Who Died?

"The young man renting this place died. I've seen him before—he was very handsome!"

A maid answered Lynch's question, though what she said left him at a loss.

Who was the young man renting this place?

That was him!

He was dead?

That made sense. The original owner really had died, but how had anyone found out?

After all, his transmigration had happened without a sound. Who could have known he was dead?

"Make way, make way! I'm the one renting this place. I've come back to life!"

Lynch shouted, and the crowd immediately parted to let him through.

The people who had been packed together just moments ago suddenly turned courteous, leaving a wide space around him.

"Oh my, little Lynch, you're not dead!"

The landlady hurried over to him, her voice affectionate and full of relief.

"I'm not dead! But when I came back, someone said I was. I just wanted to ask what was going on."

Lynch glanced unhappily at the man beside the landlady. He'd seen the fellow arguing with her earlier and trying to get into his room, only for the landlady to stop him.

"It's all his fault. He said he was your coworker and that you were dead, and that he was here to take your things. When I wouldn't let him, he started shouting that I was trying to steal your belongings. Everyone knows how much you eat and that you smoke. You don't have any money. Even your underwear in there is full of holes."

Lynch: ...

Enough. Could she please not bring that up?

He wanted to save some face, but the smugness he'd felt when he stepped out of the crowd had vanished, leaving him with nothing but helplessness.

"Ahem. Who are you? What do you want? Why are you trying to get into my room? Why did you say I was dead?"

Lynch didn't dare say anything more to the landlady, afraid she'd reveal even more. He quickly turned to the man beside her.

He didn't know this fellow. Even if Lynch were dead, this guy had no right to claim his inheritance, did he?

How could he have the nerve to stand here acting so self-righteous?

"Who are you, exactly?"

Lynch's expression turned stern as he raised his voice.

The other man opened his mouth, then suddenly charged at Lynch.

Lynch hurriedly dodged, and watched as the man bolted away.

What was going on?

Had he run because he'd been exposed?

Was he one of those thugs?

In Lynch's memories, those criminals had done things like this before. If they suspected someone had died, they'd rush over to search the person's home for belongings, then sell them for gambling and drinking money.

But they usually did this to people who were really dead. Otherwise, someone might report them, and the police weren't useless.

But Lynch didn't even have a body. How could the man be sure he was dead?

Lynch's thoughts raced. He remembered the day he'd transmigrated, when the original owner had been shot. Could that shot have made the man think he was dead?

Had the man seen it happen?

Or had he been the one who fired the gun?

"Lynch, should we call the police?"

The landlady came over and looked in the direction the man had fled, asking hesitantly.

She certainly didn't want to call the police. She wanted no part in any of this, and especially didn't want those thugs coming back for revenge.

"No!"

Lynch refused outright.

Whether the man had fired the gun or had seen Lynch get shot, he couldn't call the police just yet. If people found out he'd been shot and survived, they'd surely become suspicious.

In any case, he'd memorized the man's appearance. He could ask around later and see if anyone knew who he was.

After seeing someone who should have been dead come back to life, the man probably wouldn't tell anyone for a while.

That gave Lynch time to prepare.

"I won't call the police. I don't want to cause you any trouble. You've been very kind to me, landlady. If you tell me who that guy is, I'm willing to forfeit my deposit and move out."

Lynch spoke softly into the landlady's ear.

He'd gotten on the wrong side of some thugs, and the landlady probably didn't want him living here anymore. This could work out well for both of them. Perhaps he'd even learn the man's real identity.

"Oh, you're such a good boy. You don't actually have to move. Upton probably won't be coming back."

The landlady looked at Lynch with emotion and even said he could keep living there.

Lynch, of course, refused.

He said a lot more, convincing the landlady that moving out was the best choice and would spare her any harassment. She was so kind that she even told him he could just move—he didn't need to clean the room.

She was worried that if Lynch didn't get away quickly enough, those thugs would cause him real trouble.

He could call the police, of course, but those people would definitely harass him afterward.

Lynch was grateful for the landlady's kindness for all of two seconds.

But when she immediately rented the room to another single man and even lowered the rent for his first month, Lynch's gratitude quickly waned.

Wasn't this lady a little too efficient?

For now, Lynch only had the right to use the room during the day. That night, whether or not he'd finished packing, he'd have to get out, because the room now belonged to someone else.

At the landlady's urging glance, Lynch hurried back to pack his things.

He really didn't have much. He took the suit and underwear from the cupboard, along with a few things from the bed, and there was hardly anything left.

But he didn't leave right away. Instead, he started searching the room.

Honestly, he'd assumed the man was a thug and had come to steal his things to sell. But what if that wasn't the case?

What if the man had hidden something here earlier and now wanted to come back for it?

He was already in the room, so he might as well find out what was going on. Otherwise, he might die without ever knowing why.

Lynch first checked behind the cupboard, then pushed the bed aside. There was nothing underneath but trash.

His gaze swept over the room. Where else could someone hide something?

Nowhere. There was nowhere.

There was only a table, and it had no drawer. He could see at a glance that its top was bare.

So...

Lynch bent down to inspect the underside of the table.

Sure enough, there was something there.

It was a piece of paper stuck to the bottom.

He carefully peeled it off and held it up to look at.

Then his whole body went rigid.

There were only a few lines on the paper.

I, Lynch Trans, am willing to dedicate my life to the Big Meat Church. After my death, everything I own will belong to the organization.

Damn!

There was nothing about this in the original owner's memories.

Was this real or not?

What was the Big Meat Church?

Which evil god had the original owner thrown in with?

Had he really stopped Klein by chance?

Lynch hadn't taken it too seriously before. He'd thought fate had simply taken a turn, and the original owner had stopped Klein on that street, setting all of this in motion.

But what if it had been a scheme from the very beginning?

The original owner might have been ordered to stop Klein for some reason. His actions had angered the person who wanted the Antigonus Notebook, so he'd been shot and killed, and then this outsider had taken over his body.

Those people had thought the original owner was dead, so they'd sent someone to claim his belongings.

That was it. Daly had once asked him why he'd taken that street that night. He shouldn't have gone down it. He'd been wary at the time, but then he'd dismissed the thought.

He'd dismissed it so easily.