"Alright, tell me exactly what happened, from the very beginning," Lorne said, looking at the furious Ghoulster and a deeply embarrassed Robinson in the office.
Wolf and the Minister of Commerce were also present. Wolf stood vigilantly beside Robinson like a guard watching a prisoner. The Minister, meanwhile, struggled to squeeze his plump frame into the sofa, looking like a seal wiggling on a cushion.
Miss Ghoulty gave the Minister a quick curtsy before speaking. "While Your Excellency and Lord Lorne were discussing business, I invited Mr. Robinson to sit in the lounge. He heard that some food had recently gone missing from our shop—cakes and lunchboxes—and he accused Tira of being a thief without a shred of evidence. She was so upset she ran off immediately, and no one has seen her since."
Ghoulty pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, looking as though she might faint. "Oh, what if she does something desperate!"
"Really, Robinson? You said those things?" The Minister looked at his secretary in surprise.
Robinson felt like his skin was on fire. "I was only voicing my suspicions!" he said, neck stiffening. "The young lady has a criminal record for theft; it's only logical to consider her the prime suspect, isn't it?"
Ghoulty cried out, "You clearly have a prejudice against Tira! Did you do something to her?!"
"I did not! You are being utterly unreasonable!" Robinson was reaching his breaking point.
Wolf rested his chin in his hand and circled Robinson once, like a detective sizing up a culprit.
"Tira is a hard worker; she wouldn't skip work without a reason. Something must have happened to her," Wolf said. "And among all of us, Mr. Robinson holds the most hostility toward her. I believe he should be the first person we suspect."
Robinson shouted, "I've been in the shop the whole time! I haven't gone anywhere! The customers can testify for me!"
"The shop is crowded; who would notice you? Besides, people can give false testimony; words aren't enough to be believed. Tira has colleagues who can vouch for her every move, yet you still suspected her."
"You..." Robinson was so choked with frustration he couldn't speak. He turned to the Minister. "Excellency, you know my character better than anyone. Please, say something on my behalf!"
"Well," the Minister's eyes drifted, "I think they actually have a point..."
"Excellency!"
Ghoulty gave a sharp laugh. "Now you know how it feels to be suspected without reason, don't you?"
Lorne raised his hand to stop Ghoulty from continuing.
"The priority now is to find Tira. If Mr. Robinson wants to prove his innocence, finding her is undoubtedly the best way."
"Exactly, we should call the police!" Robinson said. "Whether it's the theft or Tira's disappearance, let the police handle it!"
Lorne gave a meaningful smile. "Mm, that's fine. But we should keep looking on our end too. We might find her before the inspectors even arrive." He turned to Ghoulty. "Is there anything Tira used, like a handkerchief or clothing?"
"Will her uniform work?" Ghoulty asked.
"Go get it." Lorne then looked at the Minister. "Excellency, you are a busy man; please, head back for now. This is internal shop business; I will take responsibility."
The Minister caught the hint that he was being dismissed. Feeling it was inappropriate to stay longer, he nodded and gave Robinson a look.
Robinson hung his head and followed the Minister out of the shop. The temperature outside was several degrees cooler than inside, and Robinson finally felt he could breathe the fresh air freely.
The Minister stood with his hands behind his back, his large belly protruding, squinting as he waited for the driver to bring the steam car around. He looked like a lazy seal basking in the sun. Robinson stood slightly behind him, not daring to say a word.
"Robinson," the Minister spoke up abruptly, "do you believe people can change?"
"Of course."
"You've likely heard that I spent some time in the army when I was young. It was common practice for nobles back then."
"I've heard," Robinson said. "Marshal Hornbury was your commanding officer."
"He was a Colonel then, and I was a Captain. I gained the rank of Captain the moment I joined, but some had to start as privates. Do you know why?"
Robinson said, "Because you are a Baronet. The lowest rank for a noble is Captain."
The Minister nodded. "I had never even touched a gun then, and I knew nothing about leading troops. When I first joined the camp, even an ordinary soldier was better than me. They even gave me a nickname: 'Captain Seal.' But even so, I was a Captain. Whereas commoners, no matter how much military talent they had or how well they understood warfare, were just privates when they joined. They had to achieve countless feats to be promoted, and many died before their talents could even be shown. The rank of Captain was something most of them would never achieve in their lives."
He turned to Robinson. "Now I ask you: some people are born able to afford tutors, attend the best public schools, and enter government jobs arranged by their fathers. Others, no matter how talented, don't even get the chance to learn to read, let alone find a decent job. Why do you think that is?"
