The washroom was divided into wet and dry zones, and a haze of steam blanketed the entire bathtub.
Klein was submerged up to his neck in the hot water, lying there in comfort, so relaxed he didn't even want to move a toe.
What a wonderful evening… If only Cynthia weren't outside—he'd have to deal with her soon enough. Klein sighed, considering what excuses he could come up with later to avoid anything intimate.
Based on Admiral Amelius Levitt's known characteristics, he decided to start with work as the first line of defense, then follow up with a list of recent excuses: feeling unwell, having lost certain capabilities due to injuries, having just taken medication that required time to digest, and a sudden awakening of his true orientation where even curly-haired baboons looked attractive.
As for whether this would damage the Admiral's reputation, Klein felt absolutely no psychological burden. As long as Cynthia didn't suspect he was a fake Amelius Levitt, the mission was a complete success.
How to explain those excuses afterward, how to find a reason to return to normal—that was Admiral Levitt's problem. What did it have to do with me, Gehrman Sparrow? And what did Gehrman Sparrow's ruined reputation have to do with me, Sherlock Moriarty? Klein rose contentedly and walked out, still dripping wet.
Klein took a silent breath and, as if facing a formidable enemy, unlocked the door and turned the handle of the washroom.
Seeing the corridor empty and bare, with only the wall sconces on either side illuminating the dark passageway, Klein relaxed slightly, the tension in his body easing a degree.
This is practically the same feeling as challenging pirate admirals… he muttered to himself, and suddenly realized a serious problem—he didn't know which room was the master bedroom and which was the study.
Regardless, he had to greet Cynthia; otherwise, "Admiral Levitt" would seem evasive and strange… Klein recalled the layout of similar houses, trying to pinpoint the master bedroom.
Calm down, calm down. You are Amelius Levitt… Compared to the "Disease Maiden," this lady's charm was clearly insufficient… Wait, why am I thinking about witches? Who knows whether they used to be men or women… Klein maintained his composure, even letting his gaze wander "playfully" from top to bottom and back again.
At that moment, he could sense…
"Is this the second manifestation of the temporary contract? Honestly, Admiral Levitt doesn't need to go through all this trouble. Even if an impulse arose, I could control myself just fine. What kind of situation haven't I seen?
"Hmm… Cynthia is a bit different from what the files say. Wasn't it stated that she's only been the Admiral's mistress for a year or two, that she rarely sees him, and that she's rather reserved in such matters, needing the Admiral to coax her each time?
"Is she feeling her position is unstable, or has she been replaced too?" Ever since becoming a Faceless, Klein suspected everyone of being an impostor.
Cynthia lowered her eyes, the courage she had forced herself to gather vanishing bit by bit under the Admiral's scrutinizing gaze. A stunning blush gradually spread across her face, equal parts shame and a faint trace of pride.
Then she heard His Excellency the Admiral give a calm instruction:
"Prepare some coffee for me and bring it to the study.
"I have a great deal to handle tonight. You don't need to wait up."
"…" Cynthia looked up blankly, the blush still coloring her cheeks.
For a moment, she simply could not comprehend Admiral Levitt's words.
Klein quietly took a breath, stepped forward, and embraced her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead:
"In a few days, I'll properly keep you company."
This response was drawn from the files—he had merely tweaked the wording slightly.
Frankly speaking, if he hadn't done his research beforehand, Klein would have assumed that Admiral Levitt was always stone-faced during their time together, during their activities, and that everything he said and did was dead serious. However, this demigod did have a softer side, capable of gentle tones and flirtatious banter—he just wasn't particularly skilled at sweet nothings.
This taught him yet another thing: many people were impossible to imagine in their private lives based solely on appearances. A Faceless needed thorough investigation and a deep understanding to create a convincing disguise, just as a magician never performed without preparation.
Cynthia's disappointment was evident, but she quickly composed herself and broke into a smile:
"Alright.
"General, your pajamas are in the bedroom. A bathrobe isn't suitable for working."
This matched the files—considerate and understanding of others…
Cynthia dutifully opened the study door, tidied the somewhat cluttered desk, then waited for the maid to finish brewing the coffee. She took it personally and brought it in.
During this process, Klein leafed through the documents and files, putting on an air of expertise. In reality, he knew virtually nothing about armored warships, sailing ships of the line, and other vessels—their specifications and design concepts were as foreign to him as if he were illiterate.
In similar domains, he only knew concepts like aircraft carriers, air superiority, big-gun battleships, and multi-turret designs.
Catching Cynthia's departure from the corner of his eye as she quietly closed the door behind her, Klein finally let out a full breath of relief. Tonight could be considered a pass.
In the master bedroom, Cynthia pressed her lips together and drew a necklace from beneath her pillow, clutching a small black rhinoceros-horn-shaped object no bigger than a fingertip in her palm.
She stood there and whispered a prayer: