Hero, if you seek to understand any tragedy — start with those who investigate it. For truth, like an arrow, it always flies from someone's hand. Today, you’ll learn more about the one who chases it without fear, without mercy — the Imperial Scout, the legend of the capital — Cousteau.

 

His name doesn’t appear on ball invitations or in gossip columns. It’s spoken softly — not out of respect, but out of caution. Cousteau doesn’t chase headlines. He hunts the truth — silently, precisely, relentlessly.

 

His method? No magic. Just attention to detail, a razor-sharp mind, and an uncanny ability to tell coincidence from a carefully laid trap. He doesn't believe in the mystical — but he has a weakness for the strange and unexplainable.

 

“A phantom, you say?” Cousteau muttered, crouching over the scene where the arrow still radiated warmth. “Seems like he doesn't appreciate being stared at. Then again, who does — when someone starts putting your face together?”

 

His gaze drifted upward, to where the capital’s spires stabbed the sky like spears. Somewhere up there — someone was watching back. 

 

“A fine arrow. Crafted with care. But not for hunting. It’s a signature. And I’ve seen that signature before…”

 

The Empress ordered the phantom found. But Cousteau already knew — it wasn’t a phantom. It was someone real. Someone with a restless heart, silent steps, and a bowman’s hand. The name hadn’t yet been spoken aloud, but it hung in the air like the wind before a storm.

 

Somewhere in the shadowed streets… another person had vanished. Someone who’d looked a bit too long at Bobby “Grave.” And for the first time in a long while… Cousteau smiled.

 

Now you know who’s hunting him, hero. But are you ready to meet the one who refuses to be found?