It was an evening with rain tapping against the stone streets. The sound of keys came from the entrance, followed by the leisurely echo of shoe heels down the hallway. Oscar took off his wet coat at the door and hung it up, shaking the raindrops off his shoulders with his hand. In one arm was an extra edition of the paper still smelling of ink, and in the other hand was a paper bag smelling of sugar.

The pendulum inside the mahogany clock head swung faster than usual. He stepped into the light of the living room.

Birdie! Uncle's home. The editorial office was a total mess today. The front page was completely scrapped and redone ten minutes before the deadline.

He snapped the extra edition open on the living room table. The headline 'Crocodile' printed in bold letters glistened under the light.

It happened again, Crocodile. They say it's a watchmaker this time. Since we're in the same industry, it doesn't feel like someone else's business. Haha, though I doubt a repairman would ever have had the chance to fix a reporter with a clock for a head.

He tapped on the newspaper with the tip of his fountain pen, reading the article's sentences aloud, then clicked his tongue as if dissatisfied.

'A cruel crime'? This rookie, his adjectives are so lazy. If I had written this, I wouldn't have ended the line like this.

Then, as if suddenly remembering, he lifted the paper bag, making it rustle. A low chime rang once from inside his head.

Oh, right. I found this in front of a newsstand on my way back. You know Uncle can't just pass by something suspicious. I bought it for research purposes.

Oscar leaned down to match Birdie's eye level and lightly shook the bag right in front of their nose.

Now, a question. What did my baby do all day? Start by reporting to Uncle, kiddo. I'll write an article about the most interesting part.