At 2 p. m., in the North Borough suburbs, outside a two-story house with an old-fashioned style that looked dilapidated.
Klein, dressed in his trainee inspector's uniform, looked at the overgrown garden and the walls covered with plants, and turned his head slightly in surprise, saying:
"My martial arts instructor lives here?"
Pugilist who gets chosen by the Nighthawks team must be exceptional...
Leonard Mitchell, who led him over, chuckled and said:
"Don't underestimate Mr. Gawain because of his living conditions. Although he ultimately didn't receive a knighthood, he was once a true knight."
At this point, the poet-like Nighthawks, casually dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and buttonless leather boots, suddenly became filled with melancholy:
"He was active during the last glorious era of knights, when those warriors in breastplates charged madly at arrays of muskets and cannons, destroying their opponents and flattening the lines. Unfortunately, they soon witnessed the invention and deployment of high-pressure Steam and six-barreled machine guns, and from then on, knights gradually faded from the scene."
"Mr. Gawain was the same. More than twenty years ago, his Ahowa Knight Order encountered the army of the Republic of Intis, which possessed the most advanced weapons... Alas, whenever I think of these things, I feel as if I have touched the dust of history, and I am shocked by the irreversible vicissitudes and fate. Poems are brewing and surging in my heart, but I cannot write poetry."
"... Then why are you saying all this?" Klein pretended not to notice Leonard's self-deprecation and suggested seriously:
"My college classmate told me that writing poetry is something that requires a lot of talent, and it's best to start by reading ' The Collection of Early Loen Classical Poetry '."
Leonard's mood changed in an instant, and he replied in a relaxed and cheerful manner:
"I bought this collection of poems a long time ago, along with other books like ' Selected Poems of Roselle.' I will strive to become a Midnight Poet, Mr. Seer."
Is this an Psychological Suggestion... of Acting Method? Klein replied as if he didn't understand anything:
"Then you'll also need grammar books."
"Okay, let's go in." Leonard reached out and pushed open the half-closed iron gate, walking towards the house along a path wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
Before he even got close, Klein saw the front door open and a tall man walk out of the house.
His blond hair was short, his temples were already turning white, and his face showed signs of weathering, with deep and obvious forehead wrinkles, crow's feet, and nasolabial folds.
"What are you doing here?" the middle-aged man asked in a deep voice.
"Mr. Gawain, according to the contract you signed with the police department, this trainee inspector will be learning combat skills from you," Leonard explained with a smile.
"Fighting? There's no need to learn fighting in this day and age." Gawain looked at Klein with his slightly cloudy eyes and said lifelessly, "You should practice drawing and shooting, and master the most advanced weapons."
Was he traumatized by the six-barreled machine gun and the high-pressure Steam rifle? Klein didn't respond rashly, but looked at Leonard with amusement.
"For police officers, hand-to-hand combat remains an essential skill. Most of the Criminal we face are not Devil who need to be executed immediately; they may not even have weapons. This is where hand-to-hand combat skills come in," Leonard said, as if he had anticipated this.
Gawain, his face grim, remained silent for over ten seconds before saying:
"Try throwing a punch."
He was speaking to Klein.
Without his cane, Klein recalled the boxing matches he had watched in his past life, raised his arm, and swung it forward.
Gawain's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. After thinking for a moment, he said:
"Kick."
With his body slightly turned to the side and his hips swaying, Klein tensed his thighs and pulled his right foot out.
"Ahem..." Gawain covered his mouth with his hand and coughed lightly twice, then looked at Leonard and said, "I will abide by the contract, but given his condition, for the first month, he only needs to come four times a week, three hours each time."
"You're a combat expert, you decide." Leonard nodded without hesitation, smiling at Klein, "See you at dinner."
After he stepped out of the iron gate, Klein asked curiously:
"Teacher, where should I begin practicing? Punches, or footwork?"
As a skilled keyboard warrior, he Doug.
Gawain shook his head, his hands hanging at his sides, looking utterly weary.
What you need most right now is strength training.
"See those? There are two iron dumbbells; those are your companions for today."
"In addition to that, you also need to practice squats, running, and jump rope, etc. We'll do it one set at a time."
While Klein was still in a daze, his voice suddenly rose, and he asked authoritatively:
"Do you understand?"
"Understood!" At this moment, Klein felt like he was back in military training, facing an unapproachable instructor.
"Go change your clothes first. There's a knight's training outfit on the sofa." Gawain suddenly sighed, turned around with his hands behind his back, and walked towards the pair of iron-black dumbbells.
Six o'clock in the evening, a corner of the Old Weir Restaurant.
Apart from Frye, who was on duty at Chanis Gate, all members of Blackthorn Security Company were present, consisting of six Nighthawks and five administrative staff.
White tablecloths were quietly laid out on the long table. Waiters brought over plate after plate of food, cut it up, and then served it to each guest.
