Ulrich, with his experience in the real world, didn't immediately dismiss the rumors and gave it some thought.
'Are there really people who can use supernatural abilities?' Thinking about it, he thought about himself.
'Isn't my transmigration a supernatural event in and of itself?' He mused, though this idea quickly disappeared as he gestured for Zheng San to continue.
"Brother, hear me out," Zheng San whispered in a low voice, his hand pointing at the chair, as though to ask Ulrich for permission to sit.
Seeing this, Ulrich nodded, then took off the mask on his face. The mask had poor ventilation, and was not fit for his size, forming a layer of sweat on his skin.
Ulrich frowned.
"I'm not sure what your goals are, but if you want to know more about the organization, it is best to join it yourself," He said, noticing the mask in Ulrich's hand.
Inwardly, he froze.
For a moment, he had the urge to check his closet to see if it was the same one. His eyes flickered involuntarily toward the bedroom door, his fingers twitching with the compulsion to verify. However, facing Ulrich, he didn't dare to move and held back this urge. Those eyes were cold, calculating, utterly unreadable.
They pinned him in place like needles under his fingernails, and Zheng San found himself holding his breath, afraid that even the slightest movement might trigger this mysterious young man.
Zheng San coughed and gathered his thoughts before continuing in a steady manner, though his palms had begun to sweat.
"As a member of the organization, we are allowed to make one recommendation if there is an individual who has the potential and interest to join." His voice remained level through sheer force of will, years of training keeping the tremor at bay.
"What do you think? All your questions will be answered if you accumulate enough merits and points."
"Join the organization under your recommendation?" Ulrich repeated, the thought lingered in his mind. Yet as quickly as it came, he rejected it immediately.
"Sorry, I don't have the time," he answered, his voice low and cold. It was as though this was not an option.
I can only remain here for 12 hours a day—from noon to midnight—before the arrival of the white light.
Joining the organization will be a waste of my time. With the constant reset, each progress made in the organization is equally wasted... Joining or not, for me, it makes no difference...
Hearing this, Zheng San frowned, though beneath his carefully controlled expression, confusion and a deeper unease rose. From the look of it, Ulrich was young, perhaps in his teens, and to say that he had no time was simply egregious. Even though Zheng San's rank was low in the organization, his skill is no joke.
At the very least, if the skill of an average criminal was 1, he would be 10!
However, facing Ulrich, he had a feeling his skill was subpar, incomparably lower.
Would he be shocked and frightened if he were to learn that Ulrich spent 10 years 'playing' in a never-ending loop? Or that he lives in another world, constantly being surrounded by hideous sea beasts?
Regardless of the truth, Zheng San's heart ached a little. If he were to recommend Ulrich, someone who is this young and skillful, wouldn't he earn some extra merit, which in turn means more cash and fame?
At the same time, Ulrich shook his head.
How could he not see through Zheng San's thoughts? Every person acts in self-interest. This is Ulrich's belief, an axiom, the will for human actions. Then, in accordance with this axiom, why else would Zheng San bring up the matter of recommendation voluntarily?
The answer is clear.
However close to the truth, Ulrich didn't dwell on the matter for long.
He decided to turn his attention toward something else he could investigate—the black book. Since the organization operated in secrecy, in ways that prevented others from obtaining corresponding information easily, Ulrich had to focus his attention on other matters.
"Tell me about the black book and the owner. I know you definitely have some information regarding this." Ulrich inquired. His voice was assertive, leaving no room for questions.
At the same time, he rested his eyes on Zheng San's rough face while tapping his finger on the armrest out of habit.
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The blood drained from Zheng San's face.
His mouth went dry.
The black book—that was his current assignment, something he received only yesterday through an encrypted carrier. He had barely begun his research and compiling the necessary information. All of which was locked in his mind and in a notebook hidden in a false floorboard three rooms away.
Had he been followed? Surveilled? No—impossible. He would have noticed. This was too subtle, too precise.
Then how?
Ulrich's finger continued its rhythmic tapping on the armrest—tap, tap, tap—each sound like a countdown.
Those cold eyes never blinked, or wavered, as though they could see straight through flesh and bone, peering straight into Zheng San's soul.
For the first time in fifteen years, Zheng San felt like a caged prey. Not physically, but mentally. It was as though his mind was opened, written into a book, and read by Ulrich.
Zheng San believed that without the firearm, Ulrich was less threatening and more friendly. However, he realized, it only seemed that way because 'he' willed it to be that way.
Who—no, what—is this person sitting across from me?
At this moment, Ulrich became a shadow that drowned his sight. And as the sun was blocked by the curtain, this shadow only grew in size.
Eventually, he could feel a pair of eyes staring back at him. Facing this unsettling presence and feeling helpless, he quickly explained.
Meanwhile, Ulrich listened with focus; occasionally, he would glance at the watch.
As time passed, he had to admit, Zheng San was quite meticulous. This is because the information provided by him is enough for Ulrich to draw several conclusions.
Firstly, the owner, or rather, target of his thieve is an antique dealer, specifically, objects that are over hundred years old.
From this, he concluded,'The book is old… Perhaps older than I can imagine.'
What does this mean?
Thinking about it for a moment, Ulrich quickly summarized his thought.
'According to my dream, pain is strangely real, and the time is constant. Things happen in a logical sense, and besides the white light, as well as some people I don't recall, everything else is normal.'
'With this logic in mind, I can then draw another assumption. Any information, to exist in a logical manner, must first be created or existed at one point in history, in time…'
Following this empirical observation, Ulrich's face contorted, a shocking revelation drummed his heart.
'In turn, that would mean that in this strange dream-like world's history, there has been a time when ancient Hermes existed!'
If he were to go even further, then he would face a terrifying conclusion.
'This connection, this history, if true, then it will become a true link between the real world and dream. Perhaps… This is my clue to returning home!'
For ten years, Ulrich believed that the inherent nature of his transmigration was supernatural. If, and if, his dream and real world were to be supernatural, then all of them are connected.
Following this line of thinking, as long as he investigates matters relating to the supernatural, he can perhaps one day find a clue to home.
However, on second thoughts, could ancient Hermes exist naturally in this world, not connected to the real world? Or perhaps, by chance, they have always existed, yet have not been found until now?
Quickly, he dismissed that idea. That wouldn't make sense. On the basis that this dream is conjured by his subconscious mind, then how could something be naturally formed in the dream with its own history?
This is no different than treating his dream as a separate entity!
Of course, for all this to be true, he must first verify the content of the book and link it to the real world. Before then, all is merely an assumption without basis. With that in mind, Ulrich placated himself, and at the same time, threw all his speculations into the back of his mind.
Outwardly, his expression remained blank and indifferent. And so, despite being this close physically, Zheng San failed to notice Ulrich's abnormal reaction.
Meanwhile, as Ulrich noted every detail Zheng San provided—the antique dealer's location, his routines, the layout of his shop—Ulrich ended their conversation, his eyes stuck on his watch.
"That's sufficient," he said, his tone dismissive. At the same time, he reached into his pocket and produced a small stack of bills, placing them on the armrest beside him.
"For your trouble."
It's not my money anyway… He chuckled inwardly.
Zheng San stared at the money, then at Ulrich, uncertainty flickering across his face. "If you change your mind about the organization—"
"Not interested."
At this moment, Ulrich walked to the balcony, then paused, his finger resting on his chin as he contemplated, and finally, a smile crept on his face.
To Zheng San, this smile was devious and terrifying.
"We'll meet again."
Brother, don't be so ominous! Are you a ghost? At least give me a proper notice before showing up!
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