Klein met Jurgen Cooper, the young senior transactional lawyer, in an office at the Rice Police Department. Jurgen still dressed very formally, as if always ready to attend a high-society dinner. His double-breasted black formal suit, white dress shirt with a crisp white collar, large bow tie, and polished leather shoes made the police officers particularly courteous. Holding a half-high silk hat in his hand, Jurgen looked at Klein with blue eyes and said, "All the formalities are complete. You just need to pay a bail of ten pounds to leave." "Thank you," Klein replied without further comment, following the well-featured but somewhat stiff lawyer to the adjacent police department finance office. He pulled out his leather folder and withdrew two five-pound notes. At that moment, he was especially grateful that he had brought all his cash—ninety-five pounds—with him; otherwise, he might have had to borrow from his neighbor Jurgen. Of course, the most serious issue is that if the cash is kept at home and subjected to the police's on-site search, he has no confidence in how much will remain—yet he cannot place it on the gray mist above, since he might ultimately have to resort to bribery to get out of the situation. Currently, numerous newspapers and magazines have been criticizing the police, claiming they lack oversight, act brutally, are prone to corruption, frequently extort money, and are harsh and relentless. While Klein doesn't fully trust them, he also can't dismiss their claims entirely, as Merle's money might well be at risk from the police department. After paying the bail, Klein followed Jurgen out of the police station, shivering from the cool, damp breeze blowing against him. "Once the case is concluded, your bail will be refunded to you—though you shouldn't expect them to proactively notify you. By the way, after a week, if no one comes to retrieve you, you may come here to claim your bail." Theoretically, you'll still be compensated from the estate, should there be one. Jurgen walked toward a carriage parked beside him. The continuous drizzle of the day finally ceased by nightfall, though the red moon remained obscured by clouds, and the streets were lit only by gas lamps. "All right," said Caine, almost convinced that the ten pounds would be lost. He couldn't help calculating the costs of Ian's commission—five pounds in fees, but with numerous furnishings and tea services damaged inside the room, requiring either replacement or repair, plus materials, carriage expenses, and future clothing repairs—seeming likely to result in a loss. If the ten-pound bond couldn't be recovered, the loss would be substantial! Indeed, Mersch's remarkable qualities were quite valuable. Caine boarded the carriage, his brow slightly furrowed. He had always thought that a private investigator who worked out of his own residence would at worst break even, and wouldn't incur a loss—yet... Klein turned to look at the well-dressed, composed lawyer, Jurgen, and spoke sincerely: "Thank you so much for taking the initiative to post bail for me. How much should I pay you for your services?" Jurgen nodded formally: "This engagement is completely free." "I heard about your case from Chief Inspector Fasch. I'm confident we'll have many more opportunities to work together in the future." Many more opportunities to work together in the future... Klein chuckled. "Jurgen, I think you're actually cursing me." Jurgen shook his head seriously: "No, not in the way you mean. It's quite normal for a private investigator to have a regular legal partner." Mr. You truly lack humor... though you look so young... Klein muttered under his breath, smiling. "By the way, I'm actually looking for a lawyer to help me draft an investment agreement." "Investment agreement?" "Jürgen asked in some surprise. "I know this isn't something a private detective would do casually, but I've just come across a good investment opportunity," said Klein simply. "Jürgen, lawyer, how much would you charge for this contract, according to your standard rates?" "It's usually determined by the total amount and the complexity of the agreement," Jürgen replied seriously. "The total is 100 pounds, and the clauses we need include..." Klein went into detail about his requirements, such as priority subscription rights and negative rights. After thinking for a few minutes, Jürgen said: "Two pounds, paid by Monday morning." "Very well," Klein said, without further discussion, and then turned to ask Jürgen about the latest developments he had gathered regarding the case tonight. On the way back to Minsk Street, Klein paid the young but serious lawyer 3 souls for the rented carriage and then walked toward his own house. Opening the door, he found the scene disordered and overwhelming—Clayton felt utterly drained. His private detective venture had started with a loss. As Clayton removed his coat and dove into the cleanup, the doorbell suddenly rang. He paused, puzzled, and opened it to find Julian, the neighbor's housemaid, dressed in a black-and-white dress. "Good evening, Mr. Moriaty," she said, a touch of nervousness in her voice, "Mr. and Mrs. Summer would like to invite you to talk about the matter from earlier." It was coming—compensation issues. Clayton smiled warmly. "Certainly." He changed into a clean, well-pressed coat and followed the maid to the adjacent room, where Luke Summer and his wife, Stéphane Summer, were already seated on the sofa area, waiting. Standing up, Luke—tall and well-built, with a charming pair of small mustaches—extended his hand and offered a quiet smile. "Good evening, Mr. Moriaty," he said, "I didn't know you were a private detective. As a neighbor, I must say, I'm quite disappointed." "No, it's