Sis, couldn't you pick a less sensitive topic? Klein silently grumbled, feeling his head throb.
The original owner's forgotten knowledge wasn't vast, but it wasn't trivial either. The interview was just two days away; there was no way he could catch up…
Not to mention he was entangled in this eerie, terrifying situation — how could he possibly focus on "studying"?
After a few half-hearted replies to his sister, Klein pretended to read, while Melissa set up her chair nearby and started her homework by the light of the gas lamp.
The atmosphere was peaceful and comforting. By eleven, the siblings exchanged goodnights and went to bed.
…
"Who is it?"
Klein asked, still groggy as he woke up from his dreams. He glanced at the early morning light outside, rubbing his temples in confusion.
A deep, calm voice answered from the other side of the door. "It's me, Dunn Smith."
Dunn Smith? Klein didn't recognize the name but got out of bed and headed to the door, still disoriented. As he opened it, he found himself face-to-face with the gray-eyed officer from the previous day.
"Is something wrong?" Klein asked cautiously.
With a serious expression, Dunn Smith replied, "We found a carriage driver who confirmed that you went to Mr. Welch's residence on the 27th — the day he and Ms. Naya died. Mr. Welch even paid for your fare."
Klein was momentarily stunned but showed no hint of panic or guilt because, as it turned out, he hadn't lied. The gray-eyed officer's evidence fell in line with what he'd expected.
So, on June 27, the original owner of this body had indeed gone to Welch's residence and then returned home to take his own life later that same night, just like Welch and Naya.
Klein's mouth quirked into a bitter smile. "That's not exactly solid evidence, is it? It doesn't directly link me to their deaths. Frankly, I'd like to understand what happened to my two unfortunate friends as much as anyone. But… I truly don't remember. I have almost no memory of what I did on the 27th. This may sound hard to believe, but it's only by reading my notes that I could even guess I might have been to Welch's place that day."
"Not bad composure," observed Dunn Smith, nodding slightly, neither angry nor amused.
"I believe my sincerity should be apparent," Klein said, meeting Dunn's eyes directly.
What I'm saying is true — well, partly true, at least.
Dunn Smith didn't immediately respond, instead letting his gaze sweep the room before he slowly said, "Mr. Welch reported a missing revolver. I think I should be able to find it here, should I not, Mr. Klein?"
Just as I thought… Klein finally understood the origin of the revolver. His thoughts raced, and he made a decision in a flash.
He raised his hands slightly and took a step back, clearing a path, and gestured with his chin toward the bunk bed. "It's behind the lower bed's frame."
He didn't specify that it was on the lower bed; any sensible person would assume as much. It would be strange to hide something behind the top bed's frame, where it would be plainly visible to anyone visiting the room.
Dunn Smith remained still, his mouth twitching slightly as he asked, "Nothing you'd like to add?"
"Actually, yes," Klein replied without hesitation.
"In the middle of the night two days ago, I woke up at my desk with the revolver next to me, a spent bullet lying by the wall. It seemed like I'd attempted to take my own life but maybe lacked experience, didn't know how to use a gun, or perhaps just lost my nerve at the last moment. In any case, the bullet didn't have the intended effect, and my head remained intact, which is why I'm still alive today."
"And ever since then, I've had memory gaps, including the events of the 27th — what I did, what I saw at Welch's place. I'm telling the truth. I genuinely don't remember."
To clear his name and resolve the unsettling mystery clinging to him, Klein told nearly everything, holding back only the details of his transmigration and the "gathering."
He chose his words carefully, making sure they'd hold up under scrutiny. For instance, he didn't say that the bullet failed to strike his head, only that it hadn't achieved the "intended effect," leaving his head unscathed.
To an outside observer, these two statements might seem the same, but in reality, they were worlds apart.
Dunn, the gray-eyed officer, listened quietly, then spoke slowly:
"That fits the development I had anticipated, and aligns with the hidden logic of similar cases. Of course, I still don't know how you survived."
"Believe me, I don't know how I survived either," Klein said, breathing a slight sigh of relief.
"But," Dunn introduced a new point, "it's not enough for me to believe you. You're still highly suspect at the moment. You'll need confirmation from an 'expert' to verify that you truly lost those memories or that you weren't directly involved in the deaths of Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya."
He cleared his throat, his expression growing solemn.
