The tension in the carriage was unmistakable.
Sequence 7 Nightmare Dunn Smith, Sequence 9 Corpse Collector Frye, and His Excellency Crestet Cesimir could only watch as Klein Moretti's skin writhed and folded over itself like a nest of maggots.
They observed the flesh knit back together with the same stunned silence, each of them withholding their questions as they waited for someone else to speak first.
At last, His Excellency exhaled, as if releasing the weight of all his exhaustion. "Treat his wound first," he ordered calmly, leaning back with closed eyes, silently offering praise to the Goddess.
It was Frye who acted first, steadying Mr. Moretti's body on the stretcher before pulling out basic first-aid supplied and bandaging his chest firmly.
Judging by the rate of his healing, Frye suspected the wound would be gone entirely by the time they reached the cathedral.
If it disappeared before they checked him into the medical bay, they would have to explain it as shock-induced fainting from the attack, Frye noted clinically.
By the rules, the matter's confidentiality belonged solely to the Sequence 4 Nightwatcher. Frye didn't think His Excellency would be happy to share it with anyone.
"Your Grace," Dunn Smith began, "how should this matter be addressed?" He swallowed the questions that wanted to roll off his tongue.
As curious as he was, this situation was far beyond his expertise. The Goddess had intervened, and that was far beyond their league.
"The usual for high-level cases," His Excellency replied. "It is not to be inquired into, disseminated, described, or spied upon."
Dunn Smith was taken aback, but he kept his composure. 'To treat it as equal to a Level 0 case...' he thought. 'Will it be dangerous to possess this kind of knowledge?'
"Rest assured, the Higher-Ups may deem it appropriate to have 1-29 handle this matter. It would be prudent to ensure the situation is discreetly managed," His Excellency added.
Dunn Smith sighed inwardly. Covering up matters of such high stakes was always stressful, but it came with the job.
Fortunately, all the witnesses had only arrived at the very end of the incident, so there was no need for a mass erasure of memories.
Such a procedure would be difficult to manage, and dangerously so.
Deeming it appropriate for the situation, Dunn Smith nodded. "Praise the Lady," he said.
"Praise the Lady," Frye echoed shortly after, applying steady pressure to Klein Moretti's shifting wound.
The carriage continued on, jostling slightly over the uneven road.
Just as Miss Moretti settled beside Seeka, Leonard shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders with careful gentleness. At the girl's confused expression, he offered a winning smile.
"You don't look quite proper, Miss," he explained. "It would be a gentleman's failing if he didn't act accordingly."
Unseen by Miss Moretti, Seeka rolled her eyes at the theatrics, though Leonard's smile widened at her quiet exasperation.
"Thank you," Miss Moretti murmured, her ears reddening, though she made no move to run back to their apartment to change. Well, that was reasonable enough.
Leonard leaned toward the window, watching Kenley and Royale handle the crowd control with practiced ease. They seemed to be holding up well, despite the barrage of questions and gossip.
He sighed inwardly. At this rate, half of Tingen City would know about the incident before the day was over.
Leonard shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
.
.
.
The ride to the cathedral passed in silence. Neither of the two Nighthawks nor the young Miss Moretti seemed inclined to start a conversation—though perhaps it was less reluctance and more simply not knowing how to begin.
The Old Man remained quiet in Leonard's mind as well, but that wasn't exactly unusual. He was always withdrawn, speaking only when offering warnings or guidance.
Still, after vanishing entirely since the incident with the Captain and resurfacing only to caution him about being careful around Klein Moretti... well, even the Midnight Poet had to admit it was more than a little concerning.
Leonard absentmindedly flicked his fingers, over and over, watching the scenery drift by at a leisurely pace. The road was uneven and bumpy, but the carriage's soft cushioning made it manageable.
From the corner of his eye, he studied Miss Moretti's expression—the same downturned gaze, the same quiet grief.
She didn't look anxious to confess anything, but there was a hesitance in her, the kind that suggested she did have something she wanted to ask.
Her eyes kept darting around, never settling for long... until they met his.
