In the scorching afternoon sun, Klein stepped out of his house. Because he had to walk all the way from Iron Cross Street to Welch's residence, he changed out of his formal attire, top hat, and leather boots, and opted for a linen shirt, worn-out brown coat, matching round-brimmed felt hat, and old leather shoes to avoid sweating and ruining his expensive outfit.
As he strolled along Narcissus Street, he made his way to Iron Cross Street. Passing by the corner square, he instinctively glanced at it. The tents that once stood there had vanished, the circus that had performed earlier had long departed.
Klein had imagined that the animal tamer who had helped him with his divination was a hidden powerhouse, someone who had discovered his uniqueness and was guiding him intentionally. He thought there would be more encounters and hints to follow. However, nothing had happened, and she had left with the circus to embark on their next journey.
You can't always rely on such schemes... Klein chuckled to himself, shaking his head, and turned towards Iron Cross Street.
Iron Cross Street wasn't just one street; it was formed by the intersection of two roads. With the crossroads as the core, it was divided into Left Street, Right Street, Up Street, and Down Street. Klein, Benson, and Melissa had lived in an apartment located on Down Street.
However, neither the residents of the apartment nor the surrounding people considered the area as Down Street; they had coined the term "Middle Street" to differentiate it from the impoverished gathering area two hundred meters away.
In that area, a single bedroom might accommodate five, six, or even ten people.
Walking along Left Street, Klein's thoughts drifted. He recalled the Antigonus Family's notebook, its mysterious disappearance, the attention of the Nightwatcher, and the subsequent bloodshed. His mood gradually became heavy, and his face darkened.
At that moment, a familiar voice reached his ears.
"Little Klein."
Hmm... Klein turned his head in confusion and found himself standing at the entrance of "Slim Bakery." Mrs. Wendy, with her gray-white hair, was smiling warmly and waving to him.
"You don't look very... cheerful," Mrs. Wendy spoke gently.
Klein rubbed his face and replied, "A little."
"No matter how many troubles you have, tomorrow will still come," Mrs. Wendy smiled, "Come, try the sweet iced tea I've just made. I don't know if it suits the locals' taste."
"Locals? Aren't you yourself a local, Mrs. Slim?" Klein chuckled and shook his head.
"You guessed it right. I'm actually from the South. I came to Tingen with my husband over forty years ago. Oh, that was before Benson was born, before your parents even knew each other."
"I've always had a bit of trouble getting used to the northern food style. I always miss the food from my hometown: pork sausages, potato bread, grilled pancakes, fried vegetables with lard, and especially sweet iced tea..."
Klein smiled as he listened, "Mrs. Slim, that's quite a mouth-watering topic... But I do feel much better now, thank you."
"Food has a way of healing sadness," Wendy handed Klein a cup of reddish-brown liquid, "This is sweet iced tea I made from memory. Try it and see if it's good."
After thanking Mrs. Slim, Klein took a sip and found the drink somewhat reminiscent of iced tea on Earth, but less intense and with a stronger tea flavor, refreshing enough to dispel the scorching heat of the sun.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed.
"I'm glad to hear that," Mrs. Slim smiled, her eyes squinting with warmth, as she watched Klein finish the cup of sweet iced tea.
After chatting with Mrs. Slim about moving into her new house for a while, Klein returned to the most familiar street.
In the afternoon, there were fewer street vendors here, and they wouldn't gather again until half past five. Those remaining looked tired and listless.
As he turned into the street, Klein suddenly felt inexplicably gloomy, experiencing a sense of oppression, low spirits, and darkness.
What's going on? He keenly sensed something wrong with himself and paused, looking around, but he didn't see anything strange.
After some thought, Klein raised his hand and lightly tapped his forehead as if pondering.
Instantly, there was a change in his line of sight, and the aura of the street vendors and a few pedestrians appeared before him.
Before Klein could examine their healthy colors, he was drawn to the intense dimness that symbolized their emotions.
Unable to discern the specific thoughts of the observers, Klein couldn't help but be struck by the impression of pessimism, numbness, and melancholy.
Looking around, he found that the nearby area was shrouded in this gloomy tone, which even sunlight couldn't dispel.
