Back at the factory, Henry Clark didn’t bother with the naked men still giggling on the ground. He put his treasured peachwood sword back into the golf bag, picked it up, and walked toward the exit.

But before he’d made it halfway, a group of armed police in bulletproof vests and steel helmets burst in through the main gate. The moment they saw Henry Clark, they raised their submachine guns without a word, aiming at him, countless red laser dots crawling all over Henry Clark and Grace Miller.

The latter immediately raised both hands and shouted, “Don’t shoot, we’re on your side!”

“You’re really embarrassing…” Henry Clark didn’t care at all, as if the lasers moving up and down his body were just kids playing with laser pointers.

By the time they got back to the car, an hour had already passed. Henry Clark and Grace Miller were questioned by four or five supervisors of various ranks. Although it was Grace Miller doing all the explaining, the forcibly detained Henry Clark was still quite irritated.

“Drive.” With one hand propped on the car window, Henry Clark stared blankly outside.

Grace Miller obediently turned the car key, but Mary only gave a couple of symbolic sputters and stubbornly refused to start.

“I said drive, didn’t you hear me…” Henry Clark finally turned his head to look at Grace Miller, who was still “wrestling” with the engine, his tone already bordering on a shout.

Seeing Henry Clark scold her like that, Grace Miller froze in her seat. She already felt terribly guilty for her mistake, and now Henry Clark was still yelling at her, not letting it go… With nowhere to vent her grievances, all Grace Miller could do was let her eyes fill with sparkling tears. A woman’s greatest weapon on display.

“Wahhhhhhh!” Grace Miller’s crying was terrifyingly loud, suddenly crashing down like a tidal wave, catching everyone off guard. Sitting closest, Henry Clark suffered the most—not only did his eardrums ache, but dozens of police officers nearby all turned to look at him, their eyes as if he were some martial arts villain. If they didn’t know who Henry Clark was, countless heroes would probably have already drawn their swords to help her…

“Please, can you tone it down a bit?” Henry Clark stuffed his ears with his hands, pleading.

“You’re the one bullying me! I already admitted I was wrong and apologized, but you’re still picking on me! I was just following procedure, and you yelled at me! And the car, it’s not like I want it not to start, it’s the engine’s fault, what does that have to do with me!” Grace Miller complained like a child, making Henry Clark seem like a terrible villain.

“Fine, you win!” Frustrated, Henry Clark slammed his fist on the steering wheel, and to his surprise, the stubborn engine finally roared to life—even though the key hadn’t been turned.

“The car’s working?!” Seeing this miraculous way of starting the car, Grace Miller instantly forgot all her grievances, and her crying finally stopped.

“Can we go now, my ‘princess’…” Henry Clark forced a fake smile onto his face.

“Wait, you have to say out loud that you’ve forgiven me before I’ll drive. Otherwise, if you bring up my mistake again in the future, wouldn’t that be unfair to me?” Wiping away the last of her tears, Grace Miller looked at Henry Clark seriously, as if she’d make him walk home if he didn’t say it.

“I…” Henry Clark put his hands behind his back, his clenched fists trembling with anger, but he still had to keep smiling. “I forgive you, really. After all, it’s your first mission… It’s only natural to make these not-so-‘rookie’ mistakes… Forgiven, forgiven.”

“That’s better.” Grace Miller happily grabbed the steering wheel again and drove off toward the city police station…

All the way, Henry Clark kept asking himself the same question: “Why didn’t I just kill her? Why am I so soft-hearted?”

Chapter 13: Help

By the time the smoke-belching Mary returned to the city police headquarters, it was already three in the morning. The old gatekeeper had been replaced by a young officer on duty…

They smoothly pulled into the same parking lot they’d left from, parking the battered Beetle next to a row of Ferraris. Honestly, anyone would feel stifled by the comparison—except Henry Clark…

Before getting out, Henry Clark took out that unlabelled bottle of medicine and chewed two tablets dry, without water.

Recalling what he’d said to the Jorōgumo, Grace Miller tentatively concluded that this was some kind of psychotropic drug, and assumed Henry Clark was taking it so frequently for the sake of the mission.

Entering the prime, south-facing office of the Paranormal Division, they flipped on the light switch and the room instantly brightened.

No one else was there, but it was fairly tidy—who knows if the staff actually cleaned up after themselves? Each desk had a nameplate, giving off a “king of the hill” vibe.

Grace Miller was a little excited, starting to look for her own desk, hoping to see a nameplate with her name on it.

But dreams are always made to be shattered…

Finally, when she reached the corner, Grace Miller found her spot at last. It was one of four desks pushed together, with Henry Clark’s black sleeping bag spread on top. Next to the sleeping bag were two nameplates placed side by side, clearly engraved with the names Henry Clark and Grace Miller.