Leonard offered a gentle smile. Miss Moretti's face flushed at once, and she folded into herself, lips pressed together in embarrassed silence.
"Is there something you wanted to ask, Miss?" Leonard ventured, keeping his tone friendly and open. "It'll be a while before we arrive. We've got time to talk."
Miss Moretti tensed, but she relaxed a moment later. The sight struck Leonard with a wave of nostalgia.
It was quite a resemblance to Klein Moretti. The same cautiousness, he noted with quiet amusement. He supposed it was the undeniable bond of blood.
"They... they wouldn't let him die, right?" Miss Moretti asked quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. Her face darkened noticeably. "It... it looked serious."
'With the way he's healing, I don't think he'll die anytime soon,' Leonard thought. 'Praise the Lady,' he added sincerely, mentally tracing the Goddess' Symbol.
Of course, he didn't say it carelessly. From the way Miss Moretti was acting, she didn't seem aware of the extraordinary—at least, not yet.
"Of course not," Leonard said. "Your brother is a follower of the Goddess, and the Church does not forsake any child of our gracious Lady."
Then Leonard paused, considering his words, before he continued. "We wouldn't let it happen either," he said.
"We've yet to know each other on deeper terms, but it would be cruel on our part to simply let one of our teammates die."
Seeka twitched, as if she wanted to say something but held back. Miss Moretti, meanwhile, regarded him strangely.
It reminded Leonard vividly of Klein Moretti's expression when he was forcing himself not to say something incriminating.
Leonard took the moment to study their faces. 'What did I do? Why are the two of you looking at me with such disgust?' he wondered.
"... Teammate?" Miss Moretti asked hesitantly. "You're with Blackthorn Security Company?"
"So he's already told you?" Leonard asked, taking note of the information.
Miss Moretti nodded. "Yes, yesterday evening," she explained. "He mentioned it at dinner."
Then she fixed Leonard with a piercing stare. For such a small, young girl, her intensity was surprising. "He said his job wasn't dangerous," she almost accused.
"Then what is this?"
"It isn't, Ma'am," Seeka answered. "It's not finalized yet, but your brother is currently involved in an investigation, you see."
"Investigation?" Miss Moretti echoed, her voice filled with concern.
Seeka met Leonard's eyes, and at his slight shrug, she continued. "It's confidential at the moment, Ma'am, but rest assured we've determined your brother isn't the suspect."
"So he's one of the victims, then?" Miss Moretti asked, sharp and perceptive.
"Perhaps," Seeka said, neither confirming nor denying. "It's still an ongoing process, Ma'am."
Miss Moretti pursed her lips, considering. "Alright," she said at last.
The remainder of the ride passed in silence, just as it had at the beginning.
.
.
.
"Let's see," Klein Moretti said. "Shall we try a Tarot Reading?"
"Sure," Zhou Mingrui agreed. "A Divination then?"
Klein nodded, reaching under the table for a deck of cards. "Past, Present, and Future," he said. "Yours first."
Zhou Mingrui grinned. "Alright," he replied. "At least it'll be interesting."
He leaned over the table, trying to catch a glimpse before Klein gently pushed his head away.
"No peeking!" Klein exclaimed, shuffling the cards. "Back, back—shoo!"
Zhou Mingrui retreated to his spot, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he chuckled. He raised his arms, palms facing out, as if in playful surrender.
Klein squinted at him suspiciously, then drew three cards, placing them in a neat row before Zhou Mingrui.
"There," he said. "Past, Present, and Future."
"I'm listening," Zhou Mingrui replied.
Klein hummed thoughtfully. "I don't really know how to do this properly, but... it should be fine," he muttered.
Zhou Mingrui tilted his head. "It's not like this is real divination, right? No harm done in doing this for fun."
"Eh, maybe," Klein shrugged casually. His red sweater caught the silver moonlight, but as Zhou Mingrui blinked, it seemed to soften, as if gently washed by time.
"Anyways," Klein continued, snapping him out of his daze, "let's keep going."
"One's destiny can only be unraveled by oneself," Zhou Mingrui suddenly said.
"Shouldn't I have been the one to shuffle the cards?" he asked, raising a brow.
"But they're already there," Klein protested, pointing at the three cards in front of him. "What's wrong with me drawing them?"
"Well, it's not your destiny, is it?"
Zhou Mingrui countered, amused. "Come on, come on," he insisted, holding out his hands.
"I can't exactly let someone else bear this for me."
"Hah? What are you talking about?" Klein asked defensively. "Does it really matter?"
Before the other could swat him away and spark another chase around the room—Zhou Mingrui scooped up the three cards from the table and quickly grabbed the rest from Klein's hands, much to the other's protests.
"Seriously?" Klein grumbled, arms crossed, looking thoroughly petulant. His hands were empty though, and that was all that mattered—everything else could wait for the moment.
Zhou Mingrui stuck his tongue out, and silently began shuffling the deck.
"What's wrong with me doing it?" Klein complained. "Don't you want to be free?"
Zhou Mingrui's hands froze, almost dropping the first card he was about to place in front of him. "Now that's just unaccounted for," he muttered.
"Is it?" Klein asked, genuinely curious, as if he truly didn't understand.
Zhou Mingrui doesn't answer, but he set the other two cards beside the first. "There," he declared, as if daring Klein to challenge him.
Klein snorted. It's an ugly sound—close to sobbing—but Zhou Mingrui must be hearing things.
"You drew them yourself—why not read them too?"
Klein asked, sounding helpless, though he did take the rest of the deck when Zhou Mingrui handed it over.
"But fine," he relented. "Let me read it then."
"Has divination etiquette ever been this messy?"
Klein muttered under his breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Just pick one already," he urged with a wave of his hand.
"Go on, go on."
Zhou Mingrui rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure." He then picked the Future card and flipped it over.
"The World," he read. "Reversed."
Klein hummed, a mischievous twitch of his lips. "Emptiness," he explained, "lack of closure, lack of achievement, feeling incomplete..."
"Looks like you haven't had any love life yet," Klein teased. "Even the cards said so."
"Hah?" Zhou Mingrui bristled. "Isn't that too personal? What are you even saying?" Indignant, he tossed a piece of paper at Klein's forehead.
The other laughed. "Sorry, sorry," Klein said, his apology clearly insincere. "Pick another one—go on, go on."
He stomped on Klein's feet for emphasis, and glared as the other retaliated—though Zhou Mingrui skillfully evaded the attack.
'Hah, missed.'
His face seemed to say.
With a smirk that earned him an effective stomp on the feet, Zhou Mingrui picked the Present card.
Before reading the contents, he gave Klein's thigh a playful kick for good measure.
Klein huffed but didn't retaliate. Zhou Mingrui counted it as a win and celebrated with a mental victory lap.
"The Hierophant," he read. "Upright."
"Beliefs," Klein explained, "conformity, knowledge, conventionality..."
"I didn't take you for someone who follows the rules," he added—jabbed.
"Who do you take me for?" Zhou Mingrui grumbled. "Stop attacking my character!"
Klein laughed again—because of course he did. Without waiting for him to finish, Zhou Mingrui picked up the last card, representing the Past.
"The Fool," he read aloud. "Reversed."
Klein choked back a laugh before settling down to explain. "... Distracted."
"Foolish," he added, lips twitching, "careless, naive, gullible—"
"Don't you dare attack my pride," Zhou Mingrui interjected sulkily. "You've been tearing down my self-confidence thoroughly enough, don't you know?"
Klein chuckled. "I'm sorry," he said, his apology sounding sincere enough to earn only an eye roll. "I'm finished, I promise."
Zhou Mingrui raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
Klein took that as his cue to continue. He gathered the three cards in his hands, studying them with curiosity.
"The Fool, The Hierophant, and The World," he murmured, pondering.
"Let's see..."
"The Reversed Fool suggests that you began your journey with recklessness or a lack of foresight," Klein explained.
