The Final Exam: Observation and Friendship
The second room was a dusty, theatrical space, meticulously crafted to look like a crime scene. A man in a tweed suit lay motionless on the floor, surrounded by seemingly random objects—a knocked-over teacup, a half-burnt cigar, and a clock on a mantlepiece that had stopped at an odd time.
A man named Mr. Finch Crookman, the senior examiner, instructed Miles to examine the scene and report his findings, with the others still facing their test.
He was about to begin when another person walked in—a young man in his late 20s but a year younger than him, with a determined look in his eyes. He felt a wave of relief when he came to partake in the test together with him.
"Mr Ethan Morales!" Mr. Finch boomed. "You have successfully passed on to the final test and will be teaming with Mr Miles over there," he directed using his hand and completed his unfinished statement, "for this test. The ones to present a plausible conclusion before the time counts down will be considered for recruitment."
Miles looked at Ethan, and he gave him a brief glare, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. They started their investigation. Miles, with the system's guidance, activated his Observation skill. The world seemed to sharpen, the dust motes in the air becoming a visible haze. He noticed the faint scent of a specific brand of pipe tobacco that wasn't from the cigar.
He saw the barely-visible scuff marks on the floor and the tiny flecks of dirt under the victim's fingernails. His mind cataloged every detail instantly, but he was at a loss as to what it all meant.
Ethan was a different kind of genius. He didn't have a system, but his mind was as sharp as a tack. He picked up the teacup, smelling the rim. "The tea is a specific blend from the city's northern district. Only a few people in the city import it."
Miles's head snapped up. "And the burn on the mantlepiece isn't from the cigar. It's from a different kind of cigar, a stronger, cheaper brand. It implies a second person was here."
Ethan eyes widened. "And the clock! It's stopped, but the time is wrong. It was tampered with after the murder to mislead us. The real time of death was likely much earlier."
Working together, they were a seamless team. Miles provided the raw data from his system-enhanced senses, and Ethan provided the context and human intuition. They pieced together the crime scene, not as a cold puzzle but as a story. They presented their findings to the examiners, with half of the time to spare, their conclusions so airtight and logical that the examiners had no choice but to nod in approval.
Later, in the main hall, they heard the final results being called out by the head of the institution. "The candidates selected for recruitment are... Mr. Julian Croft, Ms. Clara Benton, Mr. Samuel Thorne, Ms Cecilia Beaumont," the most pretty of them all with her black silky hair tied in a ponytail her brown eyes staring wide beautifully, all her characteristics both attractive and elegant that caught Miles attention, missing the four names the man called out while he was focused on another, but he got distracted when he heard the expected names called. "Mr. Ethan Morales, and Mr. Miles Corbane!"
A small cheer went up from a handful of people in the crowd who had also made it. Ethan turned to him and gave him a thumbs up, his face beaming enthusiastically.
Miles smiled, a genuine, joyful smile. He had passed. He had a new life. And he had found his first friend in this strange new world.
The head of the institution, a stout man with a booming voice, addressed the group. "Congratulations to all of you. You have proven yourselves worthy. Your duties will begin tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock sharp. We expect you all to be present and ready to work. Dismissed."
A murmur of excited chatter filled the air as the newly recruited candidates began to disperse. They all responded with a respectful "Yes, sir!" as they left the hall. Miles heard the tired sighs of the exhausted examiners as they watched the crowd clear out. "Thank goodness that's over," one of them groaned. "I'm tired of seeing the same dazed faces year after year." The others murmured in agreement.
As Ethan was about to leave, Miles with his confident confident swagger walked up to him. He had been among the group of recruits called earlier. "Hey, Ethan Morales." he said, extending a hand.
"Yes. You were incredible back there, the way you handled that written exam. I've never seen anyone finish that fast." Ethan said with a cold face and a faint smile on his lips.
Ethan shook his hand. "Thanks. You too. Your deductions on the practical were sharp. The written exam was a beast," Miles said, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "I was a bit worried I wouldn't make it. The final exam was a real test of our mettle, wasn't it?"
Ethan nodded, thinking about how they had teamed together and that made them finish the exam very quick, 'why do I feel his brain and looks doesn't match, the fist time I saw him I thought he would be dumb." He thought and replied, "It was... challenging, to say the least."
They talked for a few more minutes about the institution and Miles noticed Ethan cold, self-poised and egoistical behaviors. Ethan seemed ambitious and eager to prove himself. As a soft drizzle began to fall outside, Ethan looked at his watch. "Well, it's getting late. I've got to run. See you tomorrow morning, Corbane." He wondered off, stopping a taxi as they doomed off.
Miles watched him go, then began his own walk home, the drizzle turning into a steady rain. He pulled up his collar, grumbling to himself. He was now a detective, a fact that still felt completely surreal. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice a figure huddled under the awning of a building up ahead. As he got closer, he saw a girl, her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her face. She was crying, with no umbrella to shield her from the rain. It was the girl he had met before—katherine Vance.
Without thinking, he approached her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft.
She looked up, her eyes wide with shock and sadness. "..." she didn't reply and ignored him instead.
"You're soaking wet," he said, holding his coat over her head to offer some small protection. "Can I help? What's wrong? What's your name?"
"Kath...," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My name is....." She was unable to complete her name and she said impulsively, "does it even matter, why are you even being nice to me?" She scoffed and said nothing else. The tears continued to fall, mixing with the raindrops on her cheeks.
Before he could help her stand, she pushed past him and began to run, her sobs echoing in the empty street. He called her abbreviated name since it was the only thing he caught on, but she was already gone, her form unsteady as she stumbled down the road.
Miles started to follow her, but the drizzle suddenly turned into a heavy downpour, making it impossible to see through the curtains of rain. The darkness of the 9 o'clock evening only made it worse. He sighed in frustration, his own clothes now soaked. There was nothing he could do. He turned and walked back, taking the route to his house.