New Connections

"There's no room for negotiation on that point. His contract requires him to pay the rent every three months. If he doesn't transfer the pounds to the landlord's account soon, he'll probably face a lawsuit."

"And I don't have the money to cover it for him right now."

Miles gave a bitter smile.

Twenty soli a week, so one pound. Paying three months' rent at once means I'll have to hand over thirteen pounds, more than half of everything I have... Lorry silently did the arithmetic, then fell quiet himself.

Seeing this, an almost imperceptible flicker of disappointment passed through Miles's eyes.

Clearly, he had been through this many times before.

He pressed his lips together, trying to persuade Lorry, his last lifeline. But he had never been good with words, and despite opening his mouth several times, he failed to say anything.

"Sigh."

Miles sighed inwardly. He was just about to send Lorry on his way when his expression froze in surprise, and he instinctively rubbed his eyes.

He saw Lorry give a slight nod.

He agreed?

He can pay all that rent at once? Miles's eyes widened.

Lorry smiled and held out his hand. "Here's to a happy partnership, Mr. Miles."

"Here's to a happy partnership!"

"I have a contract drawn up in my room. I'll go get it right now!"

Miles shook Lorry's hand excitedly, looking so anxious that he seemed afraid Lorry would change his mind. After speaking loudly, he hurried next door.

Do I really look like someone who goes back on his word...? Lorry grumbled inwardly.

Five minutes later.

The two signed the contract in the sitting room of No. 64.

Miles put away his copy, leaned back against the sofa, and let out a long breath.

"To be honest, the price isn't high, but not many people are willing to pay that much rent all at once. Most prefer to pay weekly."

"Well... myself included."

"In any case, thank you on my friend's behalf. Now he won't have to be taken away to prison by the police while his elderly parents watch."

"It's my pleasure," Lorry replied with a smile.

They chatted casually for a little longer before Miles suddenly asked in a low voice, "Mr. Raven, I don't believe I've asked what line of work you're in?"

His tone took on a pleading note as he continued, "If possible, I hope you'll continue renting this house after the three months are up."

Raven was Lorry's alias, formed from part of the English word "revenge."

Naturally, the people of this world would never know that.

In his haste to collect the rent for his friend, Miles had never even brought up proof of identity.

Lorry smiled and said:

"In a sense, you could say we're in the same profession, Mr. Miles."

"You're a writer too?"

Miles was visibly taken aback by this answer.

"Perhaps an aspiring newcomer would be a more accurate description." Lorry shrugged with a smile. "I hope you'll be able to offer me some guidance in the future."

"If you'll forgive my bluntness, that isn't a wise choice."

"Not everyone can become a bestselling author like Ms. Fors, selling articles to magazines for high fees and working with reliable publishing partners."

"Most of us don't earn much."

"At the last salon I attended, I heard that some writers were even secretly writing erotica for underground publishers because their income couldn't cover their expenses."

"Honestly, I feel like I'm almost at that point myself."

Thinking of his own career, Miles couldn't help complaining with a bitter expression, though there might also have been a hint of warning in his words.

Still, faced with Lorry's hopeful gaze, he gave a small nod.

"But don't worry, Raven. I've lived in Backlund for years, after all. I do have the basic connections in this field."

"If you need anything, just come find me next door."

Aside from the furniture, the house didn't even have a cup of tea to offer. Miles had forced himself to keep the conversation going for several minutes, but he was already finding it hard to stay seated.

He took this opportunity to stand, making ready to say goodbye.

Little did he know that Lorry had been waiting for precisely those words. Otherwise, why would he have spent over half his savings at once?

Lorry rose as well, thanked him earnestly, and then cordially saw Miles out through the front door of No. 64.

Click.

The door closed gently.

Standing behind it, Lorry suddenly wore an odd expression.

"Fors, Miss Magician of the Tarot Club."

Perhaps Miles had hired someone to clean the house in the hope of renting it out quickly. Whatever the reason, it was in quite good condition.

Aside from a little dust, it hardly needed any attention.

Determined to save wherever he could, Lorry decided against hiring a temporary maid. Instead, he did the cleaning himself, spending most of the day on it.

Near dusk, he washed up and went out onto the second-floor terrace. As he admired Backlund beneath the setting sun, he let his thoughts wander.

"The housing problem is solved, at least for the next three months."

"Work... well, that's more or less settled too."

Becoming a writer hadn't been a spur-of-the-moment decision Lorry made upon meeting Miles. He had already considered it back in Koyar Village.

The reason might have sounded a little sad.

In truth, he had few better options. This world had little kindness to spare for ordinary people, and practically every way to make real money was written into the law.

Working for someone else was out of the question.

Even working around the clock, twenty-four hours a day, wouldn't cover his staggering expenses.

Before learning that he was wanted, Lorry had planned to become a bodyguard for a noble or a wealthy merchant, or perhaps work as a security guard.

With his abilities as half a Sequence 9, he was confident he could handle either job.

Now both options were off the table.

Detectives earned good money too, but Lorry didn't particularly want to enter the same profession as the protagonist.

After turning it over in his mind,

writing had become the only answer.

He had a considerable advantage in that field as well.

"I have a little over twelve pounds left. I can't spend it all on a private detective. I need to keep some in reserve. Hmm... I can start by budgeting half."

"Five pounds-no, six."

"I'll find a private detective when I wake up tomorrow!"

In the warm night breeze, Lorry quickly settled the first matter and continued thinking. "Next, I need to ask around about Beyonder gatherings."

"I know practically nothing about mysticism."

"Aside from my potion's abilities, I can't even use the most basic

"Spirit Vision."

A reminiscent look crossed his face as he strained to squeeze every last detail out of his memory. "How did the protagonist join that old gentleman Eye of Wisdom's gatherings again?"

"I think it was the Valiant-no, the Bravehearts Bar!"

"Unfortunately, I really can't remember the intermediary's name. I'll have to find time to try my luck there myself and see whether I can get in."

"That can wait until after I find a private detective."

"So, there's only one thing left to do."

"Write a book!"

"Still, I'm a newcomer who's only just arrived. Even with an introduction from Miles, a publisher probably won't take me seriously."

"After all, he can barely keep himself afloat."

"Wait, I remember him mentioning some kind of underground publisher at the end."

Lorry's eyes suddenly lit up. All at once, he found himself bursting with inspiration.

He strode into the second-floor study, dug out the paper and fountain pen left behind by the previous tenant, spread a sheet on the curved desk, and began writing furiously.

"Roselle's efforts to restore his family's fortunes had not gone well."