Mrs. Maggie, with her golden hair and blue eyes, remained as beautiful as ever. Her voice was gentle, her smile warm, and her large eyes held a gaze as clear as water. She resembled a ripe, juicy peach, radiating a sweet and alluring scent that made it impossible to look away.
A small head peeked out from behind her, with hair as golden and dazzling as satin. Little Martha’s eyes were full of cunning and vivacity, her childish face showing a youthful, raw energy. Mother and daughter stood together, a sight that complemented each other perfectly.
Mrs. Maggie spoke as she led the little one into the bedroom, helping Lynch adjust his leg, which was suspended in a plaster cast. She straightened the messy bed, smoothed out his wrinkled pajamas, and then, blushing, carried away the large pot from under the bed.
During these past sixteen days, Lynch’s life with a broken leg had been well cared for. The landlady acted like a gentle older sister from next door, meticulously handling the inconveniences and embarrassments of his life as a patient. She had no complaints and seemed quite happy. Perhaps, as she had said, being able to repay Lynch was a joyful thing. During this time, even her usual melancholy mood had brightened significantly.
Especially when she watched the way her daughter interacted with Lynch, the gentleness and smiles in her eyes were impossible to hide.
The little rascal was up to no good again.
She scampered to Lynch’s bedside, skillfully organizing his various report papers on the nightstand. She then cleaned up the clutter around the bed with even greater proficiency, and finally, most expertly of all, she grabbed a pen and sprawled out at the foot of the bed to engage in her favorite daily activity: doodling on his cast.
The plaster cast, recently replaced, was already nearly filled. It featured a large number of stick figures, apparently depicting a story where a short stick figure beat up a tall one, finally standing over the tall figure’s head with hands on hips, laughing maniacally.
It was actually quite spectacular. Especially in the final frozen scene, after the little rascal had peeked at Lynch, she had secretly labeled the two figures with the letters M and L, making it even more vivid. Lynch felt quite satisfied, then slapped the back of the little rascal’s head—a motion so practiced it was heart wrenching, yet truly a joyous occasion.
Little Martha held her head and giggled. The wildness and hostility she had when they first met had faded significantly. It was said that these past few days she had gone to school obediently and never skipped a class, which had surprised her teachers, who wondered if something had happened at home. Moreover, the time she spent running wild outside had clearly decreased. As soon as class ended, she would run straight home, eagerly beginning her day of mischief. Every day, she had to receive a few slaps like this before she was satisfied enough to crawl back into her mother’s arms.
Beating someone’s daughter in front of them, and then having them help clean up private items—even though he experienced it every day, Lynch still felt a bit of a blush. His gaze drifted toward the sunlight outside the window, and he scratched his head in embarrassment, asking, “How did a visitor manage to bypass Mrs. Maggie’s barrier? Who is it? Shouldn't you invite them up?”
“First, it is me.” A woman’s voice came from the bedroom doorway, and then a familiar figure walked in.
She was dressed in men’s clothing: a white shirt, a plaid vest, a thin jacket, and a flat cap. She wore soft soled shoes suitable for running. She looked to be about twenty years old, with delicate features and a sharp, piercing presence. Her short black hair added to her capable look.
Who is this girl?
Even as the question arose in Lynch’s mind, he had already recognized her by her clothing style and hair. It was the reporter, Maya.
The reporter’s monster like red eyes and fangs had disappeared, replaced by her original appearance. The stench of decay on her was also gone, replaced by the scent of perfume—though the scent was a bit too strong, likely a temporary overcorrection.
“Hehe, surprised, Uncle Lynch? The reporter sister has been here several times. She knew you would be released today, so she came over early... Oh!”
The little one covered the back of her head and retreated, aggrieved, while the reporter bowed slightly with a masculine etiquette.
“Uh, I see. You’re here to pay back the meal money from those two days. It wasn't expensive, just three and a half pounds. You can give it directly to Mrs. Maggie; it can count as my rent for June.”
With a single sentence, he blocked the thanks she was about to utter. The reporter choked, her face flushing red. She took a deep breath and retorted with sharp, witty words: “It only totaled one pound, and the turkey leg wasn't even good; only the beef was decent. And don't think I don't know that the money was paid by some witness protection program. You were in such a rush to get reimbursed for your out of pocket expenses that you tried to overcharge them by a pound, but their accountant yelled at you and sent you away.”