"You may have acted impulsively or approached life and your goals with a certain naivety."
"This could have led to missteps or missed opportunities, leaving you feeling somewhat 'stale' or disconnected..." he continued.
"You might have been too eager to dive into new experiences without fully grasping the risks, which brought hard lessons in life you couldn't ignore."
"The Upright Hierophant represents a phase of structure and guidance. It suggests you're turning to tradition, authority, or established systems to seek meaning and stability."
"You're searching for grounding and knowledge, learning that wisdom comes from understanding the structures around you and respecting guidance."
Klein looked into Zhou Mingrui's eyes, smiling as he said. "You're no longer impulsive, but cautiously curious."
"The Reversed World," Klein said, pausing thoughtfully. "It suggests that your future could carry a sense of incompletion or frustration."
"You might face challenges in achieving closure or fully realizing your ambitions, leaving a lingering feeling that something remains unfinished."
"All in all," Klein said, "it seems pretty straightforward, doesn't it?"
Zhou Mingrui remained silent for a moment before replying—"perhaps."
Then he smiled. "Hey, want me to do yours?" he asked.
.
.
.
Zhou Mingrui woke to a stark white ceiling, feeling as though he were already dead, his decaying body exhumed and resurrected.
He rolled onto his side and groaned.
The hell? Dreams cradle every kind of truth...)
"All in all," Klein said, condensing everything into a single sentence, "it seems pretty straightforward, doesn't it?"
It took a while for Mingrui to answer, as though he was carefully weighing each word. Klein frowned, confused by the sudden somberness in the air.
Then again, between the two of them, Mingrui was always the one most enamored with Tarot cards.
That was why Klein had suggested doing a reading in the first place—he's noticed the other's mood dipping and thought it might help lift it.
'Did a stack of papers really get to him that much?' Klein wondered as he began organizing the cards, tapping their edges lightly against the table.
'How silly. Why put so much faith in things like these?'
"Perhaps," Mingrui said at last, a small smile tugging at his lips. Then he added, almost casually, "hey, want me to do yours?"
Maybe it was the yellow lighting, but Mingrui's eyes seemed to gleam gold—like a cat's in the dark, prowling just beyond the edge of sight.
Klein, who had heard Mingrui's parents describe him as catlike more times than he could count, couldn't help but be amused by the resemblance.
"You want to read my Fate?" Klein asked, smiling back. "Why bother?"
"Why bother indeed," Mingrui echoed. Then, with a tilt of his head, "but why not?"
Klein's gaze drifted to Mingrui's index finger, tapping rhythmically against the table.
He'd done that for as long as Klein could remember—steady, repetitive, grounding in a way Mingrui probably didn't even notice.
Klein blinked.
"You read mine," Mingrui finished, offering a courteous smile. The kind he always wore when he wanted to appear mysterious.
'Playing the charlatan again?' Klein mused, recalling that one time Mingrui tried to confess to a girl he liked through a Tarot reading—only to end up rejected anyway.
It had been hilarious from the sidelines. Klein still wasn't sure how Mingrui managed to rig the reading when the girl had been the one to shuffle the cards, but then again, every magician had their secrets.
And Mingrui, to Klein's reluctant amusement, was surprisingly good at it.
'A Tarot reading, huh?'
Klein considered the offer, and after deciding there was nothing to be wary about, he shrugged, an unreadable smile tugging at his lips.
"Sure, if you say so," he agreed. "It might not be much, though."
Mingrui, as usual, ignored the disclaimer entirely. Klein never really understood that about him.
The man had been stubbornly fixated on knowing his Fate for so long, and every reading had ended in something vague or incomprehensible.
Klein couldn't fathom why Mingrui kept insisting.
"Shuffle it already," Mingrui complained. "Hurry, hurry."
Klein huffed, but relented. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it," he grumbled as he began shuffling the cards.
Under the weight of Mingrui's expectant gaze, he finally drew three cards and set them down on the table, face-down.
Without another word, he picked up the Past card and flipped it over without much expression.
"The World," he read. "Upright."
Mingrui nodded, as if understanding something. "Completion," he explained. "Wholeness. Achievement. Harmony."
"I must've become very successful then," Klein commented, thinking about his job interview.
Being a professor was respectable, and it would be enough to support his family, easing the burden on Benson.
Optimistically, he chose to see it as a sign that his hard work was paying off. After all, he had just graduated. His college years were behind him now.
"It also conveys the cyclical nature of life," Mingrui added mysteriously, as though pondering something beyond comprehension. "Fitting, isn't it?" he asked, probing.
"I guess so," Klein said. "Isn't The World card about the 'self and other' becoming a single entity?"
Mingrui blinked, his smile tilting slightly. "Maybe," he replied. "How about you flip the next card?" he suggested.
Klein hesitated, eyes flicking between the last two cards. After several long seconds of deliberation, he finally turned over the Future—and the card erupted into flames.
Klein paled, then slowly turned to Mingrui, who was wearing a deliberately blank expression.
"Are you doing your tricks again?" he demanded, exasperation bleeding into his voice.
"Why?"
Desperate to smother the flames, he smacked the burning card against the table until all that remained were glowing embers—and a card reduced to soot and ash.
Klein let out a long, shaky sigh. "That scared me," he muttered, brushing the remains into his open palm before tossing them into the trash bin.
"Lower your tricks, please," scolded Klein. "I nearly had a heart attack."
Zhou Mingrui stayed silent—so silent it was starting to worry him.
'What's wrong now?' he thought.
Klein opened his mouth to say something, but Mingrui finally spoke first.
"Forget it," he muttered, the bitterness unmistakable. Then he reached forward and flipped Klein's Present card.
Without a word, he held it up, blocking Klein's line of sight until he had no choice but to read it.
"The Hierophant," Klein read aloud. "Reversed."
"Rebellion," Mingrui explained. "New methods. Unconventionality. Non-conformity."
Klein blinked at him.
"That is the Present," Mingrui declared flatly. "You know what that means."
.
.
.
"Pfft—"
Klein snorted. "What are you doing?" 'He' asked, half-amused.
"Didn't I tell you already?" 'He' mocked lightly.
"Why bother?"
The Fool leaned back, an easy smile sliding across 'his' face. "Why bother indeed?" 'he' echoed.
Without warning, 'he' produced a revolver from nowhere and leveled it at the Celestial Worthy's head.
"And I told you," 'he' said softly, "why not?"
The Fool's smile widened—and 'he' pulled the trigger.
(... Then Klein fell—crumpling to the floor—
... The Celestial Worthy smiled...
... The Fool 'tsked'...
... And the dream continued once more... )Zhou Mingrui woke to a stark white ceiling, feeling as though he were already dead, his decaying body exhumed and resurrected.
He squeezed his eyes shut in pain.
His intuition pulsed restlessly, trying to form words, but all it managed was a frantic writhing—like worms twisting inside his skull, desperate to escape.
Slowly, the chaos tightened into a single message. Act as The Fool, it said. It felt more like a command than a suggestion. And that was all it offered. That was all he had to go on.
Then suddenly, guided by an intuition so sharp he wasn't even sure it came from himself, his mind drifted back to the word Proxy.
A Representative. An Extension of The Fool. The meaning settled into place with surprising ease.
And yet, with every answer he received, even more questions followed.
The loudest of them all was why?
What was so special about Zhou Mingrui that it caught the attention of a God? Was it because of his circumstances? Or was it his status as a Transmigrator?
Surely there had to be more to it than that, right? Zhou Mingrui was reluctant to believe it was really that simple. His own intuition felt so unreliable, it was practically broken.
"Forget it," he muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left his tongue. He forced himself to retrace everything—every moment since that fateful divination at the Gray Fog.
With his senses heightened far beyond the ordinary, memory sharpened into something cruelly precise.
June 29th.
That was the day the Cataclysm struck.
"... When the stars are right, Chaos will rise from underground, and the Great Oldest One will awaken..."
The Great Oldest One.
Zhou Mingrui repeated the title silently. Only one Being fit that description. Only one stood at such a height.
The Original Creator.
He shut his eyes, unable to banish the scene that replayed behind his eyelids. An extinction on a scale the human mind was never meant to witness, looping endlessly like a curse carved into his soul.
Unbidden, a question surfaced.
How long had it taken that version of him to uncover the truth?
He knew himself. Stubborn to the point of absurdity. The kind of obstinate idiot who would dig his heels in during online arguments, refusing to concede unless presented with irrefutable proof.
Why would this be any different?
He could almost see it—perhaps he could already imagine it. Himself, keeping everyone at arm's length, refusing to grow close or form any real connection.
Why bother, when he was destined to leave anyway? Why invite heartbreak when he could spare himself from it in the first place?
And yet, in the end, it would all be for nothing.
There was no home to go back to. Nothing left. Nothing waiting.
How despairing must that have been?
How utterly hopeless?
Zhou Mingrui's skin tingled, and suddenly he was hit with the loud blaring of keep it together, keep it together—
Trusting his intuition, he forced himself to calm down.
Focus.
"Focus. Focus. Focus," he repeated, raising his right arm to the ceiling and watching the holes form and mend, stitching themselves back together until only unmarred skin remained.
He gave a wry smile at the sight and exhaled heavily into the silence.
Then Zhou Mingrui noticed something was off. The sudden calm he felt was... suspicious. Could someone teetering on the edge of losing control really be this easy to steady?
Were there other factors at play, influencing his mind?
He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it was the same serene calm he'd sensed from that one lady in the simple linen robe. The one he'd caught a glimpsed of in his room.
Then... after that, a sharp sensation pierced through his chest from behind.
A red glow had slipped in through the open window, silent and watchful... yet, motionless.
He hadn't fully registered it at first, but then again, he wasn't exactly in the right state of mind. The only thing he could recall clearly was the sight of the Angel—
Zhou Mingrui froze mid-thought. 'Angel?' he repeated dumbly. 'Is that what that woman was?' His intuition seemed to agree.
Then why would an 'Angel' be inside his room?
What exactly is an 'Angel'—Servants of Gods?
Zhou Mingrui shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. What good would speculating do? He was certain he had died.
And then he lived—why? He had a feeling it had something to do with the Proxy part. But what was so important about being a Proxy, anyway?
(... why, why, why...)
Zhou Mingrui shook his head, trying to chase away the thought.
'I got killed,' he realized. 'And that happened right after I left the Gray Fog... but how did I even come down?'
Most likely, he had been thrown out.
What probably happened was this—he'd been guided into that divination, stumbled onto the truth about the modern era, spiraled into madness under the weight of it, and then... he'd been killed.
And after that—he'd been nudged into the role of The Fool. Probably because of his status as a Proxy.
And it's... a rather grim fate. One that left no room for comfort.
The idea of being nothing more than a pawn, pushed into certain situations to produce certain outcomes, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
'Who would ever be content knowing they were merely a piece on a divine board,' Zhou Mingrui thought, 'pushed around at the whim of a Higher Being's idle desires?'
How did he even end up 'Transmigrated' in the first place? Was that the handiwork of The Fool as well?
However, what could Zhou Mingrui possibly do? Helplessness gnawed at him.
He was merely human. How could he rebel against the schemes of Gods? There was no choice but to comply. Who knew what might happen to Klein's family if he didn't?
Then—a sudden, unnerving clarity struck him. Hadn't he suspected that Klein and he had been switched? Had the 'end of the world' wiped him out there too?
The thought sent a chill through him. Klein Moretti's skin... had never felt so cold before.
Zhou Mingrui rolled onto his side and groaned.
The hell?
Just as his thoughts began to spiral, a sudden serenity washed over him. The worms wriggling beneath his skin were quickly stilled.
Still, he would have liked to shed a tear for a friend he was most likely never meant to meet again. Was that too much to ask without implicating himself?
Why did everything have to be so complicated? June 30th. 8:00 A.M. Saturday.
