The lead inspector stood by the car door, watching him.
The eyes set in his skull-like face had small pupils and held no expression.
"Richard Williams?"
"And you are...?"
"I’m the lead inspector for the Brighton Branch Office. You can call me Winterworth."
"Around 10:40 this morning, an abnormal public incident occurred near the pie stall on Central Avenue."
Winterworth stuck his hands in his uniform pockets.
"Pedestrians in a small area simultaneously lost their ability to balance. It lasted for about three to five minutes."
"Officers from the North District Patrol Station were the first on the scene. Their preliminary assessment was an outbreak of mass hysteria, so they handed the case over to the health department."
"That would be us."
Richard stood frozen, his hand unconsciously tightening around the crowbar in his pocket.
"The regular officers saw ’mass hysteria.’"
Winterworth continued in his unhurried tone, "But we saw something different."
"The residual traces of Ether disturbance at the scene haven’t completely dissipated. The diffusion pattern is a typical barrier-free release with a decay radius of about six to seven meters—a perfect match for the characteristics of the Fog Wall Technique."
"It was just... incredibly crude."
The corners of his mouth twitched, but he suppressed a laugh.
"We also investigated the scene with those two thugs. They’re both career criminals.
When the officers arrested them, a few eyewitnesses were able to describe ’two thugs ganging up on a single victim.’"
"So, as far as the self-defense part goes, Headquarters won’t be pursuing it. You don’t need to worry."
He pulled a small, copper-colored medallion from his pocket, showing it to Richard. It was engraved with a crest of interlocking gears and thorns.
This was the internal insignia of the Imperial Public Health Inspection Bureau.
"But according to regulations," Winterworth said, spinning the medallion in his hand before putting it away,
"anyone who uses supernatural means in a public place, creating a risk of leaking information about the Curtain,
regardless of their motive, must first be taken into custody by the local branch office, then transferred to a higher authority for a ruling."
"Or..." He changed his tune.
"You could register with us and pay a fine.
This whole matter would stay out of the patrol system and off the Headquarters’ case files. It would essentially be handled internally by our Branch Office."
"Then what do you want?" Richard asked.
"The Branch Office gets odd jobs from time to time," Winterworth said.
"Once you become a Practitioner, you can help the Branch Office out a little each year. That’s what we want."
Richard got the gist of it.
’The official position was either detention or recruitment. There was no third option.’
But he couldn’t agree right away.
Richard took his hand out of his pocket. "Can I make a phone call first?"
Winterworth seemed surprised. "Who are you calling?"
"My maternal grandfather, Gerald Ashford."
The man’s expression changed at the name. "Oh? You’re related to Mr. Gerald?"
"Yes."
"So you’re from the Ashford Clan. No wonder you were so vicious."
Winterworth laughed, and for the first time, his skull-like face showed a flicker of life.
"Born into a Hunter Clan, but walking the path of a Scholar. I seem to recall your family already has someone who’s done that, right?"
"Go ahead and make your call." Winterworth nodded. "There happens to be a public phone booth at the mouth of the alley."
The two kids who had been poking at an anthill in the alley had disappeared at some point.
They were probably scared off by the van painted with the words "Health Inspection Team."
In Brighton, any vehicle with official markings parked at your front door was never good news.
Most of the red paint on the public phone booth had peeled off, and a crack in the glass door was held together with tape.
Richard fished a few copper coins from his pocket and fed them into the slot. He picked up the receiver, and the rotary dial whirred seven times.
RING... RING... RING... After three long rings, someone picked up.
"Who is this?" came the butler’s calm voice.
"This is Richard Williams. I’m calling for my grandfather."
"Please hold, Young Master."
About half a minute later,
An old man’s voice came on the line. "Richard. Calling so soon? Has something happened?"
Richard explained what had happened in the most concise terms possible.
The other end of the line was quiet for a long moment.
Gerald sighed.
"What is it?" Richard asked nervously. ’Did I really mess up this badly?’
"Did you know that the savings bank can arrange for a personal delivery for large withdrawals?"
"...What?"
"You take your identification and passbook to the counter, fill out a delivery form, and pay a five-shilling delivery fee.
The next day, an armed courier will bring the cash to your door for you to count and sign for on the spot."
Richard’s hand, clutching the receiver, stiffened.
"Think about it. So much money moves through the bank every day. They can’t just have every customer walking the streets with huge sums of cash.
There’s a notice for the delivery service posted on the wall by the counter. You didn’t see it?"
He hadn’t.
He had just gotten in line as soon as he entered the bank. When it was his turn, he handed over his passbook, said he wanted to make a withdrawal, and left with the envelope as soon as he got the money.
He hadn’t paid any attention to the notices on the wall.
"I didn’t notice."
"Mm, you didn’t notice." Gerald didn’t sound particularly surprised.
"It’s normal to be nervous at your age, handling that much cash for the first time," he said.
"Just remember for next time. If there’s a delivery fee, pay it."
"I’ll remember."
"As for those two thugs, though, you handled that pretty well," Gerald said.
Richard was surprised.
He had braced himself for a lecture from his grandfather, even preparing a few lines of defense in his mind.
But the old man on the other end of the phone was actually giving him credit.
"You took down two adult men with your bare hands and even knew to wipe the memories of the onlookers.
The only problem was that your subsequent Fog Wall Technique went out of control and caused a public disturbance."
"Maintaining the secrecy of the Curtain is the first rule in the public code for Newcomers."
Richard frowned. Mr. Hutton had only said that if ordinary people were exposed to Mysticism, it would cause mental contamination.
But he’d never said that methods of the Mysterious Side couldn’t be displayed in public.
Gerald didn’t dwell on it.
"The person who taught you most likely taught you the Fog Wall Technique as a small-scale Technique for confined spaces, which is its original application."
"So now...?" Richard asked tentatively.
The old man cleared his throat.
"Is that lead inspector still waiting outside?"
"Hand him the phone. I’ll speak with him."
Richard pushed open the phone booth door and gestured to Winterworth, who was standing a few steps away.
Winterworth walked over, took the receiver, and held it to his ear.
Richard couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could see Winterworth’s face.
From start to finish, that skull-like face maintained the same expression... listening intently, not interrupting.
After about two minutes, Winterworth handed the receiver back.
"Your grandfather wants another word with you."
Richard put the receiver to his ear again.
"Richard."
"Yes."
"I’ve already taken care of this for you." Gerald’s tone was calm again.
"Knowing to call me when you got into trouble—that decision saved both of us a lot of trouble."

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