Tsk, these Watchers have no sense of confidentiality at all. I must protest to Mr. V later. And why are they spreading rumors? That young lady didn't yell; she very gently told me to get lost.
Lynch sighed with deep regret and said with a sullen expression, “On a day of reunion, let’s not mention those trivial matters. Well, being able to see you safe and sound, I am... very happy.”
Lynch was truly happy, happy to the point of wanting to shed tears.
The terror when they first met, the unease of being hidden in a secret cave, the despair at their final dinner, that monster like visage—all stood in stark contrast to the girl now before him.
For the first time, he truly felt the impact his actions had on this world. He had successfully saved a living, breathing girl. Although, according to Officer Natalie’s previous words, she would inevitably be entangled with mystery every day until death arrived, at least at this very moment, she stood before him again in the form of a human. Just as she had hoped most of all sixteen days ago.
Lynch felt that his current emotions were somewhat familiar, much like the time he had read the memories of the Red Moon—when he first bestowed a blessing and saved a believer from doom. Achievement, being touched, happiness? A mix of various emotions left Lynch feeling quite sentimental.
“I am also... very happy. Thank you, Detective,” the reporter said, her voice choked as she wiped the corner of her eye. “I have spoken with Officer Natalie Angel a few times these past few days and know how much heart you put into this and what risks you took. I don't want to just say a simple thank you; that is too pale. But I hope you know that I will never forget your help. I am not like you extraordinary people; I have no special abilities, but I am willing to contribute my strength to you. I have returned to work at the newspaper. If there is anything I can help with in the future, you can notify me at any time. As long as it is your request, I will never refuse.”
Being treated like this for the first time, Lynch blushed. His gaze drifted as he said awkwardly, “Ah, that...”
“Except for reimbursing meal money.”
Tsk, she saw right through me.
Sighing, Lynch nodded and said, “I understand. If you encounter anything abnormal in the future, you can come to me or Officer Natalie at any time. Also, here is an address. Go there and find the woman with red hair. The photo you had Donnie deliver caused her shop to be blown up; you really should go and apologize.”
“Mm, I know. I only came today to thank you, Detective. There is nothing else. There are other guests waiting downstairs, so I won't disturb your rest.”
Maya gave Little Martha a look, and the little one immediately skipped over, taking the reporter’s hand. Who knows what kind of conspiracy they were plotting now.
However, other guests?
As Lynch was wondering, he saw Mrs. Maggie bring up two more guests.
Two gentlemen in formal attire: one in his fifties, the other at least seventy or eighty, wearing top hats and carrying canes, both appearing refined and scholarly.
Who is this now?
Seeing that the two did not speak immediately upon entering, Lynch looked at them with confusion. The one in his fifties looked slightly familiar, while the older one was a complete stranger. But the moment Lynch glanced at the older man, his brow throbbed with pain, and a great sense of fear rose in his heart. It seemed he was also an extremely powerful soul severer.
“Student Lynch Levive, it seems you are not a qualified student. I am Dartmond, a professor of archaeology at the Rhine City College of Professional Studies...”
Lynch’s mouth hung open, and cold sweat broke out immediately. You are my major professor? I did say you looked familiar. No, wait, why do I feel like you’re a complete stranger? Did I waste all my previous life’s studies?
“It seems I will have to add a question to every exam from now on: print my photo on it. Anyone who fails to identify me gets a zero.”
You are way ahead of your time. If you do that, you will ruin those juniors.
Lynch finally realized he had already graduated. It was just like the feeling of dreaming that he was taking a college entrance exam and didn't know anything, only to wake up in terror and realize he had long since graduated. He felt refreshed, revealing a wicked smile and nodding vigorously.
“I apologize for the sudden visit. This old gentleman wanted to see you; he has important matters to discuss with you.”
The old professor stepped aside, respectfully yielding his position to highlight the elderly soul severer beside him.
“I am Olei, the president of the Archaeological Association.” The voice was aged and raspy, but the moment he spoke, he gave Lynch a start. “Authority, level eight.”
Rate on N.U.
