"Mass hysteria?" Sir Dewey munched thoughtfully on the term provided by Klein. His butler, his bodyguard, and his servants—though deeply curious—had remained silent, not having spoken a word without his permission. Only Chief Inspector Gatt had looked at Klein with a look of genuine bewilderment, as though he had never heard of such a phenomenon before. Klein managed to suppress the habitual gesture of lightly tapping his finger against the sofa arm, and explained calmly and deliberately: "Humans are remarkably prone to being deceived by their own senses. Mass hysteria is a psychosomatic condition arising from mutual influence among individuals within a group, driven by factors such as psychological stress." The succession of technical terms left Sir Dewey and Chief Inspector Gatt momentarily puzzled, and they instinctively trusted what Klein said. "Let me give a simple example—a case I've handled before. A gentleman hosted a dinner for thirty-five guests. During the meal, he suddenly felt nauseous and vomited on the spot, followed by severe diarrhea. Once, twice, then three times—by then, he began to suspect food poisoning and informed his guests as he made his way to the hospital." "Over the next two hours, more than thirty of the thirty-five guests experienced diarrhea, and twenty-six of them vomited. They flooded the hospital's emergency room." "The doctors conducted thorough examinations and comparisons, concluding that the initial guest did not suffer from food poisoning. Instead, the cause was a combination of changing weather conditions and cold, strong liquor triggering gastrointestinal inflammation." "What was most surprising was that none of the guests who came to the hospital actually had food poisoning—none of them were truly ill." "This is what we call mass hysteria." De维尔 nodded slightly, impressed. "I see now—humans are indeed prone to deceiving themselves. That's why, as Emperor Roscel, he said, repetition of a lie a hundred times makes it the truth." "Officer, may I call you something? You're the most professional psychologist I've ever encountered." "Moretti, Inspector," said Klein, indicating his shoulder badge. "Your concerns have been addressed preliminarily. Now you may attempt to fall asleep. I'll check whether there are any further issues. If you have a good night's rest, we'll be leaving before you wake up." "Very well," said De维尔, rubbing his forehead, taking his cane, and stepping steadily up the stairs into his bedroom. Half an hour later, a carriage bearing the police insignia pulled away from the fountain at the entrance to Lord De维尔's estate. When Chief Officer Gatt got off halfway and returned to his station, it was then that Superintendent Toller turned to Cline, half-flattering, half-joking: "I thought you were truly a psychologist just now..." His words trailed off as he noticed the young man in the black-and-white checked uniform barely showing any expression—his eyes deep and intense, his mouth only slightly lifting: "I've just come across some experience in that field." Toller remained quiet until the carriage stopped outside No. 36 Zothlan Street. "Thank you for your help—Sir Devereux has finally overcome his distress and regained his sleep," he said, extending his hand to shake with Cline. "Please convey my thanks to Dunn." Cline nodded gently. "Certainly." He stepped up the stairs, one step at a time, back into the Black Thorns Security Company, and knocked on the door to enter Captain Dunn's office. "Resolved?" Dunn was waiting for his own lunch. "Resolved." Klein rubbed his forehead and said plainly, "The root of the problem lies in the lead production and porcelain factories under Sir Deville's name. Since their establishment, there have been numerous cases of lead poisoning resulting in death, and each such incident accumulates a growing resentment—transformed into residual spirit—within Sir Deville himself." "Normally, these wouldn't pose significant issues, at most causing people to have recurring nightmares," Dunning noted, having handled similar cases with considerable experience. Klein nodded slightly: "Indeed, that's the expected course of events. Unfortunately, however, Sir Deville once encountered a lead-poisoned female worker on the street. She had just fallen beside the road and, at that moment, he saw his family's crest. She also carried strong feelings of resentment, anxiety, and yearning. Only after Sir Deville provided her parents, siblings, and sister with a compensation of three hundred pounds did these emotions finally subside." "This is a societal issue, quite common in