by declaring that their visits had turned into one big social gathering, much to Will's chagrin.

"Is that really necessary? It sounds troublesome."

"It is. You don't want be rude to your friends and make them think you forgot when they were coming to visit you."

"Actually, you don't want me to be rude. I'm quite fine with doing that, thanks."

"Don't be a smartass," Lion said, fingers quickly pinching Will, making the remark quite poetical.

"Well, we can't have a social gathering with only three people coming. We might as well invite a few others. That way if we are lucky maybe they'll talk to each other and I won't have to say much."

"That's a good idea," approved Lion, "how about Dlanor? She's a nice person."

"Sounds good to me. Think she grew up at all since we saw her?"

Lion raised an eyebrow. "Do you have to bring that up every time you see her?"

Will seemed almost offended, but Lion knew it to be sarcasm when he said, "Absolutely! What kind of detective would I be if I didn't note that kind of thing?"

"Mr. Battler and Ms. Beatrice should come as well."

"Bernkastel and the detective would be nice."

Lion's eyes went from surprised to troubled to tired, knowing full well that asking for an explanation would lead only to wondering if Will had a screw missing from his head. But an archer must shoot his arrow, and an Ushiromiya must ask questions.

"I understand why you would want a detective to come, but why do you want to invite the unpleasant woman who tried to kill us twice?"

"She likes cats," he answered, casually petting Diana.

Lion decided not to ask for a clarification, not for the fear of not having an adequate argument against it, but for the fear that the knowledge of how Will's brain operated would be too heavy of a burden to carry. After his retirement, he had gotten more playful, flippant even. Lion had learned to trust him, but it was quite worrying sometimes.

"Very well," Lion consented, "she likes cats. You can invite her."

Will lifted Diana off his lap, and put her in front of his face, making her directly face Lion. His voice was completely monotone, contrasting his silly action.

"Diana says thanks."

"Tell Diana her owner is an idiot—OW!"

Diana scratched Lion's face when her master's honour was insulted, causing Lion's cheek to bleed very slightly. Lion stared dumbfounded at the violent, possessive cat, as Will smiled and thanked his cat for the loyalty.

"She's just jealous I spend so much time with you."

"Aren't cats supposed to be attached to their house instead of their masters?"

"Diana is different."

"I can see that," mumbled Lion. "But why is she insane?"

"It happens to everybody who lives with me for long enough. You'll see it for yourself soon."

Before Lion could answer, Will leaned closer, putting his hand over Lion's cheek, red due to both blood and embarrassment.

"The cut isn't that bad, but let me wash it."

"You don't have to," Lion answered, tone contradicting content.

"Don't complain."

Lion sighed. It was useless arguing with him. Little did the Ushiromiya know, just how right that sentence would prove to be in the first Wright conference, once all guests arrived.