On a Sunday morning, just after having finished breakfast, Crane heard the expected sound of the doorbell. But what surprised him was that not only was Mike Joseph the journalist there, but also Dr. Allen. "Sherlock, I had that same nightmare again last night, and I think it's unusual," Dr. Allen said without hesitating, stepping straight into the living room. Without waiting for Crane to respond, he pulled out his wallet and produced a thousand-paper crane. "Could it be something wrong with this one?" he asked. "Since I've been carrying it with me, I've started having these nightmares." Crane glanced at it casually, but his expression suddenly froze. If not for having once been a clown, someone with strong control over facial muscles, he might have been visibly smiling—yes, smiling—right in front of both the journalist and the doctor. After all, this crane was even more unattractive than the one he himself had folded. That was Crane's immediate thought. At this very moment, he felt a strong impulse to cover his face and sigh—was this indeed the tradition of the Night Watch, that their handwork was inherently subpar? Undoubtedly, the thousand paper cranes before him were the result of a swap. Upon receiving accurate information from Klein, the Night Watch had acted swiftly, infiltrating Dr. Allen's bedroom that very night and exchanging his paper cranes for the one inside the wallet. Yet they hadn't anticipated that the crane inside the wallet itself was also a forgery—crafted by Klein atop the gray mist, and notably rougher in execution. A certain whimsy arose. Klein glanced at Dr. Allen, who remained completely unaware, cleared his throat, and said: "Perhaps it is so. I recommend you go back to the church once more and speak with that bishop again. We must believe that the divine beings we trust have been watching over me all along." While speaking, he drew a triangular saint's emblem on his chest. After the "nightmare" departed last night, Caine specifically went to the Gray Mists to consult about whether there was any danger in not exchanging the thousand paper cranes back, and received a reassuring reading. Now, he can make this suggestion with genuine enthusiasm, aiming to tease his former colleagues. Seeing the paper cranes he had folded rather unevenly returned to his hands, he wondered what reactions they would have. Caine seriously comforted Dr. Allen before turning to the journalist with a smile: "Mike, actually, what I'd most like to recommend to Dr. Allen is a visit to a psychologist—though faith itself should certainly soothe his mind." "You're not at all straightforward," Mike chuckled. "Well, then, let's go." The following day, Caine accompanied the journalist from The Daily Observer through the eastern district, interviewing the young women who had been rescued. Facing the full pound fee for the interview, no one declined, not even those who had suffered some degree of trauma. In this interview, Cardin's guilt is a central theme, while the current circumstances of the young women form another key focus—what provokes anger in one case evokes a sense of weight in the other. Daisy is actually rather fortunate: after returning home, she can immediately begin working and earn food through her own labor. Among the rescued women like her, no more than one-third are in this position, and most of them come from households that still have some financial reserves. Their situation allows them to remain relatively undisturbed, giving them time to recover from both physical and emotional trauma and to patiently seek out suitable employment. While two-thirds of the rescued had to keep moving in search of survival, finding only temporary, low-paying jobs amid widespread unemployment among textile workers, those whose parents, siblings, or spouses remained employed were at least able to support one another and make ends meet. For others, the household situation was less favorable—many had quietly, if not openly, transitioned into the role of street vendors, seemingly never truly rescued. They often sold their bodies merely to secure a meal. This made Mike as silent as he had been the last time, only regaining his composure and thanking Clain as the dusk settled and he left the eastern district: "Sherlock, thanks to your help, otherwise I'd have certainly been extorted by those thugs and gang members today." "Isn't that precisely the reason you hired me?" Clain smiled politely, without any sense of pride. Having been previously advised, the older Kole and Liv’s family kept the fact that he was offering his free assistance in searching for people entirely quiet—especially Daisy, who was remarkably astute. When Mike asked them if they knew any particularly special individuals, she directly replied, “The journalist and the detective.” Mike nodded instinctively and then remained silent for a while, walking in silence for quite some time. Just before boarding the carriage, he suddenly exhaled, saying, “I’d like to call upon this article to urge the government to take over the land holdings of Capin and establish a relief fund, using the annual income to provide steady support to the young women rescued, as well as to others harmed by Capin, giving them the