this age of steam and machinery," Dunne said, drawing on his pipe and inhaling deeply before sighing. "Weavers, for instance, constantly dampen their materials and thus themselves, frequently suffer from bronchial issues and joint ailments. In factories where dust is heavy, even without poisoning, respiratory problems accumulate over time. Now, we don’t need to discuss these—believe me, as the kingdom develops, they’ll all be resolved. Clary, shall we find a restaurant tonight and celebrate your official induction as a member?" "No problem, that's exactly what should be done," Dunning chuckled. "Then it's tomorrow night, at the old维尔 restaurant right next door—I'll have Rosan reserve a table." Taking the public carriage, Crane silently and unsteadily made his way back to the Narcissus Street, removed his coat, took off his hat, retrieved the leftovers from last night, warmed them slightly, and ate them with the last piece of oat bread, satisfying his hunger. Then he climbed to the second floor, hung up his clothes, and collapsed onto the bed. When he awoke, the watch had reached two fifteen in the afternoon, and the sun hung high, its light piercing through the clouds. Amidst this brilliant golden glow, Crane stood by his desk, gazing out through the bulging window at the pedestrians in worn and tattered clothing, watching them enter or leave the Iron Cross Street. Huff... he slowly exhaled, finally shedding his low mood. The journey must be made step by step, the sequence must be built layer by layer—everything had to be this way. He shook his head and sat down, beginning to summarize and organize the events of the past week, recounting the key points he had memorized to avoid any lapses or omissions. Two fifty-five. Above a hazy, boundless, pale, and silent mist rises a majestic temple, with an ancient, weathered bronze long table quietly placed. At the head of the table, in the high-backed chair, sits a man completely enveloped in a dense gray mist. Cain leans back against the chair's back, silently pondering for a while, then suddenly extends his hand, lightly touching the deep red stars symbolizing "Justice" and "The Hangman." ... Bekland, Queens District. Audrey lifts her skirts, moving lightly toward her bedroom. Suddenly, she feels a sense of awareness, turns her head, and gazes into the shadow of the balcony—where, as expected, she sees the golden-haired large dog, Susie, sitting quietly and observing. Audrey sighs silently, draws a red moon on her chest, then approaches, looking down upon Susie with a sense of superiority: "Susie, you're doing it wrong. You're eavesdropping. The audience should watch from their own place, openly and respectfully." The golden retriever lifted its head to gaze at the owner, gently swaying its tail in synchrony. After a few murmured words, Audrey didn't hesitate—she made her way back toward the bedroom. For those few seconds of opening and closing the door, she suddenly had a strange thought: "Could the Fool allow Susie to enter that mysterious space too? Then we'd have four members of the Tarot Circle—four extraordinary ones, all of them!" "But no, Susie can't speak at all. How would we even communicate with her? How would she express her thoughts? Woof! Woof! Pfft—why should I learn to bark here?" "The very image of such a scene feels quite odd… In the midst of a solemn, mystical gathering, suddenly dog barks emerge… The Fool will surely dismiss us right out of the Tarot Circle." Audrey locked the bedroom door and sat down by the bed, pulling out a yellow-brown, slightly faded sheet of paper from beneath the pillow. She read it over and over, gradually settling into the role of an observer. ……… The Sunia Sea, somewhere in the waters, the ancient sailing vessel chasing the "Listener" has now drifted far from the Rosd Islands. Captain Alder Wilson, concerned about potential inaccuracies in the ship's mechanical clock, arrived at the captain's quarters thirty minutes early—just in case something unexpected arose and was noticed by his crew. Before him stood a glass of nearly transparent liquor, its rich aroma seeping into his nostrils in delicate, continuous threads. Thinking of the gathering to come, of the boundless gray mist stretching before him along the hotel corridor and of the enigmatic Fool seated at its heart, Alder felt his body tremble once more. He lifted the glass, took a long swallow, and let the fiery warmth that surged through his throat ease the emotional weight within. Soon, he regained his composure—calm, steady, as always. PS: It's another Monday. An early update this morning.