"Now that I have a short-term goal..."
Shade stood in the sunlight-drenched room, summarizing his situation. He accepted the detective's death as a fact. Right now, his biggest problem wasn't that he lacked memories of this world, but that he knew nothing about it. Other than that, things weren't too bad.
He needed a plan.
"First, search the apartment. Find money, maps, books—anything that explains how this world works. Learn fast. Decide later whether to stay here for three months and finish whatever the detective wanted, or just survive."
With that, Shade stood and headed to the bathroom.
He studied his reflection carefully: dull blond hair, brown-black eyes, a young face, distinctly Western features. He looked about twenty years old, expression flat, a little hollow. Around 1.8 meters tall. Not striking, but not ugly either—average, by his own standards.
"This is me now. Don't startle yourself every time you pass a mirror."
Speaking softly in his mind, he lingered in front of the mirror. After a moment, he cautiously glanced around and whispered:
"Hello...? Are you still there?"
No answer. The whispering female voice in his head was silent.
Giving up for now, he focused on the next immediate need: food. When he'd searched the kitchen earlier, he'd found nothing. His body felt starved.
So, money first.
Half an hour later, Shade sat slumped on the sofa, bathed in morning light, face pale.
In his hand was a crumpled banknote with the number 10 printed on it—small, worn, and clearly neglected. On one side, a portrait; on the reverse, the royal crest of the Kingdom of Delarion.
That single note was the sum total of his fortune.
He'd searched everywhere—drawers, pockets, behind shelves—and this banknote had been found purely by accident, wedged behind a bookcase.
"Surely the prices in this world aren't so strange that this single note will feed me for three months...?"
He tried to comfort himself. But deep down, he knew.
Impossible.
"This... is a disaster."
Leaning back into the soft sofa, he closed his eyes, staring upwards at the ceiling.
"Mr. Hamilton... where did you hide the money? I promised to stay here, you can't just leave me a single note..."
For a moment, he sincerely wished he could catch up to the departing coffin and shake the corpse awake for answers.
No language? You can survive by being clever.
Physical disability? Endure it bravely and live.
But no money?
That meant death.
Mr. Sparrow Hamilton clearly hadn't been cooking at home. There wasn't even a stray leaf in the kitchen. Shade had no idea when this body last ate, but he could feel the hunger now.
Soon, he'd be scavenging from garbage bins behind restaurants if this continued.
"No. I won't let it get to that."
Clutching the lone banknote with a grim expression, Shade reminded himself:
"Money exists. This is proof and also have those 'Sun 3' cards from the diary. If nothing else, I can sell those... I'll survive."
But that wasn't enough.
He needed a long-term plan. Fast.
Knowledge from his old world was valuable, but converting that into money here wasn't easy—and probably dangerous.
Then he remembered.
This was a detective agency. Before dying, the detective had said something about leaving simple commissions behind. He'd specifically chosen work suited for someone "not good at using his brain."
Perhaps... the work was already done.
All Shade had to do was collect the payments.
Eyes lighting up, he sprang from the sofa and fetched the ledger, memo book, and work journal from the study. He'd found them earlier but hadn't looked through them properly.
Mr. Sparrow Hamilton was meticulous. His records were detailed, clear, and—surprisingly—easy to understand.
Many of the pending cases were marked simple.
Very simple.
"Find Miss White's runaway sister."
"Follow Mr. Lawrence's mistress."
"Recover the lost orange cat, Mia."
"Find a doctor specializing in eye diseases."
None of these looked dangerous. And most were already marked as resolved.
Shade flipped through the detective's handwritten notes, relieved. The agency didn't need complicated operations to survive—two or three simple commissions every few weeks would be enough.
But he wasn't thinking about long-term operations right now.
He needed quick money.
Comparing the four remaining cases, Shade decided to take up "Following Mr. Lawrence's Mistress." The commission was nearly complete—Hamilton had been following the mistress for months but had stopped recently due to his illness. The existing report could technically be submitted as it was.
But Hamilton had left a handwritten note: submit a recent update for a better payout and to avoid suspicion from the employer—Mr. Lawrence's wife.
In other words, all Shade needed was one more day of following to complete the task.
The final payment was marked as "1 pound 7 shillings"—with 1 pound 4 shillings still unpaid.
From Hamilton's tone, that was decent money.
Plus, Hamilton had handled dozens of cases like this. Extramarital affairs were his specialty. The commission was safe, straightforward, and clean.
"I can't just sit here starving. I'll handle this today."
Decision made, Shade immediately set to work.
First, he retrieved the city map.
Based on the detective's report, and using the calendar to track dates and locations, he pinpointed where "Mrs. La Soya"—the mistress—frequented. The hardest part wasn't the surveillance. It was simply locating his own current position on the city map.
Fortunately, he found it.
In one of Hamilton's old tracking reports, there was a route marked—showing this apartment's location: **No. 6, Saint Teresa Square, Central Tobesk City.**
"Detective Hamilton... thank you for your obsessive record-keeping."
Shade looked at the spot on the map and froze.
A house by the central square... in the city center.
"Wait... how much is this place worth?"
His heart skipped.
Just two streets away was "Yordle Palace"—the royal residence of the Kingdom of Delarion.
It was mentioned in the newspaper, sandwiched between reports on steam pipeline renovations and ancient tower collapses. This wasn't just the capital of Delarion—it was the heart of the kingdom.
Shade, who hadn't even owned a house in his previous life, felt his heartbeat accelerate.
"I'm in the royal capital... living in a property next to the palace...?"
Suddenly, his mood lightened.
A house like this... even if he did nothing, he could live comfortably just by owning it.
At least, that's what he thought.
Then his smile faded.
Because he remembered something.
He hadn't found any land deeds or property papers when searching earlier.
"This isn't... rented, is it?"
A chill ran down his spine.
If this apartment belonged to Detective Hamilton, there should've been proof of ownership. But if it was rented...
"Don't tell me... I have to pay rent?"
It made horrible sense. If Hamilton could afford property here, why bother running a detective agency at all? Why work at all?
Shade's eyes darted to the calendar.
Rose Moon, 1853.
Third Saturday of June.
If rent was due monthly... the payment date was likely at the start of next month.
"This world uses a twelve-month calendar too... and their dates seem similar to Earth's. I should... I should be paying rent next week."
The thought hit him like a punch.
Suddenly, Shade wasn't thinking about secret rituals or destiny.
He was thinking about whether he needed to pack his things and flee in the night.