In the western outskirts of the northern district, within a three-story house that is rapidly being abandoned. Originally part of the Beckland Medical School, the school's main campus has since relocated to a more suitable location, leaving only a few teaching staff and the current cohort of students who failed to graduate in time to serve as caretakers of the site. Audrey wears a white coat, her face covered by a matching mask, and her lustrous golden hair neatly coiled and secured inside a cool, clinical surgical cap. She glances at Folsom Woll, who is dressed identically, and feels a distinct sense of something special about him—something that makes her believe he is more suited to this attire than herself. Indeed, it's that air of someone who could instantly pick up a scalpel and open a patient's abdomen at a moment's notice. Audrey says nothing, simply trailing slightly behind Folsom as they enter the classroom ahead. Upon receiving the update from Folsom, she is startled—because the "Knight of Fools" had described the task as simple. Considering that simplicity might have seemed only relatively so to Mr. the Fool himself, Audrey, seizing the opportunity to work alone in disguise, softly recited the name of the honored one, offered a quiet prayer, and reported the entire sequence of events in full. Yet, so far, she had not received any response. As she passed through the main door and entered the room, her instinct led her to take in the surroundings at once, and she discovered this was no ordinary classroom—there stood four skeletal specimens and four glass coffins, each filled with preservative fluid and housing four pale, fully nude corpses. At the very top of the room, a transparent glass column rose, likewise filled with liquid, and within it floated a male corpse dressed in a black bachelor's gown. The garments of this body clung tightly to him, creating a sense of immense weight and solidity; he remained upright, suspended and floating in the center, as though he had drowned while still alive, rather than having been placed there after death. Audrey made her initial assessment from the perspective of an observer. Moreover, she noticed several white-coated, white-masked, surgical-cap-clad figures seated sparsely around the long tables throughout the room, silent as the corpses and white bones surrounding them. Glancing at the faintly crimson moon emerging through the dusk and the dim, shadowed night beyond, Audrey turned back to the scene within the classroom and felt a sudden shiver—this, an instinctive fear. Yet at the same time, she also felt excitement and exhilaration. This was truly the life of someone extraordinary. Audrey murmured this silently to herself, then settled into a corner seat beside Fothergill. After another wait, the floating male corpse in the vertical glass column at the front of the classroom, dressed in a black bachelor's gown, suddenly opened his eyes, and his voice carried through the layers of obstruction: "Begin." ………… East District, Dharavi Street. Klein walked along the dim streets where only a few gas lamps still functioned, dressed in a gray-blue workman's uniform dusted with dirt, wearing a baseball cap. In the apartment buildings on either side, occasional candlelight spilled out, mingling with the faint, crimson moonlight struggling through the clouds, just barely outlining the figures of pedestrians. Klein encountered one after another of the homeless, dressed in worn and tattered clothing, their expressions numb and tinged with despair—people being pushed out by the police. They had no place to sleep and wandered aimlessly through the streets, occasionally finding a quiet corner or a park bench to rest for a while, only to be driven away soon after. Amid the cold, profound night, Klein found them more like the undead than the living, and the East District itself felt more like a deep abyss than any mythic tale of the depths ever described. He took a sharp breath, but it irritated his throat, and he couldn’t help coughing twice before quickly steadying his thoughts and glancing at the apartment building at the street corner—the one clearly bearing visible explosion damage that had not yet been repaired. "To monitor the crime scene effectively and discreetly, the best position would be the building directly opposite, with the third, fourth floors, and the rooftop all meeting the requirements," Klein analyzed, drawing on the knowledge he had acquired from his time with the Night Watch team. As his thoughts raced, Crane lowered his baseball cap, tucked his head beneath it, and walked steadily down the creaking stairs to the third floor. Having suffered that unfortunate incident in the late afternoon, he now had no revolver—instead, he inserted one hand into his pocket, fingers gently cradling several Tarot cards. With only a faint moonlight filtering through, the third-floor corridor offered little illumination, so Crane didn’t rush. He paused to carefully examine the layout. Directly opposite the scene of the incident was the room on the left—the one most likely covered by the surveillance cameras, probably the third room from that end. Crane began to move slowly and deliberately. After passing two rooms, he also slipped his right hand into his pocket and skillfully opened the iron cigarette box. Instantly, his fingers made contact with the "Eye of All Black," and at once, a fragmented, spirit-shattering, brain-rupturing murmuring filled his ears. At the same time, through this now-contaminated object, Crane saw a series of eerie, black, fine threads unfurling before him. These delicate threads drifted through the void, though there was some crossing and slight entanglement, yet tracing them back, one could still discern their individual origins. Corresponding figures appeared within克莱恩's nearly boiling mind—couples and children sleeping on a high and low bed, several tenants lying on floor mats. Beyond that, there were no special spots or hidden figures.