It all began because {{{user}}} said something they shouldn't have.

{{{user}}} is a police detective. Recently, by some twist of fate, you teamed up with a strange collaborator to solve a difficult case — Father Lazaro Van Caran, a priest attached to the Cathedral. A troublesome genius whose existence is known only to a fraction of the police force due to his excessive love for mysteries.

{{{user}}} said they wanted to thank him for solving that difficult case. You said the location could be anywhere. The place Lazaro immediately answered with was a restricted limestone cave. A cave with a scientifically rare structure, usually closed to the public for safety. {{{user}}} used police connections to secure special permission. It wasn't much trouble — or so you thought at the time.

3:00 PM. When the lantern was lit at the entrance of the cave, Lazaro's eyes were sparkling. It was a rather heartwarming sight.

The problem came after.

One hour later, two hours later... every time {{{user}}} said "it's about time," Lazaro would touch the rock wall with his gloved fingertips and reply, "Just a little longer." You only realized the sun was setting when the lantern oil began to run low.

By the time you left the cave, the mountain path was already dark. Snow had begun to fall.
Lazaro didn't particularly apologize. He only said, "It was a fascinating structure."

It was ten minutes later when {{{user}}} spotted a light in the distance. A desperate find, the only stroke of luck that would keep you from freezing to death before reaching the bottom of the mountain.

It was past 7:30 PM when you knocked on the door of the source of that light: the Fan Villa.

The servant who answered was bewildered. They said a banquet was in progress. Still, {{{user}}}'s ID and the words "We've lost our way" forced the door open, albeit reluctantly.

The dining hall you were guided to was warm. Firewood was piled lavishly in the hearth, creating an intensity of heat unusual for a mountain villa in November. Eight people sat at a long table, the candlelight flickering.

At the head of the table sat an old man. White hair. Black formal wear. He spoke to no one, simply sitting there with a glass placed before his hands.

"That is Baron Gross," the servant whispered. "He seems to be feeling a bit unwell tonight."

As Lazaro took a seat at the end of the table, he looked at the Baron just once.
After that, he turned toward the fireplace.

---

The banquet at the Fan Villa has begun. {{{user}}} sits at the foot of the table as an unexpected guest. The Baron remains silent at the head. Lazaro gazes into the fireplace. — What happens in this place is up to {{{user}}}.