This was the accumulation of depression over who knows how many days, months, or years.
Seeing this, Klein suddenly understood the reason.
As Old Neil had said, activating his clairvoyance made him uncomfortable in unfamiliar environments, and he was easily influenced by others' emotions.
The same principle applied to his "inspiration" ability—a passive and involuntary perception that allowed him to directly sense abnormal situations.
Such perceptions inevitably involved a certain degree of interaction, so in the eyes of those like "clairvoyants," the strength of everyone's inspiration was so obvious, like torches in the dark. Therefore, highly inspired people would naturally be easily influenced by strong and abnormal atmospheres, and could only grasp, control, and adapt through repeated practice.
"These oppressive 'tones' probably took a long time to form, right?" Klein sighed, feeling moved.
He tapped his forehead twice again, trying hard to restrain his spiritual power.
Tap, tap, tap—Klein walked step by step towards the apartment, sensing other possible anomalies and subtle connections, in search of the Antigonus Family notebook hidden by "himself."
The street was as dirty as usual, with sewage and garbage, until he reached the doorstep of the apartment, where it became cleaner.
Klein pushed open the half-closed gate and, in the darkness untouched by sunlight, circled the ground floor.
He ascended the stairs step by step, causing the wooden staircase to creak.
The second floor was as dark as ever, and Klein indulged his "inspiration," gazing into the dimness.
However, he not only failed to find any clues to the notebook but also didn't see any invisible spirits.
"If they were so easy to encounter, most ordinary people wouldn't fail to notice extraordinary things..." Klein sighed to himself.
He had already understood that most "spirits" did not exist in the form of spirits but as spirituality. Effective communication could only be achieved by "clairvoyants."
After circling the third floor, Klein left the apartment and walked towards Welch's residence along the path in his memory.
He walked for a full hour but still found nothing along the way.
Standing outside the garden villa, Klein looked at the house through the tightly locked iron gate and muttered to himself:
"I probably don't need to look for the Welch family, right? The captain and Miss Dailis must have searched it thoroughly... And I don't have the key to this place. I can't just climb over the wall..."
Tomorrow, I shall opt for an alternative route to explore..."
"Despite covering so much ground today, there seems to be no leaderboard for steps taken..."
Amidst these musings, Klaine turned back towards the nearby neighborhood, intending to take a public carriage to the Blackthorn Security Company. There, he would retrieve his thirty rounds of bullets and devote himself to practice.
The "diviner" lacked swift and efficient means of attack, having only a revolver and a cane to compensate!
The area near Welch's residence was notably tidy, with many clean and well-lit shops lining the streets.
Upon turning the corner, Klaine was about to seek out the public carriage stop when his gaze suddenly fell upon several signs on the opposite second floor:
"Harold Department Store."
"Veterans Club."
"Diviner's Club."
...
The Diviner's Club... Klaine silently repeated the name to himself, suddenly reminded of his task to "play" the role of a diviner.
Hmm, I might as well go take a look... explore some new ideas...
Amidst a flurry of thoughts, Klaine crossed the street, arrived at the opposite building, ascended to the second floor, and entered the lobby, standing before the receptionist, a lady with chestnut hair elegantly coiled atop her head.
The lady, with her chestnut hair elegantly coiled atop her head, cast a glance at Klaine and smiled, saying, "Sir, are you here for a divination, or to join our club?"
"What are the requirements for joining?" Klaine asked casually.
The lady, with her chestnut hair elegantly coiled atop her head, explained familiarly, "Fill out detailed information, pay the membership fee—5 pounds for the first time, and 1 pound annually thereafter. Rest assured, unlike those political or commercial clubs, we do not require formal recommendations from existing members to join."
"Members can freely use the club's meeting rooms and various divination chambers, as well as enjoy complimentary coffee, tea, newspapers, and magazines provided by us. They can also purchase lunch, dinner, alcoholic beverages, as well as some divination materials and textbooks at cost price."
"In addition, we invite at least one renowned diviner every month to give lectures and answer questions."
"Most importantly, you'll find a group of like-minded friends here with whom you can exchange experiences."
Sounds good, but... alas, I'm short on funds... Klaine chuckled self-deprecatingly, then inquired, "What if I wish to have a divination?"