"Have you seen a boy around sixteen? Wearing an old coat!" One of the men who rushed into the carriage stared fiercely at the attendant. Kline caught a glimpse of the man—slender and well-built, with a complexion slightly darker than average, as if long accustomed to sun exposure, and his eye sockets noticeably sunken compared to the typical Roonish population. A highland native? Or of mixed heritage? He nodded thoughtfully. In the central region of the Northern Continent, at the beginning of the Honechis Mountains, lies a dry, highland plateau. Most of it belongs to the Feneport Kingdom, the western portion to the Centris Republic, and the eastern part to the Roon Kingdom. The indigenous people are lean, wild, and fiercely martial, having long been one of the kingdom's most persistent challenges. But with the evolution of gunpowder weapons and changes in warfare, these highland inhabitants have finally come to terms with reality and fully submitted. A large portion of them left the plateau and moved into Bekland, then into Trier, then into Feneport City, and eventually into the bustling cities and ports across the northern continent—some becoming workers, others joining the local crime families as fresh, bold newcomers, fearless and unafraid of confrontation. The attendant, a man in his twenties, slightly hunched forward upon hearing this, pointed toward the third-class carriages and said, "I saw him go that way." The leader, dressed in a black coat with a half-high hat, gave a barely perceptible nod, then led several companions with brisk strides toward the third-class carriages, completely disregarding the glances of the passengers around them. If I were that boy, I'd have already stepped down at the third-class carriage by now... Klein thought, gazing at his newspaper with a drifting stream of reflections. A few more minutes passed, and then the whistle sounded—softly—before the carriage doors began to close gently. Clang, clang— the steam subway began to accelerate from a slow pace. Yet at that very moment, Caine felt a sudden awareness, lifting his gaze toward the door leading to the other second-class carriages. Not simple...in terms of age...Klein murmured quietly, continuing to look down at his newspaper. The tall boy hadn't noticed that he had already been scrutinized by a remarkable individual and kept moving toward the third-class carriage. The journey that followed was steady and calm, and after twenty minutes, Klein reached one of the three subway stations in the Joewood district. He then waited for nearly ten more minutes in a hired carriage before finally arriving at Minsk Street, as described in the newspaper, and reaching number 17, the building adjacent to number 15, where he rang the doorbell. Tchuk, tchuk! As the sound of the bell echoed inside, a mechanical bird emerged from the door—though not particularly elegant in appearance, it was only palm-sized, composed of gears and parts, constantly nodding its head and emitting a sound resembling a cuckoo. A decent toy, just a bit rough in craftsmanship...Klein offered a fair assessment. A few seconds later, the dark doors swung open, and a young woman in a black-and-white maid's dress eyed Caine with cautious reserve. "May I ask what brings you here?" Caine smiled, lifting the newspaper wrapped around the top of his walking stick. "I'm looking for Mrs. Sumner to rent a house. I believe, it hasn't been rented yet?" The full name on the newspaper was Staline Sumner. "Not yet. Please wait a moment." The maid bowed politely. She hurried inside to inform the housekeeper, then returned a moment later, guiding Caine into the house and helping him place his walking stick and suitcase in the foyer, while hanging his coat and hat on the same coat rack. A warm breeze greeted him, dispelling the chill he had carried in. As he took in the room, he first noticed the uniquely designed fireplace, the red stones within it, and the smokeless wood logs burning steadily. The Summer family's living room was quite spacious, almost equaling the entire first floor of the Moretti house, with some areas adorned by decorative rugs and paintings of landscape scenes. The housemaid led Caine to the sofa area and greeted the hostess, who was wearing a light yellow dress: "Madam, the guest has arrived." The hostess was in her thirties, with golden hair and blue eyes, beautiful and well-groomed, holding a silver-framed court feather fan. Since it was at her own home and the fireplace provided a warm atmosphere, she was not wearing a high-necked dress. "Good evening, Madam Summer," Caine said, bowing slightly while placing his hand on his chest. Madam Summer responded with a composed smile. "Good evening, please sit. Would you like coffee or tea?" Caine settled into the armchair and replied calmly. "Tea, thank you." "Julian, please bring the Earl of Moretti's tea," Madam Summer instructed the housemaid, then glanced at Caine and asked, "How shall I address you?" "Sherlock Moriarty, you can call me Sherlock." Craine had already decided on his alias. At that moment, he smelled the aroma coming from the kitchen and noticed the intricate piping there. "Oh, that's my husband's design. Though his official role is as manager at Coym Company, he's also a mechanical enthusiast and a member of the Kingdom's Coal Smoke Emission Reduction Association." Mrs. Summer noticed Craine's gaze and smiled warmly, offering the explanation. "Mrs. Summer, I don't need such a detailed introduction—after all, I'm not here to meet your husband." Craine made a light comment, maintaining his smile as he continued, "Mrs. Summer, I would like to rent the house at number 15." "Mrs. Summer stood straight, with a graceful posture, and smiled warmly, saying, 'Then I must remind you of a few things in advance. The house on the 15th doesn't have such piping, such a comfortable armchair, a card table, a dining cabinet with cherry wood bases, fine ceramic plates, silver cutlery, gold-embossed tea sets, or removable carpets...' She pointed to each item in her own home, introducing them one by one, and concluded, 'It originally belonged to my sister and her husband. However, my brother-in-law's business failed, and they had to move to the southern continent. They still own a plantation in Byran, but I don't agree with their choice—it's unfair to my dear nieces and nephews. There, there are no good grammar schools, not even good private tutors.' 