Zhou Mingrui opened his eyes again to the murmur of distant voices. He found himself in a stone-walled room, sunlight filtering softly through tall stained-glass windows beneath an arched ceiling.
The lighting suggested early morning. Clean, white curtains surrounded rows of equally pristine beds—some fully drawn shut, other half-open, and a few tied back against the stone to reveal empty mattresses.
There was a neatly wrapped bandage around his torso. It clearly suggested an injury, yet when he pressed a hand to his chest, he felt nothing—no pain, no tenderness, nothing to hint at a wound beneath the cloth.
'Well,' he thought numbly, 'I'm still alive. I suppose it makes sense there wouldn't be anything there either.'
"Oh, Klein!" Melissa Moretti cries as she burst into the church infirmary, hurrying straight to his bedside.
Her eyes flicked to the bandages around Klein's chest—so quick it was almost imperceptible—before she threw herself at him in a crushing, yet surprisingly careful hug.
It lasted only a second before she seemed to catch herself and drew back. Klein assumed she was afraid of aggravating his injury.
Not that he'd flinched—there was no wound.
What did make him flinch, however, were her tear-filled eyes.
With a heavy heart, Klein Moretti spoke. "Melissa," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I'm so sorry—"
"Idiot!" Melissa cut him off, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. She pinched his right arm—hard. Klein flinched at the sting, though it didn't actually hurt much.
"Idiot!" she said again.
Klein's lips wobbled. "I'm sorry—"
"Idiot, shut up!" Melissa snapped, though her voice cracked, and then she began to sob in earnest. Klein reached out, pulling her close as she broke down.
She buried her face against his neck, shaking.
It didn't lessen Zhou Mingrui's guilt. Not even a little. But he was Klein—and so he gently stroked her hair and allowed himself to imagine—just for a moment—that a more forgiving world existed somewhere.
Unfortunately, it was Saturday, and Melissa simply had too much to do. After a long round of persuasion from Klein, she finally—though very reluctantly—agreed that she needed to go to school, finish her duties, and then request an early leave.
Once she left, Klein realized how strangely empty the church was. Even for an infirmary, the silence felt... off. Curious, he decided to check what was happening.
The hallways were just as deserted, as though everyone had suddenly become busy elsewhere, leaving this part of the building forgotten.
'What's that?' he thought, curious.
Klein found himself drawn to an open door. Inside was a small chapel, softly lit by rows of candles that framed a modest altar.
A lone member of the clergy was there—plain, unassuming—kneeling with his hands clasped in prayer.
'A priest?'
Klein wondered, taking in the man's simple, holy-looking robes. No—more than the clothing, it was the aura radiating from him, something calm and quietly profound.
Could high-ranking members of the church really give off something like that?
Not wanting to intrude upon the man's private devotion, Klein instinctively stepped back, intending to leave unnoticed.
"Come in," the man said serenely, stopping Klein in his tracks.
Klein hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.
"Praise the Lady," he murmured.
"Praise the Lady," the priest echoed, though his smile was... strange.
Klein noted his blonde hair and golden eyes. His intuition felt oddly muted, as if quietly expecting, waiting for something.
It was odd, but neither threatening nor dangerous, so Klein decided there was no immediate risk and chose to venture further.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," Klein said apologetically as he lowered himself to his knees beside the man.
"You haven't," the priest replied. "It is for this reason that I am here."
Klein stayed silent, a mix of unease and curiosity keeping him still. 'Let's hear what he has to say,' he concluded, as though he'd finally decided something.
"You could say," the priest continued, as serene as ever, "you could say this is a reasonable development."
...
Angel, Angel, Angel—Klein's intuition warned.
Instinctively, he tensed. "Who are you?" he asked, though he couldn't quite explain why the question had suddenly come to him.
The Angel sighed. "A passing author, you could say," 'He' replied. "I write... interesting things."
Then, as if speaking to someone Klein could not yet understand, 'He' added, "emotional stories are quite moving, you see."
The Angel then pulled out a book. Its title read—Lord of Mysteries.