Chapter Twelve: For the Support of the Jury

Gale Esposito.

If it weren’t for the familiar surname, Elia almost wouldn’t have remembered who this person was—it was Elia Esposito’s cheap son, the one who hadn’t been seen since crossing over.

In truth, a minor connected to him going completely off the radar meant Elia couldn’t ignore the situation; he needed to prepare for any emergency. But the problem was, he had been deeply entangled in a whirlwind of magical realism these past few days—fighting aliens at night and digging into mouse holes during the day to scrounge pocket money for his foster daughter’s utility bills. He simply had no energy left to post missing person notices on telephone poles.

Nor could he report it to the authorities; the situation was unclear, and calling the police might just land him in trouble first.

From what he could tell now, Gale Esposito was not only alive but doing quite well. He even had the leisure to kidnap his half-sister to threaten their father!

Life was already difficult enough without these binding attachments causing more trouble. Elia’s teeth itched with irritation at the suspicious message—if Gale were in front of him right now, he’d definitely receive a fierce, yet loving, beating.

The problem was, Elia couldn’t fathom the eldest son’s criminal motive.

What was the point of kidnapping Ophelia? There was no throne to inherit at home, only secondhand sofas, secondhand TVs, secondhand refrigerators, a neighbor’s microwave, and a secondhand toaster that still hadn’t been fixed…

Puzzled, he wandered aimlessly around Ophelia’s bedroom, hoping to find some other clue.

The third time he passed the desk, for some reason, Elia recalled the story of his foster daughter hiding money in a mouse hole. A spark of inspiration lit up, and he reached out to slide the desk aside. The desk was a modified cabinet picked up from the street; on the back of the connected desktop was a wooden panel flush against the wall. When Elia moved it, a patch of peeling white wall was revealed behind.

As expected, there was an irregular round hole where an old socket had been removed.

Frowning, he reached inside the hole and felt something soft. Pulling it out, he found a tattered notebook. On the front page was a line written in neat handwriting: “Ophelia’s Diary.”

Peeking at someone’s diary without permission was unethical.

But as the father of a missing person, Elia felt entitled. He flipped through the diary casually; the first page was dated recently, and it read:

July 16th, clear weather.

It’s been three days since I moved to a new address with Elia. This place is Metropolitan City, a name I’ve never heard before—maybe because it’s too far from where I used to live.

There are way more people outside than I imagined; it’s scary. Based on my previous survival experience, I must not let them find me.

…but I’m very, very hungry.

I haven’t been this hungry in a long time. If Elia wants me to starve, I’ll kill him before I die.

If I can.

July 17th, clear weather.

I stole a kitchen knife without Elia noticing. I tried to talk to him, and he gave me food.

I was startled. I tried to act pitiful but ended up crying uncontrollably. So annoying. Now that I think about it, it’s embarrassing. But he seemed scared too—was that just my imagination?

It doesn’t matter; as long as there’s food, I’ll call him Dad.

He can’t be worse than my real father.

July 18th, clear weather.

I really wish Dad would go out at night and sleep during the day. Then I could do whatever I want.

The weather in Metropolitan City is as nice as Gale described. I wish I could go see the river, but there are way too many people outside.

I can’t be seen.

But something about Dad’s house feels off… Whether day or night, there’s always a pair of eyes watching me curiously.

Is that Dad?

July 19th, clear weather.

The eyes on the wall aren’t Dad’s.

Sigh of relief.

…

Elia: “…”

It took him a long time to fully understand the diary, and there were so many points to question. His first reaction was to think, “Kid, you’re better off writing horror stories.”

Though diaries mainly record personal thoughts and can be disjointed, what Ophelia wrote was something else entirely! A minor who carefully considered parricide, survival skills to avoid detection, constant surveillance from dawn till dusk, and strange eyes appearing on the walls—eyes Elia had neither seen nor heard about before.

Yet the little girl was sharp; from the start, she sensed Elia’s weakness for crying children and used that repeatedly to manipulate her soft-hearted father.

Moreover, Ophelia clearly knew Gale, and their relationship seemed good. This made Elia consider the possibility that kidnapper and captive might be in cahoots—perhaps this whole kidnapping was a scheme hatched by the two children together.

But Elia wouldn’t jump to conclusions before seeing Ophelia in person. Matters of life and death weren’t something to gamble on. He had to assume Ophelia was in grave danger.

For now, he had no energy to deal with the diary’s eyebrow-raising “survival skills” or the “eyes on the wall.” The latter was probably linked to some strange creature that had been causing scratching noises in the house. Those things could wait until after he found her—then come the “polite questioning,” or rather, severe interrogation.

