Having experienced the academy's closure and witnessed the miracle of the Holy Light, only to find himself barred from the path of the charlatan, Lyle felt exhausted and even wanted to just collapse and sleep right there and then.
But he still forced his spirits up and lined up early at the bakery he often frequented.
To call it a bakery, though, was somewhat misleading; it was more like a relief station. The owner seemed to have no interest in running a business, selling the bread at prices far below the market average, though the quality was also atrociously poor.
But some taste unpleasantness doesn't affect one's ability to fill one's stomach, does it?
With his meager savings, he bought a loaf of black bread, which felt in his hand no different than a walking stick, and Lyle couldn't help but reminisce about his younger self who once attempted to gnaw on the black bread, and felt his teeth start to ache again.
The correct way to consume this food was to soak it in water to soften it, ideally paired with hot soup. Lyle was familiar with several forests in Cassandra where edible mushrooms could be found in the shadows, fortunately, the Aiffel Medical Academy's textbooks recorded relevant information, so he wouldn't poison himself to death.
Back home, he started boiling water to make soup, tearing the mushrooms into fine pieces and poking the bread directly into the pot, with one end sticking out high enough to serve as a ladle. Lyle lived plainly, without much concern for the finer things in life, and each expense cost him brain cells; he had no intention of finding fun in hardship and simply wished to work hard for a better future.
There seemed to be a bit of time before the meal was ready, and Lyle sat down at the only table in the house. Aside from a small space in front of him, the remainder was covered with medical books, notes, and papers scattered about.
In the past, he would have used such idle moments to review his lessons, but there was no need for that now. These vessels of knowledge would soon be deemed taboo and burned, just like the future he had planned, turned to ash.
Blubbling sounds came from the pot; the section of black bread soaking inside had begun to soften, finally allowing him to break it off smoothly. He put the rest back into the cupboard for future meals; the soup would need about ten more minutes of cooking before it could be eaten. But when eating, one had to chew slowly and carefully, for the bread often contained bits of wood shavings, and if not chewed thoroughly, the next moment could leave one with a throat painfully choked.
Hunger was beginning to set in, and Lyle focused intently on the boiling soup.
Until a knock at the door startled him.
These were not peaceful times; to Lyle's knowledge, there were no fewer than ten countries at war. Fortunately, Cassandra was well within the kingdom's interior, but petty theft was inevitable.
"Who's out there?" With no decent metal weapon at hand, Lyle grabbed the remaining breadstick.
A deep male voice came from outside the door. "It's me."
Threat averted.
That dispiriting voice sounded as if someone had splashed cold water on him, and Lyle was all too familiar with its owner.
Ralph Butler.
Lyle's cheap uncle, his father's brother. The two siblings did not get along well, so much so that they did not interact even though they lived in the same city. Lyle knew little about him, having first met him at his parents' funeral, which was when he had crossed over to this world.
With a face that resembled his cheap father by seven parts, a hunched back, and a perpetual death mask of a face as if everyone owed him money, his eyebrows were always furrowed together. After the funeral, he approached Lyle, who was alone, and said, "I am your uncle, Ralph Butler."
At that time, Lyle was assimilating the memories of his new body, in a daze. He silently observed this gloomy man, waiting for what came next.
"I am a constable in Cassandra."
Lyle remained silent.
Ralph remained silent.
Lyle remained silent.
"...Survive well."
The dialogue between uncle and nephew ceased.
It took a long while for Lyle to realize that this uncle, who seemed socially inept, was actually warm-hearted. Perhaps because of his brother's orphan, he realized there was no need for the estrangement to continue.
Lyle had seen him more than once outside the academy.
Whenever he saw Lyle approach, he would say to himself, "I'm on patrol," and then disappear from Lyle's sight.
All in all, their relationship was not too bad.
Lyle opened the door, and the man in a black uniform stood outside.
Ralph had a habit of speaking in half sentences.
"It's my patrol tonight. (So I came to check on you)"
"Hmm."
"The Aiffel Medical Academy has been closed. (What do you plan to do next?)"
"I haven't figured out what I want to do yet."
"... (...)"
"..."
"The sheriff needs a forensic scientist," the term 'forensic scientist' was something Lyle had brought up around Ralph, with some cases where the cause of death didn't readily surface, missing evidence, and the ambiguous phrasing by witnesses all posing hurdles in the investigation.
"What about the autopsy results?"
"Autopsy?"
"Is there no forensic scientist in the sheriff's department?"
"... (A forensic scientist?)"
Lyle then went into detail about the role of a forensic scientist.
"This is desecration of the dead. (That's not right.)"
"The dead aren't as important as the living."
"..."
It hadn't occurred to Lyle that Ralph would bring this up again, but now, he thought, it indeed presented a way out, albeit one that now seemed a bit unorthodox.
Medicine was taboo, desecrating corpses was taboo, and if discovered by the church, one might be burned at the stake.
"I'll give you an official sheriff position. (And you'll do the forensic work privately.)"
"..."
"The higher-ups don't want to rely too heavily on the church."
"?" You're a cop, how has the church crossed you?
"The murderer surrendered and explained his methods in detail. (The church made him do it.)"
My Holy Light, impressive, what's the need for the police then?
"Got it, mutual sympathy for shared misfortunes, one feels sorrow as though it were his own."
"... So, are you in?"
"I'm in! What's the pay like?"
"Standard compensation."
"Alright, I'll take it. At least I'll be a civil servant. I'll start tomorrow; do I need to prepare any documents? Is there an exam?"
"No need, there's already a case waiting for you."
"Hmm?"
"There's a body at the station now, cause of death unknown."
"Should I head there right now?"
Ralph glanced in the direction of the pot.
"It's not exactly urgent. (You can eat first.)"
"How about joining me for a bite?" Lyle pulled up his own chair, ready to serve a bowl for Ralph, feeling grateful for having his employment issue resolved and wanting to show his appreciation.
"I still have to patrol. (No thanks.)"
"When you go to the station to report in," Ralph said, pulling out a piece of letter paper from his pocket with his name written on it, likely a letter of introduction,
"hand this letter to Mr. Wilt, and he'll get you set up with work."
"Alright."
Ralph walked out of the door, his figure slowly swallowed by the darkness, then he came back again.
"Lyle."
"Did you forget something?" Lyle stood up.
"Remember to lock the door when you leave."
He came back just to say that; Lyle looked at the four bare walls illuminated by the flames and gave Ralph a smile, "Will do."
"Hmm."