Can one's spirituality be transferred to an object? Klein wondered as he stared thoughtfully at the diary. It shimmered with a faint energy, like the stroke of a pen or the flick of a page.
It wasn't much, but it was distinct enough to be noticed. Perhaps this was how they judged an object's usefulness... or lack thereof.
It must belong to Klein, he concluded. No one else could imprint a part of their spirituality onto an object without long-term influence.
Then, as if guided toward a particular thought, Zhou Mingrui wondered if he could divine Klein's location using the diary...
Perhaps later, he decided with a calm certainty. Something ominous was seeping into his consciousness. He should do it away from prying eyes...
.
.
.
After finishing his mysticism lesson with Old Neil, he headed upstairs and made his way back to the reception hall.
Klein was about to bid Miss Rozanne farewell when he heard the brown-haired girl say briskly:
"The Captain says you can come on Monday. He wants you to settle your household affairs first!"
...
"Alright," he said gratefully. As gratefully as he could. Because he truly does mean it.
"Take care on your way home, Miss Rozanne," Klein says, "see you on Monday."
Miss Rozanne smiled, though she seemed a bit flustered. "Of course," she said, "you as well."
Klein departed with a casual wave of his hand.
Klein strolled from Zouteland Street to a quieter stretch of road on his way home, his thoughts wandering freely as his steps.
First and foremost, he needed to wake early the next morning and take the chance to 'wander around' Tingen University.
He also intended to inform the staff handling the interview that he would not be participating in the follow-ups. After all, his opportunity had come courtesy of his professor's recommendation letter.
Still, it was only proper to provide formal closure. If not for his own sake, then to honor his mentor's efforts.
Zhou Mingrui's mind wandered...
It was also for the real Klein Moretti's peace of mind in case he returned. What would he think, finding all his hard work washed away down the drain like that?
No matter how high the pay was, surely it would feel wrong to see someone else's efforts go to waste.
If Zhou Mingrui had become Klein Moretti solely because of the convergence of their two souls, he wouldn't be burdened with this guilt. But knowing that Klein was displaced somewhere, how could he continue living as Klein Moretti as if nothing had happened?
Klein suddenly halted after a few steps and reached into his inner pocket to pat the notes.
He exhaled.
Okay then.
Moments later, he pulled out twelve gold pound notes, clutching them tightly in his left hand. He slipped his hand back into his pocket, refusing to let go or take them out again.
Without realizing it, a smile crept across his face. According to the customs of the Foodaholic Empire... a treat was in order after earning money.
Tonight, it was time to give Melissa a treat!
... Klein had only three pence in change. He's in quite a dilemma...
Taking a public carriage back to Iron Cross Street would cost him four pence...
As tempting as it was, handing over a one-gold pound note for that fare would be like using a hundred-dollar bill to buy a bottle of cheap mineral water back on Earth!
... There was nothing inherently wrong with it, but it would feel painfully awkward.
And what if people assumed he was rich? What if they tried to rob him? Would he just wish for the culprit to return it back to him?
How counterproductive!
... Should he use his three pence to travel three kilometers by carriage and walk the rest of the way?
... No, that wouldn't do.
Soon, he dismissed the idea entirely.
Walking the rest of the way would take him a while.
Considering he was carrying twelve pounds—a small fortune—it wouldn't be safe!
Not at all!
Oh.
Klein realized.
That's right! Wouldn't the sensible thing be to buy something reasonably priced to get some change?
Klein's eyes sparkled as he scanned his surroundings, looking for a nearby store that sold either men's clothing or a cane... preferably one he could use to swing at burglars and the like... one that is all within his budget.
Hm.
He seemed to be in that part of the street that was a respectable distance away...
Klein sighed, resigned to the fate of sore feet. A private carriage would be nice...
Why not just wish for six pence instead? It would certainly make things easier. Klein grumbled.
Then, suddenly, he felt something jiggling in his pants pocket.
Oh!
He had six pence leftover!
Perhaps he hadn't noticed it before because it didn't make a sound...
How lucky was that? Klein thought joyfully.
He lavishly spent six pence on a short-distance trackless carriage, transferring once before finally reaching home safe and sound.
Best part. He still had twelve pounds!