The detective agency’s front door had been violently destroyed. For the queen’s sake, Wayne Baker didn’t pursue the matter. Only children care about right and wrong; adults just lie down and collect their money.

He dragged a cabinet over to block the door, planning to replace the lock in the morning. Then he hefted a box, using all his strength to carry it up to the mezzanine on the second-and-a-half floor.

Calling it the “second-and-a-half” was just a way of saying it was the third floor—only half of the third floor was built, leaving an open-air balcony for growing flowers or drying clothes.

Wayne Baker was poor and had no right to grow flowers or plants. All he was entitled to was endless struggle, so the balcony remained empty.

Veronica Smith was very satisfied with the third-floor layout, holding a black cat as she admired the night view by the window.

Wayne Baker knocked on the door, frowning. “Lundan’s nights are strange. You’d better close the window and keep the curtains drawn.”

“That’s right, this city is indeed dangerous, especially for the ignorant…”

Veronica Smith didn’t turn around, closing her eyes to enjoy the night breeze. The black cat in her arms stared into the distant night with golden eyes.

Wayne Baker curled his lip. He knew Veronica Smith wasn’t an ordinary person—she was full of secrets. He just didn’t want any trouble.

After all, ghosts and such had been around for years, but for carbon-based lifeforms, it was still too far ahead of their time.

“May I ask, will William Johnson be staying at the detective agency permanently?”

“Yes, he’s the clerk you hired for the agency, responsible for handling the files.”

“……”

That guy was so burly even a bear would shake its head—how did he look like a clerk?

Wayne Baker complained inwardly, then blurted out, “What about his salary? Is he getting paid too?”

“What else?”

Fair enough!

Wayne Baker nodded with a serious face. It was indeed his fault to question a rich woman so insultingly.

Wayne Baker reminded Veronica Smith to close the window and go to bed soon, then turned to tidy up his things on the second floor. He had to hurry—who knew if William Johnson was already trying on his clothes.

“Wait, Wayne Baker—no, boss.”

Veronica Smith turned around and said seriously, “As your assistant, I suggest the detective agency close for business tomorrow and do a thorough cleaning, top to bottom, inside and out.”

“Yeah, it is a bit messy.”

Wayne Baker agreed. He’d planned a big cleaning before, but being poor meant being busy, so he never found the time and had only done a quick tidy-up.

After Wayne Baker left, the black cat in Veronica Smith’s arms leapt onto the windowsill and spoke in a hoarse voice: “He has the scent of death on him—very strong. There are also marks on the wall, which means he’s had close contact with a death walker recently. He’s already been targeted.”

The black cat spoke human words, but Veronica Smith didn’t mind. She held the cat securely to keep it from falling out the window. “He’s a detective. He meets a lot of people every day. It’s too hard to narrow it down. But death walkers don’t give up on their targets easily. We’ll know in a couple of days.”

“If we can’t wait, we can check the files in his office. Maybe we’ll find some clues.”

“That’s all we can do.”

Veronica Smith frowned, displeased. “The death aura on him is too strong. It’s not normal. If he weren’t clearly alive, I’d suspect he was already dead.”

“Yes, but thanks to him, we found the death walker so quickly.”

……

Second floor.

Wayne Baker walked into his bedroom and was greeted by the sight of the towering William Johnson, who had sorted out all the posters of female celebrities and was now grinning foolishly at a “future diary” he’d found in the nightstand, his laughter as loud as a barbell clanging.

A two-meter-tall, hairy muscleman, wearing a blue-and-white striped sailor suit, reading a coming-of-age manual about boys and girls fighting—without denouncing it as heresy—left Wayne Baker utterly speechless.

Where’s your philosophy? Hurry up and criticize it!

The future diary was a relic from the original owner, basically written by Wayne Baker himself. He had no choice but to take the blame, but he didn’t try to snatch the diary back.

Compared to social death, he was more afraid of endless cycles of revenge. If William Johnson grabbed it and refused to let go, he’d be doomed.

“Wayne Baker, you’re here! Where did you get this diary? Did you write it?”

That’s not a diary—that’s a single wizard’s spellcasting material!

William Johnson waggled his eyebrows, speaking meaningfully: “You have good taste, but Lily Hayworth is a singer—she hasn’t acted in many movies. I actually prefer the male lead in her films: handsome, witty, attentive, optimistic, cheerful, and a great conversationalist. He’s the ideal partner. What do you think?”

Wayne Baker’s face darkened. That was exactly the kind of ideal partner he was.

“Wayne Baker, why are you just standing there? Come over here!” William Johnson patted the bed beside him.

“No need, I’ll just tidy up and head downstairs. Veronica Smith said we have to get up early for a big cleaning tomorrow.” Wayne Baker quietly took half a step back, making sure that if William Johnson charged at him, he could slam the door and escape immediately.

Hearing this, William Johnson didn’t make things difficult for Wayne Baker anymore. The latter moved a pile of spellcasting materials to the storeroom, grabbed his bedding, and went to sleep on the office sofa.

The night passed uneventfully.

Wayne Baker woke up hungry the next morning. Last night’s physical labor had drained his last bit of energy, giving him the kind of quality sleep only a new father could enjoy.

Even with all the clattering in the kitchen, he kept right on sleeping until the delicious aroma finally woke him with a start.

It was roast meat—not those damned potatoes!