"It's... because of birth. Because of family."
"Correct. Not because they lack talent, not because they don't work hard, but simply because they were born into poverty. If you gave those starving children a noble's education, I believe some of them would be more outstanding than you. And if you had been born into a destitute family, what would you be doing now?"
Robinson was speechless. He had never considered this. Since birth, he had been taught that as long as he worked hard, he could have anything—knowledge or power. Naturally, he felt everything he had today was won through his own merit. He believed anyone in the world could live as well as he did if they just worked as hard; if they didn't, it was the result of their own laziness.
"I ask you, Robinson, do you think the child of a thief will always steal? Will a thief always be a thief for life?" the Minister asked.
"Of course not, Minister. we live in a society of law now; we don't do that feudal nonsense of collective punishment. People change; even criminals can turn over a new leaf," Robinson said. These were lines he had memorized perfectly in school.
But does memorizing them mean you believe them? A voice suddenly rang in Robinson's mind.
Did he actually believe any of the grand principles he recited?
The Minister asked again, "So, you believe a person can change?"
Robinson suddenly felt the air wasn't so fresh anymore. "I understand your meaning, Excellency. Not just Miss Tira—of course, I can change too! I shouldn't have suspected someone without proof. I will apologize to the young lady..."
A steam car stopped in front of them. The driver jumped out to open the door. The Minister didn't get in immediately; instead, he and Robinson stared at each other. Robinson started to speak, stopped, and after a long moment, finally understood.
"I'll go find Miss Tira too! I will definitely find her!"
He turned and ran back into the shop.
The driver cleared his throat. "Excellency, if we don't leave, we'll hit traffic."
"Oh, look at me." The Minister returned to his smiling self, struggling to squeeze into the car. "Don't go back to the Ministry yet. Go to No. 90 Golden Key Street."
"The Ministry of Health and Social Work?" the driver asked, confused.
"Yes. I think a certain young man on our side might be better suited for work over there."
"I thought you didn't like that young man," the driver said, starting the engine.
The Minister looked toward the shop. Through the glass doors, he saw Robinson anxiously pulling a staff member aside to talk.
"You know, his father and I have been old friends for years," the Minister said. "His father hoped the boy would gain some experience, so he sent him to me. I thought working at the Ministry would help him, but perhaps I was too naive."
The Minister looked out at the street, his gaze passing over faces full of happiness. But he also keenly noticed the corners where the sun didn't reach. In places people didn't see—or chose to ignore—beggars scoured trash cans for luxurious leftovers, children in rags cleaned the chimneys of beautiful villas, and frail workers produced parts for luxury cars...
"Sometimes I feel the world shouldn't be like this, yet I am powerless. I'm old; it seems I can only pin my hopes on the next generation." The Minister patted his belly and chuckled. "I hope he gains something from this journey. He's supposed to be a young man with a bright future, after all!"
"This is Tira's uniform. I found it in the locker," Selena said, placing a coat embroidered with the "DE" logo on the table.
Lorne didn't pick up the coat immediately. Instead, he tilted his head and asked, "Who was the last to see Tira?"
"I asked around. It was Dilin from Customer Service. She ran into Tira in the restroom around 12:15 PM. Tira was leaning against a water pipe. Dilin thought it was strange and asked what was wrong. Tira's face suddenly changed and she ran out, shouting, 'I figured it out!'"
"What did she figure out?" Wolf pondered. "Could it be the truth behind the stolen food? Was she silenced because she knew too much?"
Lorne said, "A terrifying 'Cake Killer' is lurking among us, killing over a few desserts. That really is scarier than a real serial killer."
"..." Wolf was silent for a moment before asking, "Where would Tira go?"
"That depends on you."
"Me?"
Lorne beckoned him over. Wolf walked honestly to the table.
"Take a sniff," Lorne said, pointing at the uniform.
Wolf's pupils shook. "Lord Lorne, forgive my rudeness, but this is a bit... perverted of you..."
Selena looked at him askance. "I think Lord Lorne means that you werewolves have a keen sense of smell and can find Tira by her scent. Where was your mind wandering? Truly, 'shame is in the eye of the beholder.'"
"Shame in my eye? I... I..." Wolf was so angry he couldn't speak straight. After stammering for a while, he barked, "I am a werewolf, not a dog!"
