Lynch, of course, did not beat the little brat he had caught; he simply gave the little one a slap on the head.
The other children had long since scattered, but Martha did not run. Instead, she pouted, looking reluctant to leave Lynch's side, and took the initiative to follow him as he walked toward Charles Square.
She was limping, which made Lynch laugh out loud.
It seemed her bruised backside had not yet healed.
Under the little one's indignant glare, Lynch simply scooped her up and carried her all the way back to Apartment 221. The little thing kicked a few times before quieting down, snuggling comfortably into Lynch's arms.
Seeing the two of them return together actually startled Mrs. Maggie, who was preparing dinner. She only felt relieved once she confirmed her daughter had not been beaten again, and she covered her mouth with a gentle smile.
"Changed into new clothes? The workmanship is machine-made, but the material is quite good. But why is it so dirty, covered in all this dust?"
Hm? Lynch looked down; he hadn't noticed until she mentioned it, but he was indeed covered in dust.
The bloodstains in the mystery relic were manifestations of mystery and would not stick to him or be brought back to the real world, but he and Officer Angel had rolled around quite a bit in the secret chamber. The result was that they were both covered in grime, though neither of them had realized it.
"Hurry and take them off; I'll wash them for you. It's simply torture for a man like you to do these chores yourself."
"No, no." Lynch's face turned red, and he said awkwardly, "I have to head out soon. I need to wear formal attire for a formal occasion."
"Then you definitely can't go looking like a dust-covered mess. Do you intend to embarrass yourself? Change back into your original outfit. Even if the material is cheap, it's at least handmade, and the quality is no worse than this one. Go change and bring it down to me; I'll have it washed for you in a couple of days."
"Mom, pay attention! This guy just beat your daughter until she couldn't get out of bed, and you're going to help him wash his clothes? Are you rewarding him? Just let him stay dirty, anyway... Ah, I was wrong, no, Mom, look, he's going to hit me again!"
The little brat immediately dodged to the other side of the landlady, the two beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed faces pressed together, making the evening room seem much brighter.
The gentle smile made Lynch's heart warm, and he hurried back to the second floor. It must have been the high heat from the kitchen stove, otherwise why would his face be burning?
He carefully changed out of the Ranger uniform. Since no one had asked him for it when they parted ways earlier, everyone had tacitly agreed to let him keep it as a disguise prop for the future.
Changing back into his cheapest formal suit, he sent the clothes downstairs with a blushing face. Only then did Lynch lock his door, reorganize his combat gear, and finally retrieve the invitation letter and theater tickets.
Black Cat Theater, Box 204, an invitation from Countess Hathaway.
Lynch was actually quite worried; he had no memory of either the theater or the person from his past life.
This was a bit strange. His experience encountering Jeremy and the spider monster at the Thorn Flower had left a lifelong impression, and he was deeply concerned that this invitation was yet another trap set by some cultists.
It had only been two days, yet he had already encountered mystical events that many people wouldn't face in a lifetime, even speaking face to face with a mystical alien. Every day was rich, colorful, and thrilling; the characteristics of the mystery beacon had become clearly manifest, forcing him to be extra careful.
Therefore, he had intentionally made inquiries at the Scarecrow Club earlier. Although he wanted to meet the other party, he had also made up his mind that if there was any sign of trouble, he would never keep the appointment.
Officer Angel didn't know the Black Cat Theater either, though Mr. V had heard of it.
It was a luxurious theater located on the hidden Emerald Street in the Crown District. It was not open to the public; only celebrities and dignitaries frequented it, and the theater boxes were their traditional social venue. People without enough status couldn't even get in, no matter how much money they offered for an entry opportunity.
As for Countess Hathaway, she was a great noble of Rhine City.
She acted with great restraint and rarely interacted with commoners. Even Mr. V had only vaguely heard of her. It was said she was a leisurely noble without real power, but her status was so high that even Duke Vane had to treat her with caution.
The information wasn't very detailed, but it was enough for Lynch.
Both the theater and the host had public and absolutely legitimate backgrounds. He hadn't heard of them simply because his own status wasn't high enough. While that was a bit saddening, it also meant the danger level was significantly lower, so there was nothing to be afraid of.
It was just a normal invitation. Surely he wouldn't run into cultists again this time.