Klein saw the steak drizzled with black pepper sauce, the bacon, the sausage with mashed potatoes, the custard, the aloe vera, the specialty cheese, and the amber-colored champagne, but he had no appetite at all; the afternoon's training had almost made him vomit.
Glancing at the pale-faced, unfocused new Nighthawks, Dunn picked up the glass of red wine in front of him and smiled, saying:
"Let's welcome our newest official member, Klein Moretti, cheers!"
The aloof and reserved black-haired lady, Loyao Letting; the short and wiry " Sleepless " Kenley White and dissolute Leonard Mitchell; and the white-haired, black-eyed " Midnight Poet," Siga Tron, all raised their glasses and looked at their newly joined teammates.
Despite the lingering discomfort from training, Klein picked up the glass of amber champagne, stood up, and said:
"Thanks."
He toasted each of the Nighthawks, then tilted his head back and drank the little champagne he had left.
"At a time like this, shouldn't our Author say something?" Dunn looked at Siga Tron with a smile.
Siga Tron was a woman in her early thirties with rather ordinary looks, but an exceptionally outstanding temperament. She was calm and serene, and her unusual long white hair added to her unique charm.
Klein had heard Old Neil mention that this " Midnight Poet " was an amateur novelist who had tried submitting his work to newspapers and magazines, but unfortunately only a few tabloids accepted his work.
Siga smiled, glanced at Dunn, and said:
"In order for what you call 'Miss Author ' to become a reality, Captain, I think you should grant me a special allowance so I can pay for my own novel publication."
Dunn shrugged and smiled:
"You should learn from Old Neil and find a more suitable reason."
"In this respect, I admire Mr. Neil the most!" Rozanne exclaimed, swallowing a piece of roasted lamb leg.
Amidst the laughter and chatter, Leonard glanced at Klein and chuckled softly:
"I'm too tired, I have no appetite, and I can't eat."
"Yes." Klein sighed.
"If you haven't tried it yet, I can help you," Leonard said, as if to discourage wasting food.
Klein nodded without the slightest hesitation:
"No problem."
And so, Leonard and the others ate most of the food in front of him.
As dinner drew to a close, the waiters brought out beef puddings and ice cream.
Klein took a bite of the latter and found it to be icy cold and sweet, which was very appetizing.
Without realizing it, he finished his ice cream with blueberry juice on it.
And it was because of this that he began to feel a hunger that scratched at his heart and stomach, a craving for replenishment after a great deal of exertion.
Swallowing hard, Klein looked at the table in front of him and saw that the plates were in disarray, with almost nothing left.
"Let's stop here and have one last drink to Klein," Dunn suggested.
Before he could finish speaking, Klein blurted out:
"Captain, could I have another dinner?"
Upon hearing this request, everyone fell silent for a moment, then chuckled softly.
"Haha, you've finally recovered. No problem, two more servings are fine with me," Dunn said with a shake of his head and a smile.
During his anxious and impatient wait, Klein heard his stomach growling.
Finally, a freshly pan-fried steak with black pepper sauce was served.
With his knife and fork flying, Klein, who was almost in tears, finished the medium-rare food in just a minute and a half, his mouth still filled with the aroma of meat and juices.
After an unknown amount of time, looking at the empty plates, he breathed a satisfied sigh, put down his knife and fork, and took a sip of champagne.
"Waiter, the bill, please," Dunn said, turning to the waiter beside him.
The waiter first went to the front desk, then returned with the bill and explained in detail:
"You opened five bottles of Desi champagne, 12 Soli and 3 pence each, a small glass of Southville red wine, 10 pence... each black pepper steak, 1 Soli and 2 pence... each beef pudding, 6 pence, each ice cream, 1 Soli... totaling 5 pounds, 9 Soli and 6 pence."
£5, 9 Soli, and 6 pence? That's almost a week's salary for me! Restaurants are definitely much more expensive than eating at home! Klein was speechless with astonishment, and was very glad that the captain had said he didn't need to treat everyone; he had a secret stash of money and extra funds!
He did the math and found that the most expensive part of the dinner was the drinks; just five bottles of champagne cost over £3!
This is no different from Earth... Klein quietly patted his stomach, forcing himself to finish the last sip of champagne.
The next morning, Klein groggily felt a tightness in his lower abdomen and turned over, trying to get out of bed.
As soon as he exerted himself, the soreness in his muscles jolted him fully awake, making him feel as if his body no longer belonged to him.
"This feeling is so familiar... Just like the day after I was punished with frog jumps before... Today is my day off, and I still have to visit my mentor to see if I can borrow that academic monograph on the Main Peak of Hornacis from the university library..." Klein's lips twitched, and he moved with difficulty towards the outside.
With each step he took, he felt a sharp urge to gasp for breath.
" Klein, what's wrong?" Melissa, who had just come out of the bathroom, looked at her brother with suspicion as he moved strangely and slowly.