In fact, I don't know whether that notebook was destroyed or hidden… But let me reason it backwards — if it were to be destroyed, it could have been done right there on the spot; there was no need to have me carry it away and then do it… — Hearing Leonard's question, Klein immediately switched into 'armchair detective' mode and, pondering, said:
"Perhaps the unknown existence Welch, Naia, and I touched upon both enjoys the 'sacrifice' of life and wishes for more similar events to follow. So, given that the 'suicide incident' was bound to be discovered, it had me carry the notebook away and hide it, preparing for a second 'enjoyment.' Something just went wrong along the way, and I didn't manage to take my own life in the end."
This was a reasonable guess that Klein had based on novels, films, and TV dramas from his previous life that touched on evil rituals.
As for what had gone wrong along the way, he knew perfectly well: it was the addition of a transmigrator — himself — into the equation.
"Not a bad explanation, but I think there's another possibility," Leonard Mitchell laid out an alternative: "Welch and Naia's sacrificial suicides gave that unknown existence the opportunity to descend. The notebook may be carrying — or gestating — evil; it had you carry it away and hide it for fear that, before it is 'born' or has grown 'strong,' we would discover and destroy it."
Saying this, he stared into Klein's eyes and smiled faintly:
"Of course, the notebook may already have been destroyed — to cover up its contents, to cover up the real object carrying or gestating evil. In that case, your failed suicide gets a perfectly sufficient explanation."
What does that mean? Is he suspecting me? Suspecting that the original owner's body carries or gestates evil? No, what he carries or gestates is a transmigrator… though 'gestate' isn't the worst word for it… — Klein froze for a beat, ranting internally while carefully replying:
"I won't defend myself — I really have forgotten that period of memory. But both the Captain and Ms. Daly have confirmed I have no other problems. Your joke isn't funny."
"I'm merely exploring a possibility. I'm not ruling out that the unknown existence suffered a blow when it descended, which is why your suicide failed. We have to believe the Goddess always watches over us." Leonard smiled and changed the subject. "Did you find anything this afternoon?"
After this exchange — and given what had happened earlier — Klein had grown very wary of Leonard, but on the surface he answered without showing it:
"No. I'll have to change routes tomorrow afternoon."
He pointed at the partition:
"I need to head to the armory to draw bullets."
The 'Shooting Club' stayed open until nine in the evening — many of its members could only come after work.
"May the Goddess watch over you." Leonard, smiling, traced a circle on his chest — the symbol of the Crimson Moon.
Seeing Klein off through the partition, listening to his footsteps on the stairs, the smile on Leonard's face slowly faded; his emerald eyes filled with suspicion.
He muttered something under his breath, tone tinged with displeasure.
…………
Down the stairs, Klein walked along the corridor lit quietly by gas lamps and turned into the weapons, materials, and document repository.
The iron door was open. The brown-haired girl Rozanne stood at the long table, talking with a middle-aged man wearing a half-tall top hat and sporting a thick black beard.
"Afternoon — no, good evening — it's always like midnight in here, Klein. Old Neil said you've become an Beyonder? Something called a 'Seer'?" Rozanne turned her head, asking quickly.
She didn't hide her curiosity or concern.
Klein nodded with a smile:
"Good afternoon, Miss Rozanne. Even though it's always night down here, it feels peaceful. Your description isn't quite accurate. To put it better: the name of the sequence potion I took is 'Seer.'"
"So you still chose to become a Beyonder…" Rozanne sighed and fell silent for a moment.
Klein looked at the middle-aged man beside her and asked politely:
"And this gentleman is?"
Another Nighthawks team member, or one of the two administrative staff I haven't met yet?
Rozanne pursed her lips:
"Brite — our colleague. He wants to swap shifts with me to free up the day-after-tomorrow's evening. He's taking his wife to the Northern District Grand Theatre to see 'The Proud One' to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary. What a romantic gentleman!"
Brite reached out his hand with a smile:
"With Miss Rozanne here, there's no need to repeat anything. Hello, Klein — I didn't expect you to become a Beyonder so quickly. As for me, well, perhaps I'll never have the courage."
"Ignorance is bliss, I suppose." Klein self-deprecated and shook the man's hand.
"Not a bad thing," Brite shook his head, smiling. "A Beyonder once told me on his deathbed: never investigate those strange and dangerous things. The less you know, the longer you live."
Rozanne cut in:
"Klein, don't take it too seriously. Old Neil said your 'Seer' is a support type, relatively much safer. As long as you don't try to communicate with unknown existences, you'll be fine. Why are you wearing clothes like that? Not gentlemanly at all! What did you come here for?"
"To pick up today's thirty rounds of bullets." Klein didn't answer Rozanne's earlier questions.
He was sure this young lady would soon forget the matter.
"Alright," Rozanne pointed at the table. "Brite, it's all yours. You should know where the keys and bullets are. Ugh, Old Neil really is a miser — he didn't leave the hand-cranked coffee mill. He had promised I'd get to drink to my heart's content today…"
While she rambled on, Klein received his bullets.
The two of them left the underground together and parted ways on Zouteland Street — one boarded a public carriage home, the other walked into the 'Shooting Club.'