Mrs. Maggie, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, was as beautiful as ever. Her voice was gentle, her smile warm, and her large eyes shimmered like water. She resembled a plump, juicy, ripe peach, exuding a sweet, seductive fragrance that made it hard to look away.
A little head poked out from behind her, boasting equally dazzling, silky blonde hair. Little Martha’s eyes were filled with cunning and spark, her childish face radiating youthful innocence and vigor. Standing together, mother and daughter complemented each other beautifully.
Speaking as she walked, Mrs. Maggie led the little girl into the bedroom. She helped Lynch adjust his cast-bound leg hanging in midair, tidied the messy bed, smoothed out his rumpled pajamas, and then, with a blushing face, removed the large chamber pot from beneath the bed.
Over these past sixteen days, Lynch’s bedridden life with a broken leg had been meticulously cared for. The landlady was like a gentle older sister from next door, thoughtfully handling every inconvenience and embarrassment a bedridden patient might face. She never complained; in fact, she seemed genuinely happy. Perhaps, just as she had said, being able to repay Lynch brought her real joy. During this period, even her usual tinge of melancholy had given way to a bright, cheerful mood.
Especially when watching her daughter interact with Lynch, the warmth and smiles in her eyes were impossible to conceal.
The little brat was up to no good again.
She pitter-pattered over to the head of Lynch's bed, deftly straightening the various sheets of paper he used for his report and placing them on the nightstand. With practiced ease, she cleared away the clutter beside the bed, and finally—most skillfully of all—snatched up a pen and sprawled at the foot of the bed to engage in her favorite daily activity: doodling on his cast.
The replacement cast was already almost covered in drawings again, featuring a multitude of stick figures. It seemed to tell a story of a short stick figure brutally beating up a tall stick figure, before finally standing with hands on hips, laughing maniacally with its foot on the tall figure's head.
It was actually quite entertaining. Especially in the final freeze-frame, after sneaking a glance at Lynch, the little brat had surreptitiously labeled the two figures with the letters “M” and “L,” making it even more vivid. Lynch felt thoroughly satisfied, and then slapped the back of the little brat's head—the practiced fluidity of the movement was painfully smooth, truly a cause for celebration.
Little Martha giggled, cradling her head. Much of the wildness and hostility she had displayed when they first met had faded. Over the past few days, she had reportedly been going to school obediently and hadn't skipped a single class, surprising her teachers so much that they thought something terrible had happened at home. Moreover, the time she spent running wild outside had noticeably decreased; as soon as school let out, she rushed straight home to excitedly begin her daily round of mischief, needing to get slapped on the head a few times every day before retreating contentedly into her mother's arms.
Smacking someone's daughter right in front of her, and having her clean up his intimate items—even though this happened every day, Lynch still felt a slight blush on his face. Glancing out the window at the sunlight, he awkwardly scratched his head and asked, “To think a visitor could bypass Mrs. Maggie's barrier. Who is it? Should we invite them up?”
“It's me first,” a woman's voice came from the bedroom doorway, followed by a familiar figure stepping inside.
She was dressed in men's clothing: a white shirt, a plaid vest, a lightweight jacket, a flat cap, and soft-soled shoes suited for running. Around twenty years old, she had delicate features, a sharp and confident edge, and short black hair that gave her a businesslike air.
Who are you, miss?
Even as the question popped into Lynch's mind, he had actually recognized her by her style of dress and hair. It was Maya, the reporter.
Her monstrous red eyes and fangs were gone, and her original appearance had returned. The foul stench of decay had vanished completely, replaced by the scent of perfume—though it was a bit too strong, likely a temporary overcompensation.
“Hee-hee! Surprised, Uncle Lynch? The reporter sister has visited several times already. She knew you were getting released today, so she came early...” Little Martha paused, yelping, “Ouch!”
Holding the back of her head, the little thing shrank to the side in grievance, while the female reporter offered a slight bow in gentlemanly fashion.
“Uh, I get it. You're here to reimburse me for those two days of meals. Not expensive at all, just three and a half pounds. You can give it directly to Mrs. Maggie—it'll cover my rent for June.”
With that single sentence, he choked off the thanks that were about to leave her lips. The female reporter’s face flushed red, and taking a deep breath, she retorted sharply, “Altogether it was only one pound! Besides, the turkey leg tasted terrible; only the beef was decent. And don't think I don't know that it was paid for by some witness protection program! You rushed to get reimbursed for what you advanced on the very same day, and even tried to claim an extra pound, only to be cursed out by their accountant!”