Selena said, "Aren't wolves and dogs just different subspecies of the same animal? I don't see much difference. Hurry up and awaken your animal instincts to track her down."
"If I had those instincts, I'd be running around with Ghoulster in my mouth right now!"
Ghoulster, standing nearby, took several steps back, looking around and grabbing a vase as a weapon. "Slimes, protect me!" it said to its impressive chest.
"Jii!" the "chest" responded.
"Enough!" Wolf grabbed the uniform. "I'll sniff it, alright?!"
At that moment, his hands and his head seemed to be two different creatures. His hands desperately shoved the uniform under his nose, while his head fought to turn the other way. If the rest of Wolf's body were hidden, it would look like someone was trying to smother him with the clothes.
"Smell anything?" Lorne asked.
Wolf's stoic face was now twisted into an indescribable shape. "If you weren't the Demon King, I would... I would...!"
He threw down the uniform, gritted his teeth, and stomped downstairs. Lorne followed him, not forgetting to instruct the other two monsters: "You two stay and watch the shop."
"No problem, Lord Lorne! Please bring Tira back soon! We're all worried!" Ghoulster shouted behind him.
The werewolf narrowed his eyes, leading purely by scent. He left through the back door and navigated through the back alleys, knocking over countless piles of trash. Most people couldn't imagine the back alleys of the prosperous Lucheval Square being so filthy. The two sides of a single wall were two entirely different worlds.
After walking for a long time, Wolf stopped.
"It's here." He took a deep breath, confirmed he was in the right place, then covered his nose and made a retching sound.
He was standing by a manhole cover. Every manhole in the new sewer system was numbered, but the one under Wolf's feet was blank. This meant either the original cover had been stolen or this was part of the old sewer system. The cover wasn't sealed tight; messy footprints were left in the dust and dirt around it—the shape of a woman's shoe.
Wolf pinched his nose and said, "Strange, why would Tira come here? Is the cake thief hiding in the sewers? Our shop has sewers too; did the thief sneak in from there? A human couldn't do that. It couldn't be a rat, could it?"
"Maybe a rat leading four turtles," Lorne said.
Wolf: "?"
Lorne didn't plan to explain the joke and moved the cover aside. A stale, sour stench rushed out. Wolf turned away, leaning against the wall and throwing up his entire breakfast. The smell of the sewers was now mixed with vomit, making it even more unforgettable.
Thinking that Tira had endured this smell just to find a cake thief, Lorne felt a sincere admiration for her grit. He stuffed a handkerchief into his nostrils to block some of the stench. Just as he was about to climb down, a "clatter" came from the other end of the alley—the sound of a trash can being knocked over.
"Damn it, is the municipal department sleeping? I'm going to complain! I'm definitely complaining!"
Robinson stumbled over. Seeing Lorne, he looked as though he'd seen a savior. "Mr. Lorne! Did you find Tira?" He peeked cautiously at the dark sewer opening, then looked away instantly as if the stench might corrode his eyes. "I want to help. I mean, if I hadn't said those things, she wouldn't have run off..."
Lorne scrutinized him. Robinson looked down at himself—he was covered in dust, debris, food scraps, and trash he couldn't even identify.
"I appreciate the gesture," Lorne said. "But forget it. I think the security chief and I can handle this."
"Please let me go with you! Otherwise, I won't have the face to see the Minister!"
"If you're coming not because you care about Tira's safety, but because you're afraid of your boss's reprimand, then please go back."
Leaving those words behind, Lorne jumped into the well first. Wolf gave Robinson a sarcastic look and followed. Wolf adjusted his position in the air, landing with a splash in the mud. Lorne had jumped before him, but it was several seconds after Wolf landed that Lorne drifted down—he had used Feather Fall to descend as light as a feather.
It was pitch black in the sewers, but neither of them lit a flame. The werewolf had excellent night vision. Lorne, being a Demon King, could see better in the dark than in the sun.
"Can you still smell Tira?" Lorne asked.
Wolf pinched his nose and gave him a resentful look. "Do you want me to die?"
"Sigh, the well-trained dogs back home can pick one person's scent out of tens of thousands."
Wolf stomped his foot in anger. "If you like dogs so much, go find a dog!"
"Wolf, that kind of pouting is cute when a beautiful girl does it. Coming from a brawny man, it's physiologically uncomfortable."
Just then, a long, distant shout came from above. "Wait—I DO care about Miss Tira's safety—I came for her—"
Lorne and Wolf moved nimbly to the side. A heavy human body fell from above, landing firmly in the muck.
"Can you still stand up?" Lorne looked sympathetically at the dazed Robinson, who was covered in sludge.
"Why didn't you use the ladder?" Wolf asked.
Robinson groaned, "I saw you... jump straight down... so..."
"We have magic; do you?" Wolf shook his head in exasperation. "Now, besides looking for Tira, we have to protect you. Can you add any more trouble?"
Robinson sniffled pathetically, then started dry-heaving. He would die if he didn't breathe here, but breathing was more painful than death.
"Just follow behind us," Lorne said helplessly. "The path we walk is definitely safe. That way you can give an account to the Minister."
Robinson was too choked by the smell to speak, so he could only nod with tears in his eyes.
Lorne waded through the sewage toward the opposite wall, leaning down to examine it. At the height of his neck, someone had carved an arrow into the stone. The mold and moss nearby had been rubbed away; it was clearly a recent mark.
"This height is about level with Tira's eyes," Wolf measured with his hand. "It's definitely her mark."
Robinson scrambled up. "Isn't that great?" He held his nose, voice muffled. "We just have to follow the marks to find her."
Lorne wasn't as optimistic. "Tira could have followed her own marks back. But she didn't. That means she encountered something worse than getting lost."
"Please, it's just a sewer. What could she encounter? Maybe she broke a leg, or fainted from the smell, or was scared by a rat... Ah! Wait for me!"
Lorne and Wolf didn't wait and headed toward the mark. Robinson followed, but once he left the faint light beneath the well, he could see nothing. Trembling, he fumbled for a lighter, barely illuminating the backs of the two men in front.
"Don't you need light?" he asked, picking up his pace in fear.
"We can see," Lorne's voice came from far ahead.
"How is that possible?"
"Eat more carrots, kid."
Robinson was skeptical, but now wasn't the time for nutritional science. He caught up to Lorne and Wolf, sticking almost to their backs; his lighter nearly singed Wolf's hair several times.
After wading for a while and passing three intersections—each with a mark—they reached a fourth. Lorne stopped. This was a three-way junction; the sewer split left and right. Strangely, there were marks on both sides.
"Maybe one is a dead end, so Tira doubled back and took the other," Wolf guessed.
"The question is, which one is the dead end." Lorne thought for a moment. "How about this: we split up. If you hit a dead end, come back. Even if you don't, turn back after a hundred steps. Mr. Robinson, stay here as a reference point."
"Wait! I don't want to be left alone—"
Ignoring the reference point's opinion, the two split up. Lorne took the left tunnel, and Wolf took the right.
the lighter's faint glow didn't reach far. Lorne and Wolf were quickly swallowed by the darkness. At first, the sound of their splashing footsteps echoed back, but soon even that vanished.
It was pitch black. With his vision restricted, Robinson's other senses became sharper. The stench was more pungent, and there were rustling, scurrying sounds. He tried to tell himself it was just rats and roaches. But he couldn't help thinking of the ghost stories from his childhood. In every story, sewers were the setting for horror.
Some stories said the corpses from the Great Plague were still piled here. Some said mad wizards did magic experiments here, merging humans and rats into alchemical chimeras. Some said a perverted scientist stitched severed limbs together to make a living corpse that still wandered the dark pipes, thirsting for living flesh...
A chill brushed the back of Robinson's neck. His hand shook, and the lighter fell into a shallow puddle, going out with a "hiss."
"Don't come near me!" Robinson screamed.
He flailed his arms wildly, trying to ward off any living (or dead) creature. He screamed for a long time, the tunnel filled with his echoes. Then, a small orb of light appeared in the air, illuminating him. He turned around and saw the silver-haired man walking up from behind.
"Mr. Lorne?" Robinson gasped, his heart pounding.
Lorne held a magical light orb. The faint golden glow made his face look like a metal mask. He frowned. "I told you to stay put. Why are you running around?"
Robinson looked innocent. "I didn't run! I've been right here! But you—how did you suddenly end up behind me?"
Lorne's frown deepened. "I was walking straight ahead. You're sure I appeared behind you?"
"If you had walked from in front of me, wouldn't I have seen you?"
Lorne touched the mark on the wall. "No wonder the scenery looked familiar halfway through," he muttered. "It's a spatial distortion. Someone cast spatial magic in the sewers. While I was walking forward, I was teleported behind you at some point and retraced my steps here. That's why Tira left two marks, and why she disappeared despite marking her path."