Zhou Mingrui shifted, not used to being on the receiving end of such scrutiny.
"I'll remind you again," she continued, completely undeterred. "Klein, you don't have to push yourself so hard. Even if... I mean, if—if you fail the interview for Tingen University, there will be other chances. Better ones."
With a pleased expression on her face, she pointed towards a small contraption on the table—it's... an odd assembly of gears, springs, and metal plates.
"You can try this puppet," she beamed. "Just tighten the spring. Watching it move makes you feel better. I've been doing it a lot lately—it's really effective!"
She shot him one last encouraging look before slipping out the door. Her hurried footsteps pattered down the corridor, then faded entirely.
Klein—no, Zhou Mingrui—stared blankly at the closed door for a moment.
Then slowly, he approached the table. He glanced at the neatly arranged breakfast Melissa prepared, then reached for the 'puppet' beside it. He held it in his palm, studying its pieces with a seriousness wholly disproportionate to its size.
A beat passed.
He smiles faintly, coughed into his fist, and muttered to himself, "a puppet...? I thought it was a tortoise."
Another beat passed.
Instinctively—before he could stop himself—he muttered, "... Klein?"
Silence. It's the kind of silence that pressed against his ears—the kind where his heartbeat sound too loud; too alone.
Still no response.
Zhou Mingrui swallowed, fingers tightening around the puppet. Is Klein angry or something?
After finishing breakfast, Zhou Mingrui sat alone at the table, watching the tortoise—er, the puppet—hop awkwardly across the wooden surface.
Ka! Ka! Ka!
Dum! Dum!
The little machine's rhythmic clacks filled the quiet room. He times his breathing to it, letting each sound chip away at the re-growing anxiety in his chest, bit by bit, like a tide receding out of stubbornness alone.
When the puppet finally wound down and came to a halt, Zhou Mingrui reached out and gave the table a soft tap—a bitter, wry smile tugged at his lips.
"Okay," he sighs, "one step at a time. I can't worry Melissa more than I already have."
The silence that followed felt heavier than it should be. Why?
A little while after Melissa left, Zhou Mingrui frowned at the notes spread across Klein's desk. Still no response. Klein didn't react to Melissa leaving, nor to the Transmigrator's subtle pushes about finding work.
Like a cold draft slipping into the room, the sudden awareness that Klein might be gone was insanely discomforting.
'Klein, where are you?'
He chants it seven times—for some reason—and Zhou Mingrui sighs. It was in that moment; a vision snapped into focus.
An image; faint but unmistakable. The thread-bound book titled 'Quintessential Divination and Arcane Arts of the Qin and Han Dynasty'.
He recognized it instantly. That was the very book where he'd found the luck-enhancement ritual... the one that had led to his transmigration.
Zhou Mingrui frowned, the vision's final traces dissolving into nothingness. What was that trying to show him? What connection could that thread-bound book possibly have with Klein Moretti's disappearance? Did it—
Then another 'image' seized his thoughts.
Down the street, the young police officer with black hair and emerald eyes—the one Klein had spoken with yesterday—stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at the Moretti apartment's window with a tense, vigilant expression.
He looked pale beneath the glow of the crimson moon. The man lurched forward a heartbeat later, trembling. He looked as though he had seen something he was never meant to witness.
A strange glimmer passed across his eyes, a reflection that vanished as quickly as it appeared, as if stolen away.
Zhou Mingrui blinked. He pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes squeezing shut. It didn't hurt—not really—but the sheer rush of sensations left him overwhelmed.
He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs as he tried to steady his racing heart. His thoughts spun. Did that mean something happened last night?
Zhou Mingrui searched his memories, combing through every fragment he could recall... but found nothing. Just a deep, dreamless sleep.
Then another—
Zhou Mingrui's room came into focus. A laptop on the table. A gaming computer against the wall. He saw himself, lying on the bed, silver moonlight spilling over his sleeping form.
His fingers twitched. In his hand was the thread-bound book, dangling precariously over the edge of the mattress... until it slipped free and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Zhou Mingrui opened his eyes. His thoughts spun wildly, circling a single, terrifying possibility.
Did Klein Moretti... transmigrate, just like him?
That was these images were pointing to. Something had happened last night—something that left that young police officer pale with terror. Klein must have been torn from his own body and hurled into Zhou Mingrui's.
That's—
A chill wound through him. An ominous premonition settled in his gut. Will Klein be alright?
Klein had been right all along. If Zhou Mingrui's world were as ordinary as he thought, events like this simply couldn't occur. That left only one conclusion: his world, too, was extraordinary—just like this one.
He... doesn't know what to feel about it. Then realization dawns—
Why? Why did he believe it so readily? Not once had Zhou Mingrui doubted the authenticity of what he was seeing. Is this a side-effect of transmigrating?
If that's true... how convenient, he lampooned to himself. Now, if only it could bring him back, and reverse the transmigration so that both of them could go home.
Zhou Mingrui had no idea how things had come to this. His head throbbed from the strain of trying to extract more from the 'images' when he opened the door—and came face to face with the police officer with the stern eyes from yesterday, flanked by two unfamiliar faces.
To his right stood a man with short golden-brown hair and blackish-green eyes. The man's shirt and windbreaker collars were raised, his chin swallowed by shadow. Clutched in his hand was... an actual short bone sword, silently radiating a pure white glow.
To his left stood a woman with strikingly long white hair, her gazed fixed unwaveringly on him and—what's happening?
Zhou Mingrui's expression turned strange. He stares at them blankly—specifically, to the short bone sword—then he blinked, absolutely dumbfounded.
"What—" he began, but before he could finish, he was cut off by... someone chanting poetry? As he strained to listen, the sound came from outside the window.
Must be that green-eyed poet, Zhou Mingrui realized, recalling the image from the earlier vision. Really, he lampooned, poetry on what might as well be a barricade?
"Oh, the threat of horror, the hope of crimson cries!
One thing at least is certain—that this life flies;
One thing is certain, and the rest is lies;
The flower that once has bloomed forever dies."
"..."
Okay.
The poem carried a peculiar, calming power, loosening the tension in his chest and quieting his mind.
... But why? Why was that officer chanting poetry here—in broad daylight?
Zhou Mingrui's confusion only deepened as more voices joined in. This time, it came from the stern-eyed officer and the white-haired woman.
Huh?
"When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opens anew its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light."
"...?"
Klein stepped back. Is this how police officers in this world do their jobs? Reciting poetry to a suspect before making an arrest?
Locking eyes with the stern-eyed officer, Zhou Mingrui's face twitched as he forced himself to hold back the words, 'you may have a problem.'
The blond man let out a long sigh and glanced at the others. "It's not working. Clearly, it's having no effect on him."
The stern-eyed officer froze for a moment, his face tightening with a newfound seriousness. Zhou Mingrui blinked. What's not working...?
"Klein Moretti," the blond man says, "please come with us."
"... Alright?"
Then Zhou Mingrui froze, suddenly realizing—"will it take long?" After all, he shouldn't worry Melissa when he had already promised he wouldn't.
"Can I at least leave a note...?" he suggests.
— Saint Selena Cathedral.
... Just moments ago—at a polite yet unmistakably unrefusable invitation—and under the watchful eyes of three suspiciously 'competent' officers, and a Church Deacon, Zhou Mingrui had been ushered into a carriage, taken straight to the cathedral, and promptly led into a secret underground chamber.
'What is this gloomy, ominous, horror-movie looking place?' he thought, following the blond-haired man deeper inside, unsure where exactly he was being taken.
The three officers shadowed him from behind, close enough that he could practically feel their eyes drilling into his back.
Judging from Klein's memories, this had to be Saint Selena Cathedral—the headquarters of the Church of the Evernight Goddess in Tingen City. A sacred sight the faithful dreamed of visiting at least once in their lives.
'Unfortunately, I never had any reason to visit,' Zhou Mingrui lampooned. 'And yet... here I am anyway, lucky me.'
Without realizing it, another thought surfaced; were they taking him to the Chanis Gate? If Klein's memories were accurate, this specific underground passageway is connected straight to the Gate—and even to the Blackthorn Security Company on Zouteland Street.
Zhou Mingrui blinked. The what? The where? He frowned. 'How do I even know that? Is this Klein's knowledge bleeding over? How bizarre...'
He was certain the Klein Moretti he knew was never a Nighthawk. He never had a chance to, that's for sure.
"..."
Zhou Mingrui now stood across from the newly introduced Crestet Cesimir, his gaze dropping to the pure white bone sword resting between them, its pale glow illuminating the tension in the room.
'Klein... why is this my life?' Zhou Mingrui sighs in his mind. And all of this was just for one weird request. One very weird request.
"Please place your hand on the holy sword," Crestet Cesimir said evenly.
"... May I know the purpose of this?" Zhou Mingrui asked, his voice sounding embarrassingly small even to his own ears.
Crestet Cesimir merely shook his head.
Alright, as expected... the Transmigrator let out a silent sigh, discreetly sweeping his surroundings with his eyes.
The young police officer with the green eyes caught his gaze. Subsequently, the poet's gaze narrowed with vigilance and unmistakable wariness.
...
'What is this... Excalibur?'
Zhou Mingrui immediately pulled his gaze back, shoulder shrinking almost on instinct. He bit his lip tightly.
Caught between faint fear and utter helplessness, he stopped resisting and slowly extended his right hand, laying it atop the bone sword.
A cold sensation swept across his skin and pierced straight into his mind. Before he could even take a breath, boundless darkness unfurled before his eyes.
A soft, drifting fragrance—night vanilla and slumber flowers—seeped into his senses from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Then his entire body went rigid. Some instinct buried deep within him shrieked a warning.
(... something otherworldly, radiant, and overwhelmingly majestic turned its gaze upon him, as if the Night itself had paused to look...
... the unseen eyes shifted imperceptibly, gliding to his shoulders, then to the hidden depths behind him...
... as if they perceived far more than what lay beyond...
... out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a tentacle—)
The presence descended like an ocean pressing against his skull—and vanished just as abruptly. Zhou Mingrui couldn't even gasp as he buckles forward.
The dreamlike vision dissolved. His sight cleared. Crestet Cesimir stood before him with a posture subtly slackened, as though he, too, was releasing a breath he'd been holding.
Then the High-Ranking Deacon of the Church of the Evernight Goddess declared solemnly, voice steady but touched with relief:
"Congratulations, Klein Moretti. In the name of the Goddess, I formally inform you that you have passed the examination."
Eh?
A defeaning silence fell. The officers behind him looked as if they were brimming with questions, ready to erupt at any moment.
Looks like I'm not the only one confused, Zhou Mingrui thought. What even is happening?
A faint sensation prickled at his back, sharp and unsettling, as though something was watching him through a veil of fog.
Before Zhou Mingrui could focus or even comprehend it, the feeling vanished—just as suddenly as the gaze from before.
The hairs on Zhou Mingrui's neck bristled. Something was wrong. Before he could even utter a warning, a sharp, invisible pang tore at his soul.
He staggered—violently. The last thing he remembered was falling—