opportunity to break free from their current predicament. ‘Although Capin’s safe has been stripped bare by that daring thief, his greatest wealth lies in the real estate he acquired—these, these assets, should rightfully be considered ill-gotten gains.’” "There are still many journalists like me—always some idealists in the world," Mike remarked. After paying the ten-pound fee to Crane, he removed his hat and waved it. As he watched the journalist climb into the hired carriage, Crane prepared to take a different route via public transportation. Suddenly, Mike opened the window and with a teasing smile asked, "Sherlock, are there really only me among the journalists you know?" Crane paused, then chuckled, "You'll have to guess." In this situation, he urgently longed for opinions—specifically, for insights from the "Hangman" gentleman, the "Justice" lady, and others who truly understood the "Fallen Creator." This was the gathering he most eagerly anticipated. He waited, waited a little longer; if the "Wanderer" gentleman still failed to summon, he would pray directly to Him. Deryck tried to steady himself, yet his circling steps showed no sign of slowing. Suddenly, he saw the boundless gray mist and heard the voice of a savior: "Prepare for the gathering." Deryck exhaled deeply, sat more cautiously on the edge of the bed, and lay down, feigning readiness to drift off to sleep from weariness. After silently counting his slightly hurried thousand heartbeats, he waited a while longer before being swallowed by the phantom deep red light. At that very moment, Deryck's room was unusually quiet, with lightning streaks sweeping across the sky outside, gradually driving the darkness away from the land. Suddenly, in the corner of his bed, the black form writhed and extended, taking on human shape! The shadow swiftly climbed upward, silently gazing down upon Driek. He observed it for several dozen seconds, then, unimpressed, retreated. In the corner, the shadow remained unchanged, as always. ………… The boundless gray mist continued to drift beneath his feet, and the bronze long table before him, streaked with rust-green, still looked fresh and unweathered. "Sun" Driek first saw the "Justice" lady and the "Magician" lady seated across from him. The familiar, lively greeting reached his ears: "Good afternoon, Sir 'The Fool'~" "Good afternoon…" Klein, enveloped in the gray mist, gently nodded, appearing relaxed as he responded to the greetings from "Justice" and the others—yet in reality, he was busy manipulating "The World," making his presence seem that of a genuine person. After accompanying Mike to the interview yesterday, it was already dinner time. Klein found a restaurant in the Feneport style outside and, feeling the heat, actively ordered a desert beer. After a satisfying meal and drink, he returned home and stayed indoors thereafter—either studying the Book of Secrets or preparing meals for himself, which helped ease the heavy emotions that usually arose each time he visited the East District. Without realizing it, by afternoon, his focus had shifted to the Tarot gathering. Greeting everyone, Audrey, representing Justice, managed to hold back her curiosity and excitement, and didn’t immediately ask about the true nature of the Cardin event. "The Fool" might not answer, but wouldn’t he know whether He wished to answer simply by not asking? Well, hoping that He would propose an equivalent request, I’ll do my best to fulfill it… Audrey glanced around, observing the states of the other members. As a "read-between-the-lines" observer, she quickly noticed several anomalies. Oh, "The Sun" seems quite anxious—hasn't something unexpected happened with the head of the first exploration team? Has he encountered Amun? And then, "Forth" is in a state of wanting to ask but hesitating—she must have seen the newspaper, deduced from the Tarot cards that Captain Kaping's death was orchestrated by our Tarot Circle, yet remains puzzled about who "The Emperor" represents. She seems to hold a deeper reverence for "The Fool"—what has transpired to cause this? "The Hangover" is in excellent spirits; his potion has been fully absorbed. He appears to be anticipating something. "The World" remains as reserved and somber as ever—his current thoughts are difficult to discern, truly a challenge for the "audience" approach. "The Sun," Deric, has no intention of concealing his anxiety, yet he hasn't directly approached any of the Tarot Circle members. He is well aware that this opening phase belongs to "The Fool"—unless, of course, there's something missing from Rosel's journal. There was no need to rush—gatherings had already begun… If the Sir of the Fool was in a good mood, perhaps he might answer some questions… Deryck comforted himself with that. The Sir of Temperance, Aljer, turned his head toward the upper tier, spoke humbly: "Respected Sir of the Fool, I have gathered three new pages from the Roselle diary." Diary? The Roselle diary? Folth’s ears perked up instantly. Klein smiled in reply: "What would you like to exchange them for?" Glancing at the card resting beside the Sir of the Fool, Aljer, though eager, restrained his enthusiasm: "I would like to know what card lies beside you."