The only suspicious thing was the black cat that delivered the letter, but the one inviting him wasn't the cat, but Countess Hathaway. If such a big shot were bored, it would be normal to keep a cat that could deliver letters. Since the cat hadn't spoken, there was no need to be overly nervous.
Along the way, Lynch didn't know how many bizarre thoughts he had conjured up until the carriage suddenly stopped.
Yes, Lynch had come by taxi carriage, and an expensive box carriage at that.
It wasn't that he wanted to put on airs, but a habit he had formed back when he was a corporate slave.
Given the host's status, if he appeared in inappropriate attire or behavior, it would be the host who was embarrassed. Therefore, if he didn't want to offend anyone unnecessarily, it was better to show that he valued their face.
In front of him was a large Baroque style opera house. It occupied a significant area, yet it didn't look too abrupt mixed in among a pile of Victorian style buildings.
The entrance was a large plaza where more than a dozen luxuriously decorated carriages were parked. There were no more guests entering; instead, over a dozen attendants in purple vests stood in a straight line, stretching from the parking area all the way to the theater steps.
Watching Lynch approach in his cheap attire, the attendants' expressions didn't change. Their movements were as precise as if measured by a ruler as they bowed and gestured, guiding Lynch all the way to the theater entrance.
Only there was he stopped by two attendants in red vests. The two attendants didn't even look at Lynch's clothing; they simply bowed their heads respectfully and took Lynch's invitation letter and theater tickets.
"Countess Hathaway?" The stone-like attendant finally revealed an expression, looking Lynch up and down with considerable surprise, then stepped aside and gestured to lead him in: "Please follow me. Her Ladyship's private box is on the second floor. She hasn't arrived yet, perhaps because she isn't interested in tonight's play, however her..."
"Hm?"
"Nothing. Please watch your step on the stairs," the attendant had already led Lynch deep into the theater. It was a special two-story structure; aside from the stage in front, there were no open seating areas, only individual private boxes, each with a window facing the stage. "We'll go around this way to avoid disturbing the other guests."
"The performance has started? Am I late?" Lynch was a bit confused; the invitation said nine o'clock.
The guiding attendant was clearly stunned, but still explained in a professional tone: "If you are here to enjoy the performance, then yes, you are late. If you are here for other purposes, you are actually a bit early. The second act has not yet concluded."
"I don't understand." Lynch dropped the act and sighed. "Explain it to me."
The attendant smiled and whispered: "This is the social etiquette of the great figures. They are accustomed to sending servants to make contact during the intermission of the first act, and begin visiting each other during the intermission of the second act. It would be a bit impolite to violate this, but it is not strict, so you need not worry. We have arrived. This is it, 204. You can go straight in and wait for Her Ladyship. I wish you a pleasant evening."
Lynch hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and pushed open the box door.
The Countess indeed had not arrived; the box was empty. But on the sofa facing the window, a black cat was lying there, lazily watching the box door.
It was the very same beautiful black cat that had delivered the letter.
So that was why the attendant had hesitated.
Well, he would just wait.
Lynch twitched his lips and simply sat down beside the black cat. The cat didn't run, its crystal-clear green eyes staring straight at Lynch.
"Hello, we meet again. I apologize for pointing a gun at you last time." Bored while waiting, Lynch waved at the cat, amusing himself by saying, "I am Lynch Levive. And you?"
【Lynch, please be careful.】
At the same time, the black cat opened its mouth: "I am Anna Hathaway."
The air suddenly went silent. In that instant, Lynch felt his scalp tingle.
Because the black cat before his eyes had suddenly changed. Its body was shrouded in a layer of phantom shadows, just like his experience at the Thorn Flower two nights ago.
The phantom was a mature, beautiful woman. Her features were somewhat blurred, but a pair of spirited, cat-like eyes were staring at him through the cat's real eyes. A playful smile hung on her lips, syncing with the movement of the cat's mouth, emitting a human voice.
However, as Lynch focused further, he saw a third image overlapping with the woman.
It was a strange female figure with a cat's head and a human body, wearing ancient attire. The gaze from the cat's pupils seemed to carry endless strangeness and majesty, piercing through the boundary between reality and illusion, and fixing itself on Lynch's face.
The moment his gaze crossed with the cat-headed woman's, Lynch felt countless pieces of information flooding his brain simultaneously. His mind felt as if it had exploded, leaving only a single thought.
Holy shit, what the hell is that.
Rate on N.U.
