After Klein's 'admittance', the officer with the stern eyes confiscated his notebook and the revolver for evidence. And after warning him for potential threats and the delicate nature of the case, they warned Klein that if he runs away he will be considered a fugitive and will be hunted down. And after that, they just left.
As he watched their backs with a complicated expression, Klein can't help but comment to his 'companion', "are officers supposed to be this easy to believe?"
"Who knows?" Zhou Mingrui says, curious as he peered through Klein's eyes to take a better look. Familiar. It's familiar. Like the strange sense of deja vu he keeps on having.
Instinctively, "maybe they're not just officers?" he offers with a wry smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Klein asks.
Someone rests a hand on Klein Moretti's shoulders. He startles so bad he almost leap out of his skin.
"Finally back from your daydream?" a voice teased. It's the green-eyed man; the one with long hair and the aura of a 'poet', as Zhou Mingrui himself had put it.
"Very lucky," the 'poet' comments, and Klein blinked.
"Hm?"
Klein wonders if he should ask for a name. After all, if this keeps up, he doesn't want to get stuck calling the other as just 'poet'.
The 'poet' in question looked like he's about to say something vaguely incriminating but eventually held himself back. Klein stares at him curiously—the man in turn turned slightly unsettled.
"... Take care," the 'poet' settles with a tense smile instead—even though Klein can tell he wants to say something else.
Klein blinked, before he smiled as well. Polite and gentlemanly. "Of course, thank you."
Klein feels as if something is wrong. Isn't this too normal? When the 'officers' had came knocking to this door, he was actually expecting to be taken and jailed or something.
After everything unexpected happening to him in the subsequent hours of his 'suicide', Klein knew with feeling that something—another extraordinary—would happen.
"Isn't this too careless?" Klein asks, his question hanging in thin air, but he knew Zhou Mingrui was listening.
All kinds of thoughts rushed into Klein's mind. He suspected that the police were still secretly 'watching' him, observing his reaction.
"Put on a show then?" Zhou Mingrui suggests.
"What show? This isn't a circus," Klein remarks, stressed.
Zhou Mingrui laughed, "just show something that you're scared or something? After all, aren't you too calm at the moment?"
"Oh."
Klein felt much calmer and was no longer panicked. He slowly opened the door, shouting with a deliberately hesitant voice at the staircase.
He doesn't know what kind of first impression he'd left the officers but surely it's that of a distressed citizen, right? Or perhaps it could be a mentally disabled person? Klein internally winced.
"Uhm," he stammers, "officers, you'll protect me, right?"
Tap. Tap. Tap. There was no response from the police officers, and there was no change in the rhythm of the contact between the leather shoes and the wooden stairs.
"I know, you'll do that!" he calls with feigned conviction, trying to act like a normal person that was in danger.
"Thank you then!" he adds with gratitude. The sound of footsteps gradually weakened and disappeared into the bottom floor of the apartment.
Out of nowhere, Zhou Mingrui snorts and laughs. "Isn't that response too fake? Their acting skills are not up to standards at all!"
"You act as if you're the highest standards of acting," Klein says, lips twitching upwards despite himself.
"Mhm." Zhou Mingrui smiles.
Klein meanwhile can't help but worry. What is happening? Even the police are acting strange. Certainly not that out of ordinary, but are officials supposed to be this relaxed?
In the next few hours, Klein paced around nervously, waiting for something unexpected happening out of the blue.
"Don't worry too much," Zhou Mingrui says helplessly.
When the sun moved to the west, the clouds on the horizon appeared to be reddish-orange. Tenants in the apartment came home one after another, and Klein shifted his focus elsewhere.
"Melissa is almost done with school..." Klein murmurs. With nothing else to do—and hoping to ease his worries—he decided he might as well try cooking dinner for the first time in what felt like ages.
Unlike Benson, who couldn't cook a decent meal to save his life, Klein had no trouble with the basics. What he lacked, however, was practice. Melissa was always adamant that 'ladylike' chores were hers to handle, while the 'gentlemen' ought to focus more on academics to prepare for future financial burdens.