'Madam, none of these matters to me...' Mr. Cline nodded sincerely. 'Besides the weather, no place on the southern continent compares to Beckland.' "His agreement pleased Mrs. Summerell, who glanced at him and said, 'The house has three years left on its lease. I would like you to pay one year's rent in full—18 sou per week for rent, and 1 sou for furniture usage. I'll take only a small deposit, totaling 50 pounds.' Craine shook his head and smiled. 'Mrs. Summerell, you must have noticed that I've just arrived in Beckland. I don't yet know what lies ahead. Paying 50 pounds all at once would weaken my ability to manage risks. My maximum is six months, 25 pounds.' He also intends to rent a one-bedroom apartment in the eastern district of Beckland for changing clothes and to create a new identity, to escape tracking—this is an essential part of the preparations he plans to make. Mrs. Summerell nodded gently and then asked, 'Have you attended a grammar school?' Craine smiled lightly. 'Yes, and later I studied history on my own.' 'Do you have any official identification?" "Staline casually asked. "I'm sorry—I was in such a hurry to leave home that I forgot to bring it. Oh, by the way, I haven't introduced myself yet—I'm from the County of Jianhai." Kline deliberately used the accent that his classmate Welch usually employed. As he spoke the word "forgot," he thought of Captain Dunn Smith, and his smile grew even brighter. At that moment, the housemaid Julian brought a cup of tea to the table. The cup was white-glazed, with classical patterns, and some areas gilded in gold. Kline took a sip and immediately noticed the deep, lingering aroma and the well-balanced acidity and sweetness—clearly superior to the regular Sibei tea he usually drank. "A truly pure and authentic Marquis tea," he remarked with flawless precision. Mrs. Staline Summer smiled slightly. "Then let's rent it for six months—twenty-five pounds." Kline thanked her and chatted casually for a few minutes until another housemaid retrieved the standard lease agreement from the study. After signing their names, Caine painfully counted out twenty-five pounds in cash and handed it to Mrs. Summer. Staline spread her hands and went through the amount mentally, then raised her chin slightly. "Mr. Moriaty, aren't you looking for work in Beckland?" "Yes," Caine replied, somewhat茫然. Staline gave a slight smile. "Then I can offer you a few suggestions. With a weekly salary below three pounds, it's quite difficult to live in the Joewood district. Your rent, food, water, gas, wood, coal, and transportation expenses alone add up to at least two pounds and five shillings. Believe me, that's already the cost of living in Beckland. You'll also need to account for new clothes and quality tableware and tea sets—so a weekly salary of three pounds is barely sufficient." "If your weekly salary reaches five pounds, you can hire a housemaid; at six, you can engage a chef; at seven, a male servant; and at eight, you can add another housemaid..." Mrs. Summer said, and I thought she was showing off. I used to earn ten pounds weekly myself. Klein maintained a smile, listening attentively. At that moment, the door suddenly opened, and a tall man entered, dressed in a black double-breasted dinner suit, wearing matching leather gloves and sporting a neat pair of mustaches. "Luke, this is Mr. Moriaty, who has now become our neighbor," said Stella Summer, stepping forward to introduce him. Clearly the head of the household, Luke removed his coat, handing it to the servant following behind, and smiled politely, "Mr. Moriaty, would you care to join us for dinner?" "This is the manager of Coym Company, a member of the Ruin Kingdom's Coal Smoke Emission Association... Clain smiled gently. "I'm sorry, Mr. Summer, I had lunch on the steam train—though the flavor left a lasting impression." After a few pleasantries, Clain, guided by the maid Julian, left the Summer household and entered the adjacent No. 15. After a few weeks of settling in, Caine finally found a stable footing in Beckland. Sitting alone in the now-empty living room, he suddenly felt a deep sense of loneliness and resolved to focus on what lay ahead. Whether he wanted to or not, revenge and personal growth were not things that could be achieved overnight—so he needed a job that would generate steady income and prevent financial strain. Yet, the job couldn’t bind him too tightly, nor should it interfere with his mobility or personal plans. It had to offer him ample freedom. After careful consideration and eliminating less suitable options, Caine was left with three choices: First, to write novels by copying existing works—becoming a writer. However, given his sensitive position, the greater his visibility, the more threatening this path became, so he ultimately had to let it go. Second, to become a journalist, a profession that was highly respectable in today’s world. While he appreciated the prestige, he found himself only able to express resignation at the requirement of academic credentials and documentation. In the end, he chose the third option: private detective! That was also the reason he had chosen that pseudonym earlier.