Before putting pen to paper, he wrote the date? Now that was the bearing of a true master.
As everyone knew, the most important thing about making prophecies was ambiguity, so anything quantifiable had to be avoided whenever possible.
Yet Harbinger had wasted no words and pinned down the time first.
It seemed a little off-topic, but in essence, it showed the breadth of his vision.
As he watched Harbinger write, Fu Qian felt no disdain whatsoever. On the contrary, he was full of praise.
The other man clearly had no intention of hiding anything. Every stroke was written right in front of his two spectators.
And even after he finished, that sentence remained on the notebook without fading in the slightest.
Theoretically, if it was functioning properly, that meant the Truth Notebook had judged it to be true.
From Fu Qian's perspective, it was even a highly meaningful statement.
It proved that a certain hidden danger he had worried about all along had, through a variety of expedient measures, temporarily maintained its fragile balance.
Since entering Selvis's office, time had not silently skipped forward again. Judgment Day was still seven days away.
[This is the office of Selvis, the attending physician.]
Just as Fu Qian was marveling at this, Harbinger displayed none of the usual reluctance to waste words common among his peers and wrote down a second sentence.
The two elements of time and place?
Not just a master—he even had the air of a columnist.
The second sentence was undoubtedly true as well, remaining on the notebook without the slightest change.
Faced with such writing habits, Fu Qian did more than admire them. He almost wanted to hand over his own professional title.
No matter what, locking down the coordinates of time and space first was