By morning, the rain that had fallen all night had grown heavier again.
The people of South Los were long used to it.
Many people elsewhere in South County called South Los "the port in the rain," while the haughty people of the Inner Bay sometimes sneered at its inhabitants as "rain folk."
Most people in South Los chose to ignore this. A small minority, however, would smile as they tossed any Inner Bay resident who dared insult them into the river. Those with worse tempers would even tie stones to their victims.
From his predecessor's memories, Arthur learned that his two uncles, Winters and Drake, and his aunt Cassandra were exactly that sort of person.
His predecessor had been no different, of course.
And all of this had been "inherited" from his grandfather, Old Charlie.
In his predecessor's memories, Arthur had once "witnessed firsthand" his grandfather warning his two uncles, Winters and Drake, not to cause trouble while kicking an Inner Bay man who had slapped Aunt Cassandra into a dry well. After shouting, "The Creados family sends its regards!" down the well, he had covered it up.
And afterward?
Naturally, he had announced that an evil spirit haunted the well and that exorcising it would take six weeks.
"A Medium... what a convenient profession!"
Standing at the stove, Arthur sighed in admiration. Then he recalled what he had done the night before. With a slight nod, he murmured, "He really did teach by example!"
He had not deliberately deceived that reporter.
He had merely been testing ways to earn XP through [Omniscient Cuisine].
And now, naturally, he was doing the same-
He cracked two eggs into the frying pan.
The instant the eggs touched the pan, they sizzled crisply in the hot fat. The yolks and whites stood out distinctly, and a sprinkling of black pepper made their aroma even more tempting. Arthur, who had barely slept the night before, felt himself relax.
He transferred the two fried eggs to an earthenware plate, picked up the ham and sliced bread he had prepared earlier, and headed into the dining room.
The dining room adjoined the kitchen and contained a large square table. In his predecessor's memories, the Creados family would cover it with food on every holiday and gather around it together. Then, once Old Charlie announced that they could begin, everyone would raise their glasses and drink.
That had not included his predecessor, who had still been young at the time. He could only drink juice or water.
Although his predecessor had been intensely curious about alcohol, Old Charlie had strictly forbidden it, and no one dared offer alcoholic drinks to the youngest member of the Creados family.
Want a drink?
He would have to come of age first.
And even as an adult, he would need to exercise restraint and never drink to excess.
Those holiday meals had been the happiest times in his predecessor's memories.
But everything had changed after Uncle Winters disappeared three years earlier.
The meals continued, and there was still laughter, but much of the joy was gone.
A shadow seemed to hang over everything.
"'The demon haunting Baker Farm,' huh?"
Arthur quietly repeated the name of the incident that had led to Uncle Winters's disappearance.
He did not know the details.
He only knew that Old Charlie had gone there himself. When he returned two months later with a grim expression, he stopped investigating and forbade anyone from discussing Winters. He also forbade Drake and Cassandra from going anywhere near the place.
His predecessor had grieved for a long time.
That had also caused Drake to leave home.
Even Cassandra's agreement to attend a girls' school had been because of that incident.
But none of this had anything to do with the present Arthur.
Right now, he was simply enjoying the breakfast he had made himself.
He broke open the yolk of one fried egg. As the soft yolk flowed out, he dipped a finger-thick slice of ham into it.
The rich flavor of the meat mingled with the soft yolk, creating a delicious combination that made Arthur take large, eager bites.
Unfortunately, this did not count as fine cuisine.
At least, it was not fine cuisine recognized by [Omniscient Cuisine].
His XP did not increase.
"So it really doesn't work?"
Arthur was not annoyed by the failed attempt. He had a clear enough understanding of his own cooking skills.
Although he had plenty of recipes for delicious food in his head, they existed only in his head. He had never put them into practice.
It was lucky enough that he had not broken the yolks while frying the eggs.
One route was blocked.
Arthur still had another: getting into the newspaper.
Last night, he had given an interview to Scott, a trainee reporter for The Horn Newspaper.
Scott had promised that a report about the "Medium," Arthur Credos, would appear in that day's edition of The Horn Newspaper. He was a young man who firmly believed in the occult, and Old Charlie had been the first member of the family he knew. That was precisely why Arthur's predecessor had chosen him when trying to prove himself.
His predecessor had trusted Scott.
Naturally, Arthur trusted him too.
And the trainee reporter did not disappoint Arthur-
"Extra! Extra!"
