Mm... Uh...
It was clear that Mr. Layton's emotions were complicated.
His earlier question had carried something of the fervor of "If I hear the Way in the morning, I can die content in the evening."
But the hard part of making such a grand vow had always come after the wish was fulfilled.
He didn't actually have to die, of course, but he'd been given the answer and told that knowing it wouldn't help him. Keeping his composure after that was no easy feat.
At that moment, Mr. Layton's expression had looked almost like a case of plasmolysis: he was genuinely delighted, yet so rigid he might have been painted that way.
"Look on the bright side. Now you can fully enjoy the pleasures of folklore research and go about your work with a clear conscience. You won't have to constantly worry about producing results that the Night Watchers might discover, forcing you to tread carefully at every turn."
Deeply empathizing with the feeling, Fu Qian casually added another bowl of arsenic for the soul.
As long as I'm useless, I don't have to worry about heaven envying my talent?
That even less tactful stab nearly made Mr. Layton roll his eyes back.
But though he wasn't exactly friendly, Expert Fu's advice was always grounded in reality.
A moment's thought was enough to see that it really was so.
One major reason the club and the Night Watchers maintained their delicate relationship was that everyone still had hope.
They believed they had some chance of controlling a certain power in a way that only barely crossed the line, right under the Night Watchers' noses, and thereby greatly advancing their Supernatural Path.
But what if a seemingly hopeless outcome was true—that the club's ideas might be correct, but its future