"Mr. Klein, please cooperate with the investigation and come back with us to the police station. This will likely take two to three days, assuming you're found innocent."
"The expert's here already?" Klein asked in surprise.
Wasn't it supposed to be a couple of days?
"She arrived earlier than expected." Dunn gestured for Klein to step outside.
"Let me leave a note," Klein requested.
With Benson out on a business trip and Melissa at school, he needed to leave a message about his involvement in Welch's case so they wouldn't worry.
Dunn nodded indifferently. "Go ahead."
Klein returned to the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and began writing, thoughts churning about what lay ahead.
Truthfully, he was extremely reluctant to meet this expert, given the even larger secret he was hiding. In a world with seven major churches and, as it seemed, the precedent of the former "traveler" Roselle being assassinated, something like "transmigration" would surely lead him straight to a tribunal or an inquisitor's chamber.
But without weapons, combat skills, or any supernatural abilities, he'd stand no chance against professional officers. And from the shadows in the hallway, he could tell a few of Dunn's subordinates were standing by.
If they drew their guns and fired a volley, he'd be done for.
"Sigh… one step at a time." Klein left the note, grabbed his keys, and followed Dunn out of the room.
In the dim hallway, four black-and-white-uniformed officers were stationed on either side, on high alert.
Tap, tap, tap. Klein followed Dunn, stepping down the wooden stairs, occasionally hearing the creaking and groaning sounds.
Outside the apartment, a four-wheeled horse-drawn carriage waited, its sides bearing the police insignia of two crossed swords beneath a crown. The street outside was lively and bustling as usual, filled with the morning's chaotic energy.
"Get in," Dunn gestured for Klein to board.
Just as Klein was about to step forward, an oyster vendor nearby suddenly grabbed a customer, accusing him of theft. The two began to scuffle, startling the horse and throwing the area into chaos.
A chance!
Without thinking, Klein bent low and darted forward, disappearing into the crowd.
He pushed and dodged his way through, running madly toward the other end of the street.
In his current situation, avoiding a meeting with the expert meant his only option was to reach the docks outside the city, where he could take a boat down the Tasok River and escape to the capital, Backlund, where the sheer number of people would help him stay hidden.
Alternatively, he could try to hop onto a steam train, heading east to the nearby port of Enmat, and then take a sea route to Pritz before finally making his way to Backlund.
Soon, Klein reached a street corner and turned into Iron Cross Street, where several carriages were waiting for hire.
"To the docks outside the city," Klein said, hoisting himself onto one of the carriages.
His plan was clear: mislead any pursuing officers. Once the carriage got far enough away, he'd jump out and continue his escape on foot.
"Alright." The driver tugged at the reins, setting the carriage in motion.
Clip-clop, clip-clop. The carriage rolled away from Iron Cross Street.
Just as Klein was preparing to jump off, he suddenly realized that the carriage was turning onto a different path, not one leading out of the city!
"Where are you going?" Klein asked, momentarily stunned, blurting out the question.
"To Welch's residence..." the coachman replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
What? In shock, Klein watched as the coachman turned, revealing deep, cold, gray eyes—it was Officer Dunn Smith!
"You!" Klein's mind reeled, and he was struck with an intense dizziness, suddenly jolting upright.
Upright? Klein blinked, looking around in confusion, and found himself in his room, with the red moon casting a hazy, silky glow across the space.
He reached up and touched his forehead; it was damp and clammy, cold with sweat, and his back felt just the same.
"A nightmare…" Klein slowly exhaled. "Thank goodness, thank goodness…"
It struck him as strange how clear-headed he'd been in the dream, able to think calmly despite the eerie events.
After a moment to steady himself, Klein picked up his pocket watch, noting that it was only a little past two in the morning. Silently, he got out of bed, intending to go to the shared washroom to splash some water on his face—and to relieve the pressure in his bladder.
Opening his door quietly, Klein stepped into the dim hallway, his steps light as he moved toward the communal washroom under the faint, barely distinguishable moonlight.
Suddenly, he noticed a figure standing by the window at the end of the corridor.
The figure was dressed in a coat that was longer than a regular suit but shorter than a full robe, with an air that blended into the shadows,
The figure seemed partially merged with the darkness, bathed in the cold, crimson moonlight.
Slowly, the figure turned, revealing deep, gray eyes—cold, indifferent.
Dunn Smith!