"Who?" While克莱恩 was pondering the enigmatic suicide of the original owner and the potential unknown perils he might have faced, he instinctively opened the drawer, pulled out the revolver, and asked with cautious alertness. Outside, there was a moment of quiet, followed by a slightly sharp voice speaking in the Ahová dialect: "I, Mountbatten, Bev Mountbatten." The voice paused and added: "Police." Bev Mountbatten... as soon as the name entered his ears,克莱恩 immediately recalled the person it represented. He was one of the officers responsible for the neighborhood where the apartment stood—a robust, rough-and-tumble man who loved to get his hands dirty, perhaps the only one capable of holding his own against the drunks, petty thieves, crooks, and hoodlums. His distinctive voice was one of his defining traits. "Right away!"克莱恩 replied loudly. He had intended to return the revolver to the drawer, but considering that the outside police were there for some unknown reason and might carry out searches or other actions, he carefully walked over to the stove, where the embers had long since gone out, and placed the gun inside. Then, he picked up the coal basket, shook a few pieces into the stove, covering the gun, and finally placed the kettle on top, concealing everything. After completing this, he straightened his clothes and briskly approached the door, opening it while murmuring, "Sorry, I was just taking a nap." Standing outside were four police officers dressed in black with white checks, wearing soft caps bearing badges. Bech Montbatten, with a warm, golden beard, cleared his throat and addressed Cline, "These three officers have some questions for you." Officer? Cline instinctively glanced at the shoulder epaulettes of the other three, noticing two with three silver hexagonal stars and one with two—both appearing more senior than Bech Montbatten, who had only three V-shaped insignia. As a history major, Klein had little familiarity with police rank insignia, knowing only that Beckett Monboddo often boasted about being a senior superintendent. So, were these three inspectors? Influenced by the conversations of his classmates, Benson and Welch, Klein still retained some basic knowledge. He stepped aside and gestured toward the room. "Please come in. What seems to be the matter?" The officer was in his thirties, with a straight nose and gray eyes that conveyed an indescribable depth—like a quiet lake deep within an ancient, little-known forest. Cain took a deep breath and composed himself: "If you're referring to Welch McGowan, a graduate of Hoy University from Conston, I'm certain I know him. We were classmates, under the same advisor, Professor Quentin Cohen, the senior associate professor." In the Kingdom of Roon, "professor" is not merely a title but also a position—akin to the fusion of a professor and department head on Earth. Thus, each university department can have only one professor, and an associate professor must wait either for their superior to retire or for them to outperform and displace that superior. Given the need to retain talent, after years of exploration, the King's Commission for Higher Education has introduced the title of Senior Associate Professor within its three-tier system of Lecturer, Associate Professor, and Professor, recognizing women and men who demonstrate high academic achievement or substantial experience but are still not eligible for full Professorship. At this point, Klein glanced at the middle-aged officer and paused for a moment before saying: "Frankly, our relationship has been quite good. Recently, I've been meeting regularly with him and with Naya, discussing and interpreting the 'Fourth Age' documents he's been working on. Officer, what exactly happened?" The middle-aged officer didn't respond immediately; instead, he turned to look at his gray-eyed colleague. The gray-eyed officer, wearing a badge and a soft hat, spoke calmly: "Unfortunately, Mr. Welch has passed away." "Really?" Though he had a sense of it, Klein still couldn't help but exclaim in surprise. Did Welch pass away just like the original body? That was truly unsettling. "And what about Naya?" "Klein hurried to ask, "Did Lady Naya also pass away?" The gray-eyed officer spoke with remarkable composure, "Yes, both of them died at Mr. Welch's residence." "Murdered?" Klein had a vague sense of what might have happened. Perhaps suicide... The gray-eyed officer shook her head, "No, from the scene evidence, it was suicide. Mr. Welch struck his head against the wall repeatedly, bleeding heavily, leaving a trail of blood across the wall. As for Lady Naya, she drowned herself in a basin—yes, the kind used