The front door of the detective agency had been violently broken down, but out of respect for Her Majesty, Wayne chose not to pursue the matter. Only children squabbled over right and wrong; adults lay down and took the cash.
He dragged a cabinet over to barricade the doorway, planning to replace the lock the following morning. Then, hauling one of the trunks, he expended considerable effort dragging it up to the half-story landing.
Though called two and a half stories, it was practically a third floor. The top level had only been built halfway, leaving an open-air terrace suitable for potting plants or hanging laundry. Wayne was poor, which disqualified him from the luxury of gardening; he was fit only for ceaseless toil, so the balcony had sat empty the entire time.
Veronica was thoroughly pleased with the third-floor layout. Cradling her black cat, she stood by the window admiring the night view.
Wayne knocked on the door and frowned. "Nights in Londan are bizarre. You'd better shut the window and keep the curtains drawn."
"Indeed. This city is truly dangerous, especially for the ignorant…"
Veronica did not turn around, keeping her eyes closed as she savored the evening breeze. The black cat in her arms stared into the distant night sky with a pair of golden eyes.
Wayne curled his lip. He knew Veronica was no ordinary person, practically dripping with secrets, but he simply didn't want any trouble. After all, though ghosts and spirits had existed for countless years, they were still a bit too progressive for carbon-based life forms.
"Pardon me for asking, but will William be living at the agency permanently?"
"Yes. He is the clerk you hired for the detective agency, responsible for managing the archives."
"…"
*That guy is so built even a bear would shake its head. How does he look like a clerk in any universe?*
Wayne grumbled internally, asking instinctively, "And his salary? Does he come with his own pay too?"
"Naturally. What else?"
*Fair point!*
Wayne nodded with a solemn face. Raising such an insulting doubt before a wealthy woman was indeed his mistake.
Wayne reminded Veronica to shut the window and sleep as soon as possible, then turned to head down to the second floor to pack his things. He needed to be quick; God only knew whether William was already trying on his clothes.
"Wait a moment, Wayne—no, Boss."
Veronica turned around and said seriously, "As your assistant, I suggest the agency close tomorrow so we can give the entire place a thorough, top-to-bottom cleaning."
"Yeah, it is a bit messy."
Wayne showed his support. He had planned to clean the place thoroughly before, but being poor meant being busy, so he had never found the time and had only tidied up superficially.
After Wayne left, the black cat in Veronica's arms leapt onto the windowsill, speaking in a raspy human voice. "The scent of death on him is thick. Very thick. There are marks on the walls as well, meaning he recently had close contact with a Death Walker and has already been targeted."
The black cat was speaking in human tongue, yet Veronica took it in stride, cupping both hands around the cat to keep it from tumbling out the window. "He is a detective who interacts with many people every day. Screening them all would be too difficult, but a Death Walker won't give up on its target easily. We'll know in a couple of days."
"If we can't wait that long, we could search the archives in his office. We might turn up some leads."
"That's our only option."
Veronica frowned in distaste. "The aura of death on him is too dense—it's unnatural. If he weren't unmistakably a living, breathing human, I would suspect he was already dead."
"True, but thanks to him, we were able to find the Death Walker so quickly."
***
Second floor.
Wayne stepped into his bedroom, and the first thing he saw was the towering, hulking form of William. The man had gathered all the posters of female stars and was clutching the "Future Diary" found in the nightstand, chuckling foolishly with a laugh as forceful as clanging barbells.
A two-meter-tall musclehead covered in body hair, wearing a blue-and-white striped sailor outfit, was flipping through a teenage training manual on boys and girls wrestling—yet hadn't denounced it as heresy. The sheer absurdity left Wayne speechless.
*Where is your philosophy? Hurry up and critique it!*
The "Future Diary" was the legacy of this body's previous owner, which meant it was practically written by Wayne's own hand. Whether he liked it or not, he had to shoulder the blame, yet he didn't dare step forward to snatch the diary back.
Compared to social death, he feared a romantic entanglement between two men far more. If William pinned him down and refused to let go, wouldn't his life be completely ruined?
"Wayne, you're here! Where did you get this diary? Did you write it?"
*That's not a diary, that's casting material for a lonely mage!*
William winked meaningfully. "You have good taste. But Lily Hayworth is a singer; she hasn't done many films. Personally, I prefer the male lead from her movies—handsome, witty, deeply caring, optimistic, cheerful, and great at conversation. An ideal partner, really. Don't you think?"
Wayne's expression soured. He happened to fit the description of that ideal partner.
"Wayne, why are you standing there like a statue? Come on over!" William patted the mattress beside him.
"No need. I'll just pack my things and head downstairs. Veronica mentioned we have an early morning cleaning tomorrow." Wayne quietly took half a step back, ensuring that if William charged at him, he could slam the door and flee in an instant.
Hearing that, William pressed no further. Wayne hauled the stack of casting material into the storage room, rolled up his bedding, and took it down to the office sofa.
The night passed without incident.
The next day, Wayne woke up ravenous. The physical labor from the night before had drained the last ounce of his stamina, granting him the deep, peaceful sleep of a newborn baby's father.
As a result, even with clattering noises ringing out from the kitchen, he had slept soundly until a mouthwatering aroma wafted over, jolting his eyes wide open.
*It's roasted meat, not those damned potatoes!*
Wayne looked over in surprise. He had misjudged the young lady. He had assumed she was merely a rich heiress who only knew how to spend money, never expecting her culinary skills to be so exquisite.
Setting aside color and taste for the moment, she had nailed the aroma completely; even the cravings in his stomach were wide awake.
A moment later, William emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron. His bulging chest muscles and massive shoulders made the tiny apron look thoroughly comical. Anyone with decent eyesight could even spot chest hair poking out from the collar of his sailor vest.
William waved Wayne over to try his signature dishes. "You were sleeping like a log! It's already noon. I prepared fish and chips, beef in rich sauce, and stir-fried noodles with mushrooms. Can't wait, can you?"
Wayne: (눈_눈)
He took back his earlier thought. He hadn't misjudged the young lady; he had misjudged the musclehead.
Before long, Veronica returned from running errands. She wore a white shirt, a knit suit jacket, and jodhpurs tucked into tall boots—sleek, capable, and radiating sharp professional elegance.
Wayne nodded in silent approval. A beautiful face didn't necessarily mean a beautiful soul, but at least she had the face. With Veronica's figure and looks, she looked stunning in anything; even if she were dropped into the era he had transmigrated from, this outfit wouldn't be out of style.
Veronica had bought an abundance of items. Aside from simple furniture and daily necessities, there were potted plants, premium potting soil, and a collection of jars packed with plant seeds—evidently meant to decorate the third-floor terrace.
After lunch, she put on an apron, a cap, and arm sleeves to begin a deep clean of the third floor. Her helper was the black cat, Monica, who pressed a rag under its paws and diligently wiped down the windows.
William was assigned a mountain of heavy labor—lugging furniture and taking out trash—which provoked endless grumbling from him about how he had applied to be a clerk, or a chef at the very least.
Veronica assigned nothing to Wayne. It was obvious she didn't particularly care for him; unless strictly necessary, she didn't even initiate conversation.
This left Wayne feeling entirely out of place in his own detective agency. Everyone else was bustling with activity while he stood around idle, as though he were the outsider.
*Turns out the stranger in the house is me!*
Every man possessed a sense of shame, or at the very least a competitive streak. Wayne grabbed a mop and threw himself into the grand cleanup, working away for a full hour—until someone knocked on the agency's front door once again.
Mrs. Lainer!
Chapter 3