Crouched within the cabinet, Caine quietly activated his spiritual sight, and there entered two fields of energy that subtly interfered with one another. "Erika, I've brought you a gift," a deep, resonant voice announced once the door had closed. Indeed, a gentleman of the Roon Kingdom—even in the midst of infidelity, he remained somewhat stiff. A man from Indris would surely have been calling her sweetheart, darling, my angel, and so on. Caine couldn't help but mentally chide him. Of course, this was all based on his impressions from newspapers, magazines, and novels. Erika Taylor asked with genuine delight, "Let me guess—fascinating, is it? The Fasman eye cream, face cream, or serum? Or perhaps the Lecinone?" What on earth is this? Caine found himself slightly bewildered. Clearly, Doraguel Gail hadn't immediately caught on either, and only after seven or eight seconds did he finally say, "…No. It's sheer stockings." "In this world, since no oil has yet been discovered and no affordable chemical products have been developed, stockings are a fine, high-end item made of silk." "That's quite good, I'll take a look." Erica's delight didn't diminish at all. "I bought five pairs yesterday at the Philippe department store for thirty sou each." Dora said with a touch of pride. "Quite expensive." "Very expensive!" Erica and Klein both exclaimed, expressing the same sentiment. Bensons had worked for so many years, earning only one pound and ten sou per week—exactly thirty sou—enough to cover just one pair of stockings. Yet, with that modest salary, he managed to educate his siblings, afford adequate meals, and secure a place to sleep... ordinary workers with some technical skills earned only around twenty sou per week. Klein was utterly amazed. "No, not at all expensive. Stockings are worth this price, and I've even added a five-sou tip." As Dorag spoke, the hue of his presence grew a bit more vivid, and Caine inferred that he had removed his coat. "Then I'll give it a try," Elira Taylor said, her voice soft and inviting. There was still that feeling of watching a romantic scene unfold—live, no less—and with the bodyguard present too... Caine gave a slight smile, watching the red tones shift within the red, as the emotional radiance between both parties quickly intensified into a blazing crimson. Purple approached the red, rising steadily upward; the red enveloped the green, then the orange-red. While listening to the breaths and soft chuckles, Caine assessed the movements and positions of the two from the evolving colors of their fields. When he thought it was sufficient, he silently pushed open the cabinet door and turned toward the bed. Dorag and Elira were now entwined, their gowns half unfastened, their movements passionate and intense. Klein lifted the "mysterious camera," aiming it at the couple who were full of enthusiasm, waiting for the moment when both faces would be clearly visible. When Doral and Elira embraced and leaned toward the bed, Klein finally captured the most suitable shot and pressed the shutter button. The clicking sound was subtle; the intense flash and other unusual phenomena remained confined to a small area, undisturbing the couple. Unsure of his photographic skills, Klein took several additional shots, intending to have options for selection later. ——He planned to send only one photograph to his employer, as too many images might prompt the lawyer to question why the couple hadn't noticed someone photographing them. The light garments settled gently on the floor, and the couple's breathing intensified; Klein wrapped the portable camera in his arms, smoothly rolled it out from the cabinet, and closed the cabinet door behind him. He continued rolling until he reached the door of the lounge, then quietly opened it and returned into the corridor. Done! Klein exhaled, politely and silently closing the door, then placed his hand against his chest and slightly inclined his body toward the bed. Without further delay, he returned to his own lounge. The final payment of seven pounds would soon be settled—and he’d also earned a club membership worth over fifty pounds for the Clagg Club, including meals, accommodation, and activities. No, that was actually more than fifty pounds. Without an introduction or connections, even with a hundred pounds, no one would join the club without being referred. This assignment had been excellent—simple, safe, and well-rewarding. Klein set down his portable camera and sincerely reflected on it internally. At that moment, however, a hand suddenly extended from the camera’s lens. The female guard, dressed in a black court gown, slowly emerged and refloats in midair, her complexion still pale. Remembering that he had shown her a few minor films, Klein felt a little embarrassed and changed the subject. "I’d like to head to the self-service restaurant for a meal. Would you like to join me?" Each member may bring one guest. As for explaining the guest's sudden appearance, Klein's plan is to go out for a walk and then return. The bodyguard responded with a steady tone: "I can go two weeks without eating." While speaking, she turned her body, facing away from Klein, and drifted toward the mirror, vanishing instantly. What sequence is she exactly? Klein found himself wondering, and placed the portable camera back into the suitcase. After that, he went to the restroom to attend to his personal matters. Washing his hands and wiping his face, Klein looked into the mirror, assessing his current appearance: a touch of