Klein struggled to keep his expression neutral, adopting a tone of genuine curiosity as he asked, "What abilities does the 'Seer' have?"
"Your question isn't entirely accurate," Dunn Smith corrected him with a light smile, his gray eyes and face obscured in the shadow, hidden from the red moon's light. "It's more about what abilities one gains after drinking the Seer potion. Astrology, tarot card reading, pendulum dowsing, spirit vision—all sorts of techniques. Of course, it's not as if you'd immediately know or master them all after drinking the potion; it just grants you the potential and the capability to learn."
"Because it lacks direct combat abilities, well, as you might imagine, ritual magic requires extensive preparation, so it's not ideal for sudden confrontations. That said, the 'Seer' becomes more knowledgeable, even more specialized in the mystic arts than the 'Spectator.'"
It sounds like it meets my requirements… Klein pondered, though he hesitated about the lack of direct combat abilities and the church's likely shortage of higher Sequence formulas. The "Cathedral" Dunn referred to was probably the main sanctuary, the Tranquility Church... and lower Sequences' offensive skills might not surpass what a gun could offer.
Dunn saw Klein's contemplative silence and gave a soft chuckle. "Don't rush your choice. Let me know by Monday morning. Whether you choose to accept any of them or decide to wait, there'll be no judgment within the Night Watchers."
"Calm yourself and listen to your own heart."
With that, Dunn tipped his hat and, after a slight bow, walked past Klein and made his way toward the staircase.
Klein stayed quiet, giving no immediate answer, silently returning the gesture and watching him leave.
Although he'd long been yearning to become a Beyonder, the opportunity's sudden appearance stirred unexpected hesitation. The missing higher Sequences, the risks of a Beyonder's potential loss of control, the credibility of Emperor Roselle's diary, and the maddening whispers tempting one to fall—all swirled together like a bog, obscuring the path forward.
He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
"It's like filling out college applications for an average student…" he thought with a wry smile, trying to reel in his scattered thoughts. Opening his door quietly, he slipped back into his room and lay on his bed.
There, lying down and staring at the faint red hue tinting the underside of his brother's bed above him, Klein let his mind wander.
Outside, a drunkard staggered by, and somewhere in the distance, a carriage clattered down the empty streets. The night was as silent as it was vast, made all the more profound by these faint sounds.
As his emotions settled, Klein's mind drifted back to Earth. He thought of his father, always booming with enthusiasm, even when working out; his mother, who, despite her chronic illness, busied herself to look after him; the childhood friends he'd grown up with, sharing everything from football games to late-night video game marathons and even the occasional round of cards; and the face of the girl he had once failed to confess to, whose features were now faded in his memory… These thoughts were like a quiet river, flowing gently, with little turbulence, stirring only faint, melancholic ripples.
Perhaps one only learns to cherish what is lost. By the time the scarlet hues faded and golden light filled the sky, Klein had already made his decision.
…
He got up, washed his face in the communal washroom to refresh himself, and took a 1-soli bill to Mrs. Wendy's, where he spent 9 pence on 8 pounds of rye bread to replenish their staple from last night.
"The price of bread seems to be stabilizing…" Benson remarked over breakfast as he changed into his clothes.
It was Sunday, and both he and Melissa finally had a day off.
Already dressed in formal attire, Klein sat in his chair, skimming through yesterday's old newspapers. "There's an ad here for a rental property: No. 3 Wendell Street, Northern District. A two-story standalone house with six rooms, three washrooms, and two large balconies upstairs. Downstairs has a dining room, living room, kitchen, two guest rooms, and two washrooms, along with a basement storage room. Outside, there's a two-acre private lawn in the front and a small garden in the back. Available for a one, two, or three-year lease at 1 pound 6 soli per week. Interested parties should contact Mr. Gushev at 16 Champagne Street."
"That's something to aim for in the future," Benson said, adjusting his black top hat with a smile. "The rental prices listed in the papers are typically on the high side. The Tingen Housing Improvement Company offers similar options for less."
"Why not go to the Tingen Working-Class Housing Improvement Association?" Melissa asked, stepping out of her room wearing a patched but presentable light gray dress and holding her worn, veiled hat.
Benson laughed. "Who told you about the Tingen Working-Class Housing Improvement Association? Jenny? Mrs. Rochelle? Or perhaps your friend Selina?"
Melissa glanced away before quietly answering, "Mrs. Rochelle… We ran into each other at the washroom last night. She asked about Klein's interview, and I gave her a brief answer. She suggested we look into the Tingen Working-Class Housing Improvement Association."
Seeing Klein's equally puzzled expression, Benson shook his head with a smile. "That association is primarily aimed at the poor—well, to be precise, the lower class. The housing they provide is typically communal washroom-style and only offers three options: one-bedroom, two-bedroom, or three-bedroom apartments. Do you want to stay in a place like that?"
"The Tingen Housing Improvement Company has a similar mission but provides options for the lower-middle class as well. Honestly, we're slightly better off than the lower-middle class but not quite at the true middle class level. It's not a matter of salary—it's mainly that we haven't had enough time to build up our savings."
Klein nodded in understanding, folding the newspaper and picking up his hat as he stood. "Well, let's head out."
"I believe the Tingen Housing Improvement Company is on Daffodil Street," Benson said as he opened the door. "They and the Tingen Working-Class Housing Improvement Association both operate under what's called the 'Five Percent Philanthropy' model. Do you know why?"
"No," Klein replied, lifting his cane and walking next to Melissa.
Melissa, her long black hair flowing smoothly over her back, also shook her head.
Benson stepped outside and explained, "These housing improvement associations and companies were inspired by similar initiatives in Backlund. Their funding comes from three main sources: charitable donations, applications for low-interest loans at just four percent from government public works lenders, and business investments. By charging rent, they provide their investors with a five percent annual return, hence the name 'Five Percent Philanthropy.'"
Klein found himself at a loss for words, and Melissa seemed equally quiet. In silence, the three siblings made their way to Daffodil Street and located the Tingen City Housing Improvement Company.
They were greeted by a middle-aged man with a warm smile. Dressed simply in a white shirt and black vest, he wore no formal suit or hat.
"You can call me Skat. How can I help you today?" he asked, casting a glance at Klein's silver-capped cane, his smile growing friendlier.
Klein looked to Benson, the more eloquent one among them, signaling for him to respond.
Benson was straightforward. "We're interested in a row house."
Skat flipped through a few files and documents, his smile widening. "We currently have five available. I'll be honest, our primary aim is to assist those in genuine need, families where six, eight, or even twelve people are crammed into a single room. Row houses are limited. There's one on Daffodil Street, No. 2, another in the North District, and one in the East District… Weekly rent varies between 12 and 16 soli. You can take a look at the details."
He slid the documents toward Benson, Klein, and Melissa.
After skimming through them, the siblings exchanged glances, all pointing to the same spot on the page.
"We'd like to view the one at Daffodil Street, No. 2, first," Benson said, with Klein and Melissa nodding in agreement.
The area was, at least, somewhat familiar to them.