for facial washing." "That can't be possible..." Klein listened intently, his hairs standing on end as if he could almost visualize the eerie scene. The girl knelt on the chair, her face buried in the basin filled with water, her brown hair flowing smoothly down her back, swaying gently with the breeze, yet her entire body remained still. Welch lay on the ground, his eyes fixed intently on the ceiling, his forehead completely shattered, streaked with blood, and the walls bore numerous impact marks, each dripping with fresh blood. The gray-eyed officer nodded slightly, saying, "We've come to the same conclusion. However, the autopsy reports and the scene evidence rule out the influence of medication or external forces—there's no sign of resistance from either of them. I mean, neither Mr. Welch nor Ms. Naya showed any signs of struggle." Without waiting for Caine to speak again, he stepped into the room, casually asking, "When was the last time you saw Mr. Welch or Ms. Naya?" As he spoke, he glanced toward his companion, who had two silver stars on his uniform. That was a young officer, about the same age as Caine, with black hair and green eyes, well-featured, carrying a certain poetic charm. Upon hearing the question, Caine's thoughts raced as he pondered his response: "It should be June 26th. We jointly interpreted a new entry in our notes, after which I returned home to prepare for the interview on the 30th—specifically, the history department interview at Tübingen University." Tübingen is known as the city of universities, home to Tübingen and Höh university, as well as technical schools, a law school, and a business school, ranking second only to the capital, Beckland. Klein had intended to question him like this, but after giving it some thought, he realized that the judicial system of the Kingdom of Roon hadn't yet evolved to include a warrant system—at least, he wasn't sure whether it had. After all, the police force itself had only been established for about fifteen or sixteen years. Back when the original owner was a child, the position was still called "Constable." Klein couldn't stop himself as the young officer swiftly flipped through "his own notes," and the gray-eyed officer didn't ask any further questions. "What on earth is this strange thing?" the young officer exclaimed, flipping to the end. "And what does this mean—'Everyone will die, including me'?" Didn't everyone, except the gods, eventually die? Klein had been ready to offer a defense, but then it struck him—he had, in fact, planned to establish a connection with the police, as a precaution against potential dangers—just lacked a solid reason or excuse. In less than a second, he had made his decision, pressing his hands to his forehead and answering with evident pain: "I don't know. I really don't know... Since I woke up this morning, I've felt off—like I've been missing something, especially regarding recent events. I'm even unsure why I'm writing this very sentence." "Perhaps it's truly possible," the gray-eyed officer said slowly. What? Did he just believe that? Even克莱恩 himself was astonished. The gray-eyed officer smiled and looked at him. "A specialist will be coming in a couple of days. Believe me, she should be able to help you recover the memories you've lost." A specialist? To help with memory recall? In psychology?克莱恩 furrowed his brows. Gasp—what if she ends up uncovering all my memories from Earth? Suddenly, he felt a toothache. The young officer put down his notes, went through the desk and the room thoroughly, fortunately focusing on books and not checking the water pitcher. "Alright, Mr. Klein, thank you for your cooperation. For the next few days, you'd best stay in Tingen. If you must leave, please notify Officer Monbatton; otherwise, you'll be considered a fugitive." The gray-eyed officer concluded with that. Is that it? Is today the end of the story? No further questions? No deeper investigation? No bringing me back to the station for questioning?克莱恩 felt utterly bewildered. Yet, he also wished to resolve the odd incidents brought by Welch, so he nodded: "No problem." The officers filed out one by one, and the younger one at the end suddenly gave克莱恩 a firm pat on the shoulder: "Good. Truly fortunate." "What?"克莱恩 looked utterly puzzled. The green-eyed officer, with a poet's grace, smiled gently: "Usually, in such cases, all the involved parties perish." "We're truly glad—and fortunate—that you're still alive." With that, he stepped out of the room, closing the door with a graceful touch. All perish? Glad that I'm still alive? Truly fortunate that I'm still alive? In this afternoon of June,克莱恩 shivered all over.