Tsk. Those Watchers have zero sense of confidentiality. I'll definitely have to lodge a protest with Mr. V later. And how can they spread rumors like that? That young lady didn't curse at all—she very gently told me to clear off.
Lynch let out a regretful sigh and said sullenly, “On a day of reunion, let's not bring up such trivial matters. Well, seeing you safe and sound... I'm really glad.”
Lynch was genuinely glad—so glad he almost felt like crying.
The terror when they first met, the anxiety of being hidden in the secret cave, the despair during that last supper, that monstrous face... all stood in sharp contrast to the girl standing before him now.
For the first time, he truly felt how his actions had changed this world. He had successfully saved a living girl. Although according to Officer Natalie, she was bound to be entangled with the mystery every single day until death came, at least at this very moment, she stood before him once more as a human being—just as she had hoped sixteen days ago.
Lynch found the emotion he felt right now somewhat familiar. It was like when he had read the Red Moon Memories, where she bestowed her blessing for the first time, saving a believer from misfortune. Sense of accomplishment, moving sentiment, happiness... a mix of various emotions swelled within him, leaving him deeply moved.
“I'm... also really glad. Thank you, Mr. Detective,” the reporter choked out, wiping the corners of her eyes. “I've talked with Officer Natalie Angel a few times over the past few days, so I know how much trouble you took and how much risk you ran for me. Saying a simple 'thank you' feels too pale, but I want you to know that I'll never forget what you did for me. Unlike you special individuals, I don't have any extraordinary abilities, but I'm willing to offer my own strength to help you. I've returned to work at the newspaper now. If there's ever anything I can do for you in the future, just let me know anytime. As long as it's your request, I will never refuse.”
Being treated like this for the first time made Lynch blush slightly. His gaze wandered, and he said awkwardly, “Ah, well...”
“Except for reimbursing meal expenses.”
Tsk. Seen right through.
Sighing, Lynch nodded. “I understand. If you ever encounter anything unusual in the future, you can come find me or Officer Natalie anytime. Also, I'll give you an address. Go there and look for a red-haired woman. The photograph you asked Donnie to deliver got her shop blown up—you ought to at least go and apologize.”
“Mm, I understand. I came today just to thank you, Mr. Detective. Nothing else. There are other guests waiting downstairs, so I won't disturb your rest any longer.”
Maya gave Little Martha a meaningful look, and the little girl immediately bounced over, taking the reporter's hand, who knew what plot they were going to hatch next.
Other guests, though?
Just as Lynch was feeling puzzled, he saw Mrs. Maggie lead up two more visitors.
Two formal gentlemen—one in his fifties or sixties, the other at least in his seventies or eighties. Wearing top hats and holding walking canes, both appeared refined and scholarly.
Who are these two now?
Seeing that the two didn't speak immediately upon entering, Lynch looked at them with confusion. The one in his fifties or sixties looked slightly familiar, while the older one was completely unfamiliar. Yet the moment Lynch glanced at the older man, a faint throb pulsed between his eyebrows, and a surging dread rose in his heart—clearly another immensely powerful Soul Severer.
“Student Lynch Levive, it seems you are not quite a qualified student. I am Dartmond, professor of archaeology at Rhine City Vocational College...”
Lynch opened his mouth, cold sweat instantly breaking out. You're my major professor? I knew you looked familiar! Wait, why does he feel so unfamiliar then? Did all my classes in my previous life go down the drain?
“It seems I will have to add a question to every exam from now on, printing my photo on it. Anyone who can't identify me gets an automatic zero.”
Now that's way ahead of its time. Go right ahead and do it—screw over all those underclassmen.
Lynch finally realized that he had already graduated. It felt as refreshing as dreaming about taking a college entrance exam without knowing any answers, only to wake up in terror and realize he had graduated long ago. He immediately flashed a malicious smile and nodded vigorously.
“My unannounced visit today is because this elderly gentleman wished to meet you and discuss an important matter with you.”
The old professor stepped aside slightly, respectfully making way for the elderly Soul Severer beside him.
“I am Olei, President of the Archaeological Association.” His voice was aged and hoarse, but his next words gave Lynch quite a shock. “Authority, rank eight.”
Rate on N.U.