"'Medium' Arthur Credos successfully exorcises the evil spirit at 333 Russell Street!"
The newsboy's clear cries reached 2 Kirk Street.
A look of surprise crossed Arthur's face.
He had originally expected his exploits to appear on the second or third page of The Horn Newspaper, perhaps even in some obscure corner. He had never expected a special edition.
Looks like I really left an impression on Scott last night!
As Arthur thought this, the corners of his mouth lifted, and his anticipation grew.
He was not worried that the special edition of The Horn Newspaper would fail to sell.
Although fewer people in South Los could read than would throw Inner Bay residents into the river, newspapers never lacked buyers.
Those who could read were perfectly willing to spend five Los to show that they were different.
They considered it respectable.
Others acknowledged that respectability, too-not simply because these people could read, but because five Los could already buy half a pound of coarse flour. Spent on cornmeal or potatoes instead, it would provide a day's food for the men of a household.
The vast majority of families in South Los earned only two to three Sol a day.
And that was only possible when the husbands and grown sons left at dawn to spend the day working at the docks, shops, markets, and similar places, while the younger children helped their mothers with odd jobs.
Simply put, that was a fairly ideal situation.
More often, they could not earn that much at all.
Because odd jobs were unreliable.
Because the husbands and sons who provided most of the income could fall ill.
Sometimes, accidents happened as well.
That was why these South Los families did everything they could to scrape together enough money for one of their sons to secure a more stable apprenticeship.
As for learning to read and write?
Like everyone else in South County, the people of South Los generally considered it an unattainable luxury.
An ordinary South Los family could save enough to pay an apprenticeship fee in about three years.
But the tuition needed to learn to read and write?
That would take ten years.
And only if they spent nothing on food or drink.
Even then, that covered only the basic tuition, not the cost of books and pens.
Knowledge was expensive!
Everyone in South County agreed on that.
Yet as Arthur looked through his predecessor's memories, he found that Old Charlie had not only paid a hefty sum to hire a private tutor to teach his predecessor to read and write, but had also arranged lessons in swordsmanship, riding, arithmetic, etiquette, and more.
All of these were reflected in [Omniscient Cuisine].
Without a doubt, Old Charlie had wanted his grandson to rise above ordinary people.
To put it simply, he wanted him to become a "noble."
Although the "Witch Hunt" on the East Coast had ended thirty years earlier, and being a Medium had long since become safe, the profession still fell far short of being a noble with honors and land.
Even though the newspapers kept declaring that "the old nobility is beginning to decline, and the future belongs to pioneers," Old Charlie stubbornly believed that possessing a fief of one's own was the best choice.
But like every boy going through his rebellious years, Arthur's predecessor had never listened to his elders.
And that had led to his death and replacement.
As the one who had benefited, Arthur could hardly pass judgment.
He ate his breakfast in silence. When he finished the last mouthful of fried egg, a notification appeared before his eyes-
[Your story appeared in the newspaper. You gained a little renown. XP +1]
The notification that he had earned XP made the corners of Arthur's mouth lift.
Then he eagerly put the one point of XP he had just earned into [Basic Swordsmanship].
In an unfamiliar place with danger lurking everywhere, hoarding any XP was unwise. Although Arthur had a slight tendency to squirrel things away, he knew that at a time like this, even a tiny increase in strength was worthwhile.
[Basic Swordsmanship Lv2: You have become proficient in basic sword techniques and can apply them in actual combat.]
His body and knowledge fell into sync in an instant.
A considerable amount of knowledge appeared in his mind, and his body had already adapted to it. Arthur casually drew the longsword beside him and thrust straight ahead.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The blade flashed coldly. Though the move was only a basic thrust, it produced a continuous series of whistles through the air.
Yet Arthur frowned slightly.
His skill level had increased, but his [Physique] and [Spirituality] attributes had not risen with it.
Is it because a basic skill is too low-tier?
Or because its level hasn't increased enough?
Or are my current [Physique] and [Spirituality] too high?
Arthur could not be sure which explanation was right.
But a glance at the entry, which had now changed to [Basic Swordsmanship Lv2 (0/5)], told him that he needed more XP.
So Arthur immediately began considering how to leave a deep impression on Scott a few more times.
And just as Arthur was thinking about Scott, the young reporter stood outside the front door of 2 Kirk Street and rang the bell with an uneasy look on his face-
Ring, ring-ring.
Before you continue