That was positively cutting... Klein laughed and drew on his wealth of "experience" from his previous life to add another jab:
"In fact, there's no evidence that those bigwigs have brains at all."
"Good! Very good!" Benson roared with laughter and gave him a thumbs-up. "Klein, you're much funnier than you used to be."
After catching his breath, he continued:
"I still have to go to the docks this afternoon. I won't have a day off until tomorrow. Then, hmm... we can go to the Tingen City Housing Improvement Company together and see if they have any inexpensive but decent terraced houses to rent. Also, we'll have to visit Mr. Franky first."
"Our landlord?" Klein asked in puzzlement.
Could our current landlord own terraced houses in a decent neighborhood?
Benson glanced at his younger brother and said in amusement:
"You haven't forgotten that we signed a one-year lease, have you? It's only been six months."
"Hiss..." Klein immediately drew in a sharp breath.
I really did forget about that!
Although they paid rent weekly, the lease lasted a full year. Moving now would mean breaking the contract. If they were taken to court, they would have to pay a substantial sum!
"You still lack social experience." Benson touched his receding black hairline and sighed. "That was a clause I fought hard to secure back then. Otherwise, Mr. Franky would only have agreed to a three-month lease. For the wealthy, landlords rent for a year, two years, or even three years at a time for stability. But with us-with the way we used to be, and our neighbors-the landlords are always worried that someone might have an accident and become unable to pay rent, so they only want short-term contracts."
"That also lets them raise the rent frequently as circumstances change," Klein added, drawing on the original Klein's fragmented memories and his own experience renting.
Benson sighed.
"That's the reality and cruelty of society today. All right, you don't need to worry. The lease is easy to deal with. Frankly, if we fall just one week behind on rent, Mr. Franky will throw us out immediately and confiscate anything valuable. After all, he's less intelligent than a curly-haired baboon and can't distinguish anything too complicated."
Hearing this, Klein suddenly remembered a certain Sir Humphrey joke and shook his head solemnly.
"No, Benson, you're wrong."
"Why?" Benson looked thoroughly puzzled.
"Mr. Franky is slightly more intelligent than a curly-haired baboon," Klein replied seriously. Just as an understanding smile appeared on Benson's face, he added, "When he's in good form."
"Hahaha." Benson lost control of himself.
After laughing for a while, he pointed at Klein, unable to find the right words for a moment, and could only return to the subject:
"Of course, as gentlemen, we won't resort to such shameless methods. We'll speak to Mr. Franky directly tomorrow. Believe me, he's very easy to persuade. Very easy."
Klein had no doubts about that. The gas pipes were the most compelling proof.
The brothers chatted for a while, putting the small amount of pan-fried meat and fish left over from last night into the vegetable stew. As it heated, they used the steam to soften the rye bread.
Spreading a little cream on the bread, Klein and Benson made do with a simple meal, but they still ate with considerable satisfaction. After all, the creamy fragrance and sweetness left a lingering taste.
After Benson left, Klein took three soli in banknotes and some loose copper pennies to the Lettuce and Meat Market. He spent six pence on a pound of beef and seven pence on a large Tussock fish with tender flesh and few bones. He also bought ingredients such as potatoes, peas, white radishes, rhubarb, lettuce, and turnips, as well as rosemary, basil, cumin, oil, and other items.
Throughout this, he could still sense someone spying on and watching him, but there was still no actual contact.
After spending some time at Slin Bakery, Klein returned home and began exercising his arms with heavy objects, such as stacks of books.
He had originally wanted to practice military boxing to strengthen his body, but he had now forgotten even the movements of the broadcast exercises, let alone something he had only encountered during military training. With no alternative, he could only keep things as simple as possible.
Klein did not let himself exercise too hard, since that would leave him exhausted instead and increase the danger. He stopped at an appropriate point and began reading the original Klein's textbooks and notes, hoping to review the knowledge concerning the Fourth Epoch.
Toward evening, Benson and Melissa sat at the desk, looking at the food laid out before them, sitting as straight as children in the upper years of primary school.
The mingled aromas composed a rich overture of food: the soul-stealing fragrance wafting from the boiled beef, the distinct and persistent stimulation of mashed potatoes, the sweet, cloying entanglement of thick pea soup, the subtle and balanced harmony of stewed rhubarb, and the sweet, creamy scent surrounding the rye bread.
Benson swallowed and turned to look at Klein, who was transferring a crisp, glistening golden fish onto a plate. He felt the fried aroma travel from his nose into his throat, down his esophagus, and into his stomach.
Gurgle! His stomach let out a distinct sound.
With his shirt cuffs rolled back, Klein carried the plate of fried fish to the center of the cleared desk. Then he turned back, took two large mugs of ginger beer from the cupboard, and set them before Benson's seat and his own.
He smiled at Melissa and produced a lemon pudding as though performing a magic trick:
"We have beer, and you have this."