As for how to find Ophelia, Elia had a vague idea.

Gale had kidnapped the girl to threaten him. Just like other kidnappers who offer a ransom and meeting place, if Gale wanted to meet him or lure him into a trap, he would have to provide a clue related to the location.

The only clue so far was in the diary—on July 18th, Ophelia wrote that she wanted to go to the river.

Metropolitan City was built beside a river. Elia lived in the New Troy district, a small island in the river, connected by eleven bridges to other parts of the city and across to Gotham City. The network was extensive.

If we’re talking about the riverbank, it could be in any direction.

But Elia’s intuition pointed to the west side near Gotham.

Not because he was biased against the neighboring crime capital, but because the riverbank there was close to the Suicide Slums, and recently, an international gang’s deal had taken place nearby.

Gale might not be involved with the international gang, but Elia had encountered trouble related to them recently. There might be some connection. As long as “riverbank” didn’t mean the galaxy edge where the Yellow Lantern Corps operated, it was manageable.

He set off immediately. He had previously given Ophelia one of the Yellow Lantern rings for self-defense; two remained, one for each hand. Pocketing the Book of Fate, he remembered he hadn’t taken the lantern that charged the ring.

Apparently, when going out, he needed not only his phone but also a power bank.

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Were the gadgets multiplying? Maybe next time he should just carry a shopping bag when going out?

The Yellow Lantern ring’s beginner guide activated, saying, “Hello, we provide pocket dimensions for lantern storage and retrieval. For detailed instructions, please consult the corps leader Tarsenissto or the keeper of the Parallax Book, Lisadrek, at the Yellow Lantern Corps headquarters on Koward Star.”

Elia grew impatient: “Say that again.”

The ring, learning its lesson, switched to simpler words: “You don’t have to hold the lantern in your hand; there are other ways, but I can’t teach you.”

Then why say anything?

The ring, apparently feeling useless, added, “But I can change your clothes.”

Before Elia could agree, a yellow light suddenly enveloped him. In the blink of an eye, like a magical girl transformation in an animation, his casual jacket was replaced by a tight-fitting uniform: yellow above the chest, black below, with golden metal armguards and yellow boots.

The outfit resembled the one worn by Senesisto, but with distinct differences—the most notable being a cloak with a hood, yellow inside and black on the back.

The hood’s edge just covered Elia’s eyes, revealing only a strand of red hair at the temple. The heavy fabric draped from the shoulders down to the boots’ heels, giving the cloak weight and mystery. It was hard to tell if Elia was a close-combatant or a magic user.

Staring at his new SSR-level appearance in the mirror, Elia twitched the corner of his mouth and asked, “Do you rings have side jobs?”

Isn’t this like working part-time at a tailor’s?

The ring replied, “The Senesisto Corps uniform is automatically generated to match each member’s personality.”

The subtext was: don’t even think about it; the technology can’t be mass-produced.

Elia felt a twinge of regret—not because of lost income—but because the ring wasn’t quite obedient. It changed his clothes without asking. What would it do next time?

Still, he couldn’t accuse the ring of scheming; it was more that the corps leader Senesisto was used to dictatorship and rarely considered such matters.

On the bright side, instant costume change was convenient. At least he wouldn’t have to rummage through unworn clothes before doing anything shady or worry about dealing with the aftermath. The hood could conceal his identity just enough to fool ordinary people and avoid disturbing Elia’s daily life. As for people like Senesisto or Superman, who had already been to Elia Esposito’s doorstep, they could guess what was beneath the hood without looking.

Elia kept his human disguise on mainly because the “Underworld Lantern” identity and Elia Esposito were already distinct. It was a precautionary measure.

Elia’s usual weapon in human form was the Yellow Lantern ring. As the Underworld Lantern, he favored a silvery white staff—somewhat ironically named, but interesting nonetheless.

Lost in these thoughts, Elia snapped back and told the ring, “Don’t use your energy for anything without my permission.”

Then he glanced at the Book of Fate and silently ordered, I need you to become an unnoticeable accessory.

The Book of Fate shimmered and transformed obediently into a silver-white feather earring with a metallic sheen, floating to hang on Elia’s left ear.

Elia considered asking it to become a belt or bracelet instead, but decided it didn’t really matter.

Indifferent to his appearance, Elia picked up the lantern with one hand again. A yellow glow surrounded him as he made a takeoff gesture.

But just before his feet left the ground, a thought struck him.

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