dark, bluish beard on his upper lip and chin from not having shaved this morning, his hair parted neatly in a three-to-seven ratio on either side, and a pair of gold-framed glasses resting on his nose—refined, scholarly, with a hint of maturity. It's a bit different from before, but with a close look, you can still recognize it. Once the beard grows to a certain length, you won't have to worry much anymore... And once he advances to Level 6, "The Faceless," there will be absolutely nothing to fear. Klein pulled out his golden pocket watch, opened it, and glanced at the time. Then he stepped out of the bathroom, lifted his leather suitcase, and headed to the self-service restaurant on the first floor. It was just past nine, still within the breakfast hour. Klein ordered a double-side half-soft fried egg, a slice of white bread, a piece of butter, a diced pastry, a piece of bacon, and a cup of Earl Grey tea with floating lemon slices. While searching for a seat, he suddenly spotted a familiar face—Dr. Alan Cris, the surgeon who had recommended him to join the club. The tall, slim man sat alone in a corner, having finished his breakfast, flipping through a newspaper while sipping his coffee. "Good morning, Dr. Cris," Klein approached, offering a polite greeting to the somewhat reserved Alan. The外科医生 pushed gently at the frame of glasses resting on his nose and said, "Just call me Alan, Detective Moriaty." "By principle of equality, you must call me Sherlock." Craine settled himself into his seat. "Any news today? I've been rushing out, so I haven't had a chance to read the paper yet." "The Ambassador of Intis has been assassinated, and a terror group called 'The Aurora Society' claims responsibility. Honestly, the world is growing more turbulent every day—eventually, a comprehensive war involving both the northern and southern continents will break out," Alan remarked with a sense of conviction. "Sir, war has never ceased—it merely pauses so we may enjoy peace," Craine replied, savoring his fried eggs with a smile. "It's truly a pity that such an important case couldn't have invited us private detectives to assist." "Alan flipped through the newspaper. 'This news isn't directly relevant. What truly matters is that, after prolonged debates, both the House and the Senate will finally pass several key measures today or tomorrow. First, the Government Employees Uniform Examination Act, along with its bylaws and implementation plans. Second, the establishment of the Atmospheric Pollution Investigation Committee. Third, the creation of a dedicated Alkali Industry Prosecutor. The latter two are specifically aimed at addressing pollution. Good heavens, they've finally begun to take this issue seriously—patients in our hospital have been steadily increasing in number with respiratory illnesses.' Will it finally pass? I wonder how well Bensen's proposal is shaping up... Might my death affect it? Clare's smile suddenly brightened. 'This is excellent news.' "It's very good for Mary, as she'd like either herself or her husband, Dorag, to become a member of the 'Royal Committee on Air Pollution.' Her hope is even greater—she hasn't held any position in a commercial company and is a devoted follower of the goddess, always seeking balance regardless of institutional structures." Allen mentioned Klein's employer. "I suggest she comes to the club more often; we have several members of the House of Commons here." In the kingdom of Roon, the House of Commons is primarily composed of wealthy magnates and agents of certain noble families, though it also includes many professionals—doctors, lawyers, clergymen, teachers, scientists, and accountants. The Clag Club specifically targets middle-class professionals, without regard to political affiliation. Klein wasn't particularly familiar with these aspects, so he nodded and responded casually before shifting the conversation: "Allen, today is Friday—don't you need to return to the hospital?" "No, I've taken leave—things have been terrible lately," Allen suddenly frowned. "What's happened?" Cline sipped his红茶. Since Beckland had been assassinated and Rosago's body had been dumped into the distant sewer, likely to be discovered at some point, Cline was mindful of the ripple effects and the imperfections in his own disguise. Thus, he had recently decided to avoid taking on any particularly demanding tasks that might expose him. As a result, he was especially interested in potential, straightforward assignments that offered substantial rewards. Allen set down his newspaper and sighed, "I've been having a string of bad luck lately—several surgeries have gone wrong, fortunately without serious consequences, otherwise I might have had my license revoked." Although in this era surgical deaths were no longer rare occurrences and considered routine, severe incidents resulting from one's own errors still carried significant penalties. Well, I can't really help much… Actually, I know of a transfer ritual, though its effect is to send you to the Gray Mists. Caine lowered his head and began chewing on his bread. After breakfast, he said goodbye to Alan, first collected 500 pounds in cash, gave the pages 300 pounds, then returned home, waiting for the photographs to be developed while hoping for a simple commission to come along—though none materialized for now. By evening, Caine prepared to go out once more, this time aiming for "The Brave One's Pub." With the pages still present, he hoped to engage more with the circle of the extraordinary.