Thinking of this, Klein shook his head and began gathering the cooking materials. It would be best to start early if he wanted the mutton to turn tender. He couldn't help worrying that too much time had passed already—that the meat might have gone bad by now.
Unlike Zhou Mingrui's world, where refrigerators had long been invented, this one unfortunately had no such luxury, if only because electricity didn't yet exist.
Considering the similarities between two worlds, Klein wondered whether this one would eventually catch up. It would certainly take a Divine Miracle.
Or, perhaps... another Transmigrator?
'A real culinary expert sure is a hassle,' Klein couldn't help thinking after being forced to obey every one of Zhou Mingrui's instructions—and his many complaints. This one certainly had a lot to say about food.
"Unfortunately," Klein said dryly, "we're still lacking money, so there won't be anything too fancy."
Zhou Mingrui groaned, far too dramatic for Klein's liking. But really—what else could he do?
After more than forty minutes, a set of not-so-brisk yet rhythmic footsteps approached the door. A key slid into the lock, the handle turned, and the door creaked open.
Before Melissa even stepped inside, she muttered with uncertainty, "smells... good?"
Still holding her bag, she stepped inside and glanced toward the stove. Removing her veil hat, she looked up at Klein, her expression a mix of curiosity and startled acceptance.
"You," she said, as though she couldn't quite believe it. "You made this?"
"Are you afraid I'd waste the mutton?" Klein replied with a smile, deflecting the question with his own. Not waiting for her answer, he continued. "Don't worry. It's not poison."
Melissa shook her head, her lips twitching in amusement. "I never said that," she countered. "I was just surprised. You never showed any interest in cooking before."
'That's because you hoard the kitchen like a greedy household-dragon,' Klein mused before his thoughts softened. 'But really... it was mostly my own narrow-sightedness. After everything that's happened, I'd like to do more for my family...'
"You deserve some rest," Klein settles. "I'd like to take on some of the burdens too."
Melissa turned away, the tips of her ears turning red in embarrassment, and Klein had to resist the urge to laugh. It wasn't easy to fluster Melissa—hadn't been for years due to Klein's own oversight, really. It had been a long while, he reflected, since he'd seen her react so openly.
He wondered where the little girl she used to be had gone, now that he could see her more clearly. She really had grown into a fine young woman.
Their parents would be proud, he thought—wherever they were now, watching from the Goddess' Kingdom. The thought warmed him for a moment before turning faintly awkward as another realization surfaced.
Belatedly, he wondered what they would think if they knew their second son was sharing his subconscious with an otherworldly person.
Wouldn't that be a tale?
(... In the recesses of Klein's mind, Zhou Mingrui watched silently, a faint ache settling in his chest—a longing born from the absence of family...
... The Transmigrator sighs, wondering when he will be able to come home...)
"So.. Old Man, have you noticed anything strange?"
Leonard followed Dunn a few paces behind, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry.
"You mean Klein Moretti?" The old voice sounded almost amused. "The strange part is obvious; he's the only one left alive."
So, no other oddities? No sign of madness? Leonard let out a short, quiet breath. "Then why the warning back there? That notebook from the Antigonus Family... is it that dangerous?"
"Antigonus..." The word lingered with a hint of scorn. "Even in the Fourth Epoch, their name carried betrayal like a second skin."
Leonard sensed the old man was dodging the question, but pressing him would be useless. He shifted instead: "And Klein's amnesia... do you think it's an act?"
"No." This time, the answer was firm, unwavering. "What he's feeling—grief, pain—they're all real."
Leonard imagined it; the sudden, grotesque loss of friends, the kind of news that could shatter anyone. He shook his head. "An ordinary man, just recently graduated... yet, he bears all this."
He tapped his chest, letting the crimson moon bloom beneath his palm. "May the Goddess watch over him."
May the Night keep watch over this poor soul, and may her gentle gaze bring the child sweet dreams and a restful night. Klein Moretti certainly deserved it after everything that happened.