my own issue—since I'm not sure if I'm truly suited for this industry, and maybe I'll be looking for another job at some point." Clarendon shook hands with the host. "I'm truly sorry about tonight's incident. I'll make good on the compensation." "It was just an accident," Luke reassured him. The golden-haired, blue-eyed, attractive Staline asked curiously, "You actually killed an intruder? Oh, I know you wanted tea, right?" Clarendon nodded. "Perhaps just a small thief." He didn't mention that the incident stemmed from a commission he'd accepted, so as not to create any discomfort for the Somers family. Since the police hadn't informed them, there was no need for me to bring it up myself... Clarendon added silently. Luke Somers smiled. "You must have excellent combat skills. As a neighbor, I feel very secure. Perhaps in the future, we'll also have work that we can delegate to you." "Caine chuckled half-jokingly, half-true: 'Actually, I almost died.'" "Either way, the ultimate victor is you," Luke said. After a few more remarks on this topic, Staline lifted her white porcelain cup with gold trim and took a sip. "I'm curious—how many cases does a private detective typically take in a week, and what are his earnings?" Caine didn't hesitate, smiling warmly. "It depends on the circumstances—much like a farm that has both good and bad harvests. Last week, I earned five pounds and five shillings, but with last night's events, I might even end up in a loss." Stalin seemed to have missed the second half of his sentence, continuing on her own: "If you can maintain this income, five pounds a week will allow you a quite comfortable life in the Joewood district of Beckland—no need to sublet rooms, you can hire a housemaid for household chores, attend a concert or a drama or opera every other week, play tennis or squash once a week, join a book club, and dine at a good restaurant... Of course, if you're already preparing for marriage, you'll need to save a bit more—five pounds a week still falls short of true comfort." "What would be the amount for true comfort?" asked Kline in response. "At least seven pounds," said Stalin, lifting her chin slightly. Kline then turned to Luke and casually remarked, "I heard from your wife that you work at Coym Company—could you tell me what your main business activities are?" "Bituminous coal and wood charcoal," Luke smiled. It's no wonder you've become a member of the Coal Smoke Reduction Association... Kline paused and said, "In Beckland, what kind of salary do managers typically earn? I rarely see this mentioned in newspapers or magazines." "Ha! It really depends on the industry, the company, and the specific position. The first manager at Beckland Bank earns 5,000 pounds annually, and even including bonuses, I only make between 430 and 440 pounds." Luke said casually. That's about 8 pounds a week... It makes sense... Before Kline could speak, Staline Summer interjected, "In fact, we could move to the suburbs. Then I'd have a garden and a lawn, and Luke would get a stable and a brand-new carriage and two young horses that he's been wanting for a long time. But that would mean he'd spend too much time commuting—time that's simply too valuable." A new carriage with a horse would cost about one hundred pounds—eight pounds a week truly was remarkable, though unfortunately, not long after my salary increase, things took a turn... Klein could only smile in response. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he bid farewell, silently remarking to himself: Mr. and Mrs. Summer are essentially good people. If it had been a more critical landlord, things would have been handled far more harshly—by now, they’d have deducted the charges and refunded the money, sending me packing. Back home, Klein began working, neither eager to visit the Gray Mists to examine the warmth he had felt on his back nor immediately to perform a divination, out of concern that the military’s special departments were still observing him closely. He decided to visit the bar Ian had described the following evening to purchase firearms, in preparation for the possibility of sudden attacks from certain individuals. Klein even intended to use this opportunity to hire bodyguards—exceptional ones, strong exceptional ones—so as to gradually engage with the circle of exceptional beings without exposing himself, and also because he feared that the subsequent attackers hired by the ambassador might be capable of evading the military's special units. Though it may seem somewhat comical that an exceptional being at Sequence 8, an "Avenger of Malice" operating in the shadows, would need bodyguards, safety was paramount to Klein. If the cost proved too high, he would simply blow the copper horn and summon Mr. Azk, of course—though that might be even more dangerous… I still know relatively little about the sealing object "0-08." While tidying up, Klein murmured quietly. …… After the purification ritual, the man wearing a white hard-shell mask addressed Hoo and Forth: "Whatever spirit it was, I have already expelled it. Hm. If it had reached the level of a malevolent spirit and proven insurmountable, it would have reacted then—yet it did not." "As he spoke, he poured the droplets gathered on the sun emblem into a small metal bottle and handed it to Hoo. 'Take it back and sprinkle it throughout the rooms to eliminate any remaining traces.' 'Thank you,' Hoo said, feeling a little more at ease despite her concern. Just as she and Fols returned to the living room, a servant delivered a note: 'The "Arbiter" lady who purchased the "Sheriff" formula would like to chat in the study. I may have something you need.' PS: Two installments today, with no more updates after tonight.