"...Thank you," Melissa said faintly as she accepted the lemon pudding.
Seeing this, Benson raised his mug and said with a smile:
"Come, let's celebrate Klein finding a good job."
Klein lifted his mug, clinked it against Benson's, and then against Melissa's lemon pudding:
"Praise the Goddess!"
With a gulp, he tipped his head back and took a drink. The spicy flavor burned down his esophagus, leaving a wonderful aftertaste.
Ginger beer's full name was ginger-juice beer, but it actually contained no alcohol. It combined the heat of ginger juice with the sourness of lemon to produce a beer-like taste, making it a drink women and children could also enjoy. Melissa simply did not particularly like the flavor.
"Praise the Goddess!" Benson followed with a drink, while Melissa took a tiny bite of lemon pudding and chewed it over and over, reluctant to swallow.
"Give it a try." Klein put down his mug, picked up his fork and spoon, and gestured at the tableful of food.
Of everything there, he had the least confidence in the thick pea soup. After all, he would never have eaten anything so strange back on Earth, and could only "re-create" it based on the original Klein's fragmented memories.
As the elder brother, Benson did not stand on ceremony. He scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and put it in his mouth.
The flavor of potatoes stewed as thoroughly as possible and mashed until very soft mingled with the faint taste of lard and just the right amount of salt, making his mouth water furiously and whetting his appetite.
"Not... bad... not bad," Benson praised indistinctly. "Much better than what I had at the company last time. They used cream then."
This could be considered my specialty... Klein readily accepted the praise:
"It's all thanks to the instruction of Welch's chef."
Melissa, meanwhile, looked at the beef soup. Green basil leaves, pale green lettuce hearts, and white chunks of radish soaked in the clear broth, concealing the tender stewed beef. The colors were refreshing, the aroma enticing.
She speared a piece of beef and put it in her mouth to chew. Though tender, it still retained some chewiness. A little salt, the mild sweetness of radish, and the spicy fragrance of basil together brought out the beef's own delicious flavor.
"..., ..." She seemed to be offering some praise, but could not stop eating.
Klein tasted it. Although he found it delicious, he could not help feeling some regret. It still fell short of his best. After all, some seasonings were unavailable and had to be replaced with others, so a certain oddness was inevitable.
Of course, even at his best, his cooking was only passable.
Suddenly, he felt sorry again for Benson and Melissa, who had seen so little of the world.
Swallowing the beef in his mouth, Klein took a piece of fried Tussock fish sprinkled with cumin and rosemary. Crisp outside and tender inside, it was golden brown and delicious, its savory saltiness mingling with the flavor of oil.
Nodding slightly, Klein tried a piece of stewed rhubarb. He found it merely all right, though it could cut through the richness of the meat.
Finally, he mustered his courage and scooped up a spoonful of thick pea soup.
Too sweet, too sour... Klein could not help frowning.
But seeing how satisfied Benson and Melissa looked after tasting it, he began to doubt his own sense of taste. He could not resist taking a gulp of ginger beer to rinse his tongue.
The meal left all three siblings with bulging stomachs, unable to rise from their chairs for quite some time.
"Let us praise the Goddess once again!" Benson said contentedly, raising his mug with its single remaining mouthful of ginger beer.
"Praise the Goddess!" Klein drained the last of his drink in one gulp.
"Praise the Goddess." Melissa put the little bit of lemon pudding she had saved until the very end into her mouth, savoring it over and over.
Seeing this, Klein smiled, emboldened by his slight tipsiness:
"Melissa, that's not a good habit. You should eat the tastiest food, the things you like best, right at the beginning. That's when you can experience them at their most delicious. If you wait until you're full and your appetite has faded, the taste will be diminished."
"No, it tastes just as good," Melissa replied firmly and stubbornly.
The three siblings chatted and laughed as they let their food settle for a while. Then they cleared away the plates, forks, and spoons together and poured the oil used to fry the fish back into its container.
Afterward, one reviewed her lessons, one studied accounting on his own, and one continued reading textbooks and notes. Their time was full and satisfying.
At eleven, Klein and his siblings extinguished the gas lamp, washed up, and went to bed.
His surroundings were dim and shadowy, his senses muddled. Suddenly, Dunn Smith appeared in Klein's field of vision, wearing a black knee-length windbreaker and a half top hat.
"Captain!" Klein instantly became lucid and clearly understood that he was dreaming.
Dunn's gray eyes were unruffled as he spoke as though discussing something trivial:
"Someone has sneaked into your room. Pick up your revolver and force him into the corridor. Leave the rest to us."
Someone sneaked into my room? The watchers have finally made their move? Klein was startled. Not daring to ask more, he simply nodded.
"All right!"
The scene before him immediately changed. A jumble of colors appeared, bursting one after another like bubbles.
Opening his eyes, Klein carefully turned his head toward the window. He saw an unfamiliar, thin figure standing with his back to him at the desk, silently searching for something.