Wayne remembered very well. The front gate of the detective agency was locked—from the inside.
There were numerous urban legends in Londan, including but not limited to the subway to hell, the headless rider wandering the mist, the man-eating alleyway, and the great catacombs.
Urban legends roamed the city at night, while ordinary denizens owned the city during the day. They shared and co-existed in Londan in harmony, keeping out of each other's way. If anyone violated the rules and trespassed into the other domain, they would mysteriously go missing.
The harbor workers told these tales with great embellishments, as if they had witnessed those urban legends in person.
For the past three months, Wayne had heard plenty about them. Since he had never seen any in person, he scoffed at the tales as absurd. But since it cost nothing, he decided to act as if he believed them.
When in Londan, do as Londaners do. Wayne always locked the gate when night fell to avoid a close encounter with the urban legends.
There was no harm in taking them seriously.
Rat-a-tat!
The uninvited visitor knocked again, more hurriedly this time. It seemed that they wouldn't stop until Wayne opened the door.
But he didn't. He picked up a crowbar instead. The visitor didn't keep knocking either, but instead opened the door and came in uninvited.
A black cloak covered the person from head to toe, obscuring their face. Under the ceiling light, the cloak seemed like shadow given concrete form. The intensifying pressure made Wayne's crowbar-wielding hand sweat.
He scrutinized the figure. Although he couldn't make out the face under the hood, the curves covered by the fabric told him that the intruder was a woman.
What, here to do business?
"You must be the owner of this agency. I have a proposition for you."
"Maybe tomorrow. The agency's closed."
Though her voice was pleasant, Wayne turned her down. She was clearly someone with a story if her mysterious outfit was anything to go by. He didn't want to get tangled up with someone like her.
The uninvited visitor didn't say anything. She sauntered to his office desk and snorted at all the potato dishes. She dropped a wad of money on the table.
The queens on the paper bills were an assault on Wayne's eyes. There were at least fifty hundred-silling bills, which would be five thousand sillings total. He would have to work day and night for two years to make that much.
The silling was Windsor's official currency, and it had a coin sub-unit, the silker. Twelve silker was one silling[1]. Due to the great depression and the looming war, the silling's purchasing power continued to drop. Still, five thousand sillings was a fortune to Wayne.
"Can we talk now?"
"Please, have a seat."
He sat behind the desk with the crowbar resting on his thighs. His instinct told him that the crowbar wouldn't be much help, but he needed reassurance. Having a weapon in hand bolstered his courage.
The woman was pleased to see that Wayne was a professional who spoke the language of money. She sat down on the chair across from the desk with unhurried grace.
Wayne regarded the woman from a close distance. Under the hood, the lower part of her face was fair and smooth, and her lips delicate. Her skin was practically glowing like pearls. Wayne could tell how nice and soft it would be to the touch.
Based on her complexion, he guessed that the visitor was quite young—around sixteen to eighteen, no older than twenty.
Someone so young and beautiful barging into a single man's abode this late at night? She was definitely skilled, or… skilled.
Given how generous she was, it was probably the latter.
The woman's silence revealed nothing. Wayne put on a professional smile that didn't reach his eyes and said politely, "Have you eaten? Would you like some potatoes?"
"Black tea."
"A minute."
Wayne picked up the sillings before heading to the kitchen to make tea. It was a mystery how the locals got their hands on tea leaves when there wasn't even international maritime trade in this world.
After a moment, Wayne sat back down. He saw the woman reaching for her hood and hurriedly covered his eyes.
"I understand the rules. I don't want to know what you look like. After tonight, we'll be strangers. Please keep the hood on."
The woman ignored him and did as she wanted.
She had blond hair and blue eyes. Her facial features were perfectly proportioned, and the skin and bone structure were just right. The aloof beauty belonged on a fashion magazine cover; she'd look good with any style. She could be sweet and youthful, but also cold and authoritative.
The latter was the case here. Her blond hair was put up in a bun. A pair of dark, icy eyes seemed to hold starlight captive. She picked up her cup of tea and smelled it, but instead of having a sip, she put the cup back down.
What, does a swine not appreciate fine things?
Although the woman didn't say anything, Wayne still sensed a great class barrier between them. The premium tea leaves he had splurged on were nothing to the woman.
Good, a cash cow!
Due to his experience in his past life, Wayne never complained about rich clients, at least not to their faces. He said with a smile, "Honored guest, what is the proposition you're making?"
"I need a job. You need an assistant."
"..."
Stunned, Wayne gestured at his office. "As you can see, this is a small business. I can't afford—"
"I can. Every month, I'll pay you a thousand sillings to work as an assistant at the agency."
"..."
"Forget it if you don't like the offer."
"Welcome, Miss Assistant. You're hired."
Wayne nodded without hesitation. The earlier five thousand sillings plus the additional thousand sillings per month meant six thousand up front. Breaking his principles? What were principles compared to six thousand sillings? It would be undue tolerance to the potatoes if he hesitated for even a second.
