The golden afternoon light softened the room as Caine looked into Melissa's eyes, suddenly at a loss for words, since all his prepared lines fell flat. He cleared his throat and thought quickly: "Melissa, this isn't just a waste of salary. Suppose Bensin and my colleagues come to visit—should we entertain them in a place like this? When I marry Bensin and have a wife, will we still have to sleep in separate beds? You haven't even met your fiancée yet, have you? Why not wait a little longer and save up more money?" Melissa spoke with clear logic. "No, Melissa," Caine said, growing increasingly frustrated, "this is a social rule. Since we earn three pounds a week, we must have a standard of living that matches it." To be honest, having once lived in a shared apartment, he was completely accustomed to his current living conditions—familiar and comfortable. Yet precisely because of that experience, he now better understood the inconveniences such environments posed for young women. His aspiration was to become extraordinary, studying esoteric disciplines and seeking the path home; in the future, he would surely conduct magical rituals in his own home. With so many residents and diverse voices in an apartment building, things were bound to go awry. Seeing Melissa still wanted to add more, Kline quickly supplemented: "Rest assured, I'm not considering a detached house—I'm looking at townhouses. Above all, I need my own bathroom. Also, I really enjoy the bread from Mrs. Slin, the tangerine scones, and the lemon cake. So, we should prioritize areas close to the Iron Cross Street and Narcissus Street." Melissa pressed her lips slightly, remained silent for a moment, then slowly nodded. "And I'm not in a hurry to move—I'll have to wait for Benson to return." "Klein smiled and said, 'Otherwise, when he opens the door, he'll be utterly stunned and surprised, asking, "Where are my things? My siblings? My home? Is this even my home? Did I get lost somewhere? Goddess, please tell me this isn't just a dream—how could I have been gone for just a few days and come back to find my home gone entirely!"' He mimicked Bensen's tone, and Melissa couldn't help but smile, her cheeks gently dimpling with warmth. 'No, Mr. Fleranc will always be waiting at the door, insisting that Bensen hand over the apartment key—Bensen simply won't make it up the stairs at all,' the girl gently teased, making a jab at the landlord's frugality. At the Moretti household, it was a well-established tradition to use Mr. Franchi as the recurring subject of jokes—something that had been started by his eldest brother, Bensen. 'Exactly—he'd never change the locks just for the sake of future tenants,' Klein added with a smile, pointing toward the door, and with a touch of charm, he asked, 'Miss Melissa, shall we go to Silver Crown Restaurant to celebrate?' Melissa sighed slightly. "Klein, do you know Selena? My classmate, my friend." A red-haired girl with deep brown eyes immediately came to Klein's mind—a girl whose parents were devoted followers of the Night Goddess, and who had been blessed with the name of Saint Selena. She was just under sixteen, half a year younger than Melissa, cheerful, outgoing, and vibrant. "Yeah," Klein nodded, remembering Selena Wood. Her brother, Chris, is a transactional lawyer and currently earns close to three pounds a week. He is engaged to a woman who works part-time as a typist. "Melissa first described the situation, then added, 'They've been engaged for over four years. To secure a stable, solid life after marriage, they've been saving money right up to now—still haven't married yet, planning to wait at least another year. According to Selena, people like her brother usually don't marry until after age twenty-eight. You need to plan ahead, save diligently, and avoid wasting resources." Just a dinner at a restaurant—does it really require so many principles?...Cline listened, unsure whether to cry or laugh. After a few seconds, he said, "Melissa, I already earn three pounds a week, and my salary will increase annually. You don't need to worry about that." "But we should still save for unforeseen circumstances—like that security company suddenly going out of business. I know a classmate whose family's financial situation collapsed when her father's company went bankrupt, forcing her to take temporary jobs at the docks and eventually leading her to drop out of college." Melissa spoke seriously to her brother. …Caine reached up and covered his face: "That security company—well, it has ties to the government. It wouldn't just close down casually." "But the government itself isn't stable either. After every election, if the political parties change, most positions are replaced, and everything ends up in chaos." Melissa persisted firmly. …Sister, you know so much! Caine shook his head, both amused and exasperated: "Very well..." "I'll prepare a soup with the remaining ingredients from yesterday. You go out and buy a pan-seared fish, a piece of beef brushed with black pepper sauce, a small jar of cream, and bring me a glass of ginger beer—let's just celebrate a little." These were the foods regularly sold by the street vendors on the Iron Cross Street. A pan-seared fish cost six to eight pence, a reasonably sized piece of black pepper beef five pence, a glass of ginger beer one pence, and a small jar of cream—about a quarter pound—costing four pence. To buy a full pound of cream would require one shilling and three pence. The original owner always took charge of purchasing groceries during holidays and was thus familiar with prices. Klein mentally calculated for a few seconds and arrived at an estimate of roughly one souler and six pence, then promptly withdrew two one-souler bills. "Alright," Melissa no longer objected. She set down her school supplies bag and accepted the bills. Watching her sister carry out the cream jars and food bowls, moving briskly toward the door, Klein paused and called after her: "Melissa, could you buy some fruit with the remaining money?" Many vendors on Iron Cross Street sourced fruits that were of lower quality or had been stored for too long, and the locals accepted this without complaint, as the prices were very affordable—just enough to trim off the spoiled parts at home and enjoy the fruit as a pleasant, budget-friendly treat. As he spoke, Klein hurried over and pulled out the remaining copper pence from his pocket, placing them gently into his sister's palm. "Ah?" Melissa looked at her brother with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Cain stepped back slightly, smiled gently: "Remember to go to Mrs. Slin and treat yourself to a small piece of lemon cake." "...?" Melissa opened her mouth, blinked several times, and finally managed only one word: "Good." She turned quickly, pulled the door shut, and hurried down the stairs. The calls grew closer, two rowing boats rushing down from upstream on the Hoy River, their wooden oars moving in neat, rhythmic strokes. This was the rowing sport popular among all universities in the Kingdom of Roon—given that Cline's family, reliant on scholarships to afford his university education, had participated in the Hoy University rowing club alongside people like Welch, and had developed a strong command of the craft. "How young they all are," Cline murmured, pausing to gaze at them. In just one week, this scene would no longer exist, as the university would begin its summer break. Following a tree-lined path, he reached the gray three-story brick building, registered smoothly, and promptly found the office where he had been previously greeted. Knock. Knock. Knock. He lightly tapped the slightly ajar door with his fingers. "Come in," a male voice called from within. The middle-aged lecturer, dressed in a white shirt and black tailcoat, frowned slightly as Cline entered. "The interview is still one hour away," he said. "Mr. Stone, do you remember me? Klein Moretti, a student of Professor Cohen—have you read my recommendation letter?" Klein smiled and removed his hat. Harvin Stone ran a hand over his dark beard, puzzled. "Is there something I can help you with? I'm not in charge of the interviews." "Yes, actually, I've already secured a position, so I won't be attending the interview today." Klein stated plainly. "Ah, I see." Harvin Stone understood, stood up, and extended his right hand. "Congratulations—what a polite young man. I'll be sure to let Professor and Professor Cohen know." Klein shook hands with him, intending to exchange a few pleasantries before leaving, when suddenly a familiar voice came from behind: "Moretti, have you found another position?" Klein turned around and saw an elderly man with silver hair, a deeply defined yet relatively smooth complexion. His eyes were sunken, with deep blue irises, and he wore a crisp black tailcoat. "Good morning, Professor, Mr. Azk," he bowed promptly, "How is it that you're here?" The man was the senior associate professor of history at Hoy University—his own mentor, Quentin Cohen—and standing beside Cohen was a middle-aged man of medium build with bronze skin. He held a newspaper, wore a hat, had no mustache, and possessed dark brown eyes and a gentle facial structure. There was a quiet, indescribable weariness in his eyes. A small black mole, barely noticeable upon close inspection, was located just below his right ear. Klein recognized him—he was a frequent collaborator with Professor Azk of the History Department at Hoy University. Though they often disagreed and clashed over their viewpoints, they actually shared a strong personal friendship, which explained their frequent tendency to chat together. Kohn nodded, speaking in a calm tone: "I'm attending an academic conference with Azk. What job did you find?" "A security company specializing in the discovery, collection, and preservation of historical artifacts. They need professional consultants at three pounds per week." Klein repeated what he had told his sister the day before, then added, "As you know, I enjoy exploring history rather than summarizing it." Kohn gave a gentle nod. "Everyone has their own preferences. I'm satisfied that you remembered to inform them at the University of Tübingen rather than simply missing the event." At that moment, Azk interjected: "Klein, do you know what's happened to Welch and Naya? I saw in the newspaper that they were killed in a home invasion." Had the case become a home invasion? And had it already made it onto the newspaper so quickly? Klein paused, carefully choosing his words: "I'm not entirely clear on the specifics. Previously, Welch obtained a set of notes from the Antigonos family of the Fourth Dynasty of the Solomon Empire and asked me to help interpret them. I spent a few days working on them, but then I became busy looking for a job, and actually, the police came to see me just a couple of days ago." Intentionally revealing the names "Solomon Empire" and "Antigonos family," he hoped the two history professors might recognize them. "The Fourth Dynasty..." Cohen furrowed his brow and murmured.