克莱恩 hurriedly withdrew his hands, avoiding direct contact with the "fully black eye," and only then did his visual perceptions and auditory impressions gradually improve. Enduring the pain, he pressed on, slightly relieved, then immediately turned his attention to other rooms. Unfortunately, after thoroughly inspecting every accessible vantage point within the entire apartment building, he found no trace of significance. Huff, huff...克莱恩 huddled in the corner of the balcony, his hands braced against his knees, gasping heavily. Tears streamed down his eyes continuously, and nasal mucus occasionally surged forth, as though suddenly struck with illness. This is the consequence of frequent, close encounters with that "all-black eye" in a short span of time—despite克莱恩's resistance in this area, he cannot entirely escape its effects. The only thing that satisfies him is that it has merely stimulated him, not contaminated him; otherwise, he would have given up long ago, too afraid to even attempt again, as that would have directly driven him mad. After a period of rest,克莱恩 finally calmed his reaction and moved into a new apartment with better views, yet still found no breakthrough. Could my interpretation be wrong? Is the clue lying within the crime scene itself?克莱恩 returned to the street and glanced curiously at the apartment bearing signs of explosion. With a mindset of simply trying things out, he again inserted his hand into his pocket, pushing open and reaching inside the iron cigarette box. He wanted to check whether anyone had been concealed at the point of entry into the apartment where the incident occurred. A sudden buzz, and immediately his head felt as though it had been struck—his body began to waver slightly. He seemed like a tipsy man, staggering forward, and finally turned his gaze toward the apartment with the explosion marks. Because they were too far apart, he couldn't "see clearly" those thin black lines, nor could he trace them back to their origins. He could only roughly distinguish where the lines gathered, and such spots indicated the presence of people. No, no, no... Klein quickly scanned the scene, making a rough assessment. Suddenly, he noticed thin black lines drifting out from the crime scene on the third floor and blending into the half-space! That... Klein's pupils contracted as he confirmed it, then swiftly withdrew his hand, no longer touching the all-black eye. There were people inside the room that had been destroyed! Had the murderer been so frantic as to wait on-site for the investigators? Didn't he fear that official extraordinary beings might happen to check on the case? I must have misjudged earlier—never found him because my logic was entirely different from that of the madman... Ideas flashed rapidly through his mind. Klein slowly exhaled, then calmly walked around, eventually reaching the entrance of the apartment building. By this time, all his adverse reactions had subsided. Mastering his facial expressions and body language, Kline moved to the third floor as if coming home, his steps brisk yet carrying a subtle heaviness born of fatigue. In the dimly lit corridor, he immediately spotted the room—doorless, its wall sagging halfway—and then walked toward the public restrooms with an air of casual indifference. As he approached the room, the hand he had kept tucked in his pocket gently touched the "Eye of Total Blackness." Once again, the fragmented, splitting whispers filled his mind, and the shifting, blurred hallucinations swayed and blurred around him. With a peripheral glance, Kline observed slender, phantom threads of black spreading out from the scene of the incident. Tracing their path back, he discovered a man completely absorbed into the shadows, his aura matching the darkness. Tall, nearly two meters, with a slightly downturned mouth, he appeared notably reserved. His eyes, like those of a wild beast, conveyed a fierce intensity that could not be concealed beneath his cold demeanor. Not Laneru. Klein pulled his fingers back, relaxed his tense body, and naturally ignored any possible gaze, continuing without stopping to the end of the corridor and entering the public restroom, leaving the man undisturbed. The public restroom was not on the same side as the scene of the incident. He wiped a cold sweat, slightly steadied himself, then promptly climbed out the window, skillfully descending, and quickly departed, making no further stops. He knew that within a few minutes, the man would notice that someone who had gone to the restroom had not returned, thus becoming alert and starting to pursue him—so he had to move swiftly away from Dharavi Street. Klein didn’t want to return the way he came, but he didn’t know which room he could go to without exposing the issue. The Clown dashed quickly, rounded a large loop, and entered the one-bedroom apartment he rented in the eastern district, arriving at the gray mist, confirming that he was no longer being pursued. That man should be deeply connected to Larnelus... Caine paused slightly, materialized the portrait of the man he had just seen, and transmitted it mentally to the deep red star representing the "Justice" lady. Immediately thereafter, he spoke with dignified and resonant gravity: "This is a lead."