Wayne offered his hand enthusiastically. The woman didn't take it. He pulled back and shook his own hand without a hint of embarrassment. "Your resume and ID… Right, I'll make those up myself. I'm Wayne, owner and chief investigator of this agency. Your name?"
"Veronica."
Veronica gave him a name that could be an alias and told him a story that could be complete fiction: she was a lifelong lover of detective stories from another country, who had always dreamed of becoming a detective herself. She wouldn't stay at the agency for long, and she wouldn't cause trouble. As long as he refrained from asking questions, he would earn an endless supply of the queen's portraits going forward.
The lies were terrible and lacked proper consideration, but they were good enough.
Wayne nodded. It was easy to tell that Veronica had some other goal. He didn't know what it was, but it wouldn't concern him. He had nothing. No one could get anything from him.
"I'll live at the agency during this time. Do you have any empty rooms? I need two. I'll pay rent. Deal?"
"You may move in anytime you want."
Wayne smothered a sigh. As the saying went, one should start a family after meeting a good partner and start a business after meeting a benefactor. Encountering a rich woman? Then it was time to start a family and a business. He had doubted the saying, but it turned out that it was only because he'd never met a rich woman.
Money could buy anything, and right now, it bought his complete disregard for whatever Veronica might be up to. He only knew that money was beauty, and beauty was justice. A girl who was rich and beautiful could never do anything wrong. Veronica was most certainly not a spy or a contract killer sent by an enemy nation. She had come all the way here to realize her childhood dream of becoming a detective.
How nice. Unlike her, Wayne had lost all his childhood dreams. He only had one dream after growing up: Having enough money to buy a house.
"The first floor is the office. The second floor is my bedroom, the archive, study, storage, and bathroom. If you don't mind, there's an attic no one uses. You can move in after I clean it up tomorrow."
"I'm moving in tonight." Veronica glanced at the stairs and took a wad of sillings out of her wallet. She handed the paper bills to Wayne one by one. "I'm taking your bedroom as well. I'll rent the entire second floor. You have one hour to move your belongings downstairs."
"Half an hour will do."
"And my luggage is outside."
"I'm on it."
One should never turn down free lunches from the landlord's daughter. Veronica had paid Wayne enough to renovate the entire agency. He had no reason to reject her.
When he reached the front gates, he was stunned.
The gates lay open and shaky in the darkness. A burly man around two meters tall stood guard outside, watching over three large black suitcases. He had deep, sculpted features and thick, hairy arms.
Despite the lingering winter in Londan, the strong man was wearing only a pair of white shorts and a tank top. Wayne could feel the heat radiating from the powerful physique at a distance.
He must be a very persuasive man.
The burly man smiled at Wayne and extended his large, thick hand. "William. Nice to meet you."
"Hello, I'm Wayne."
The burly man looked fierce but was surprisingly polite. Wayne took the offered hand.
The heat of William's palm chilled him to the bone. The cold shot from his feet and stopped at his tailbone, where it lingered and pooled, rather than traveling to his brain.
No wonder he had felt that something was wrong. He only realized now that William's blond hair was tied into twintails, and the tank top was actually a sleeveless sailor's undershirt with blue and white stripes.
Shit, the man won't let go, and he keeps smiling.
William's smile was unnerving. He seemed ready to give his new friend an enthusiastic hug. Wayne struggled in vain against the terrible might. The blue and white stripes grew closer and closer, with many blond curls peeking out.
Chest hair, the embodiment of Wayne's hormones.
Meow!
Thankfully, a cat's cry interrupted William and saved Wayne from a terrible fate. The black cat had a pair of golden eyes. It lay on a black suitcase with its paws stacked together. Its silky fur blended with the darkness, and when it closed its eyes, it might as well be invisible.
Hearing the meow, William's attention snapped to the cat instead of Wayne. "Monica, wanna fly?"
Thank God, Wayne thought. I almost got smothered by pecs.
The two-meter man picked up the cat, then started hopping around. The incredible sight dispersed any fantasies Wayne had ever held about blond twintails.
A noble lady, a hunk, and a black cat. What kind of combination was that?
Well, maybe the noble lady had fled from an arranged marriage with her pet cat in tow, and the man was her butler and bodyguard. That would make sense.
"What are you doing, William? Put Monica down."
Veronica walked out of the office. As soon as she saw William, she started fighting him for the black cat. Under Wayne's flabbergasted gaze, the burly man lost, and Veronica easily took the cat from him.
She held the cat to her chest and shot William a glare. "Your room is on the second floor. Hurry up and move the luggage there with Wayne. You'll take his room."
That won't do!
Wayne shuddered. He swore to move all the clothes, blanket, and bedsheet out of his bedroom. He would not leave any fabric with his lingering scent behind.
To his surprise, William seemed reluctant, too.
"That won't be appropriate. I don't want to…"
"Shut up. It's decided."
"How about Monica?"
"Monica will live in the attic with me," Veronica said as if it were the obvious conclusion. "The cat will be staying with the lady, not the sweaty man."
"Tsk, you've got ulterior motives."