Beneath the open window of Room 601, Lumian scaled the wall with his bare hands, aided by the protrusions, statues, and pipes. His descent was swift and steady, story after story, until he made a final leap and landed gracefully on the edge of Rue des Blouses Blanches. He grumbled under his breath, “Why am I forced to climb down from the sixth floor? I haven’t done anything!”

Lumian slipped into the shadows and made his way towards Avenue du Marché.

In Room 601.

Franca cast a fleeting glance at the swaying window, adjusting her silk nightgown before approaching the slowly opening door, wearing a smile.

Dressed in a sequined red dress, Jenna stored away the spare key Franca had entrusted to her and entered the apartment.

“Why are you here so early today?” Franca inquired, blocking Jenna’s path to the window, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Jenna let out a sigh and replied, “Something happened to the band’s six-stringed zither player. While it didn’t affect my singing, it put everyone in a foul mood. The dance hall manager, René, asked me to end the performance early and switch tonight’s theme to cheek-to-cheek dancing.”

The cheek-to-cheek dance in the market district differed from the usual version. It involved intimate embraces and provocative movements between men and women on the dance floor. It was an exhilarating experience, but dance halls needed enough female dancers to organize it.

Attempting to find a topic of conversation, Franca asked, “What happened exactly?” She discreetly calculated the time it would take for Lumian to descend to the first floor, all the while grumbling internally, Why is Muggle’s brother a Hunter instead of an Assassin? Assassins can effortlessly leap from the sixth floor and land as light as a feather!

Jenna recounted the band member’s unfortunate incident and concluded, “Dammit, why do unlucky people always attract more misfortune?”

“Yes, even though the performance ended earlier than usual, it’s still late. Going home would be quite troublesome. I’ll sleep at your place.”

Given that Jenna lived far away from Avenue du Marché, she often sought refuge at Franca’s whenever she performed late into the night at the dance hall. She even had a spare key.

Warehouse… porter… Recalling the information provided by her subordinate, Franca surmised that it must be related to the matter involving “Rat” Christo.

As she let out a sigh, contemplating how the innocent had lost their kin, Franca inwardly expressed her sorrow.

Brother 007 is incredibly efficient. I only informed him about the mirror people late last night, and the official Beyonders have already dealt with the anomaly before this evening.

Brother 007 was the code name of a man from the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, a member of an official organization in Trier. His rank seemed quite high, and Franca had secret connections with many fellow researchers in Trier, often organizing private gatherings with them.

However, Franca knew that the matters involving the mirror people wouldn’t end there. The special mirror world still existed, the mystery artifact that Gardner Martin smuggled into Trier remained, and the classic silver mirror in her possession persisted. If these elements weren’t eliminated entirely, it would only solve the problem temporarily. Franca couldn’t predict when similar anomalies would arise in the future.

Franca approached the classic-styled silver mirror, which allowed entry into the special mirror world, with caution and seriousness. She believed it held a secret related to the Demoness pathway.

“Why are you so quiet?” Jenna asked, extending her right hand and waving it in front of Franca.

Franca snapped back to reality and let out a sigh.

“I feel a bit sad upon hearing about their misfortune.”

It was precisely because she didn’t want to face the pain of countless innocents that she followed Lumian’s suggestion and “handed over” the matter to the officials.

Jenna bypassed Franca and made her way to the guest room, intending to change into more comfortable attire.

As she glanced around, she noticed that the living room window was open, letting in a refreshing breeze.

“It was a bit stuffy,” Franca quickly explained.

Jenna regarded her with suspicion.

“Why did you feel the need to explain?”

Ahem… Franca nearly choked on her own saliva.

Thankfully, Jenna didn’t dwell on it too much. She entered the guest room and headed towards the washroom, carrying her nightgown and pajamas.

…

Once Lumian returned to Avenue du Marché, he began his rounds, starting with Unit 126, where “Black Scorpion” Roger resided. He approached the four mobsters disguised as beggars stationed at different entrances, far from their intended target. Lumian made a promise to each of them, guaranteeing 100 verl d’or by Monday.

That night, he struggled to find rest in Salle de Bal Brise. Occasionally, he would wake up, straining his ears for any signs of movement outside the window, hoping to catch the sound of hurried footsteps.

At dawn, while enjoying breakfast at the café and skimming through a newspaper, Louis ascended from the first floor and whispered in Lumian’s ear, “Boss, Superintendent Everett requests your presence at the Valiant café, opposite the police headquarters, for a cup of coffee precisely at 10 a.m.”

Superintendent Everett wants to meet me, the newly appointed leader of the Savoie Mob? Lumian remained relatively composed with the Mystery Prying Glasses in his possession.

He asked Louis, “Who else will be there?”

“Many,” Louis responded in a hushed tone. “They say all the mob leaders from the market district will gather. The official voting begins today.”

The voting would extend over three days.

Is that so… So they won’t let us disrupt the National Convention election, it seems. I wonder if the Poison Spur Mob will attend? Lumian nodded and left Salle de Bal Brise at 9:15 a.m., making his way back to Auberge du Coq Doré.

In Room 207, he put on the Mystery Prying Glasses, experiencing the disorienting sensation of descending from great heights and burrowing into the ground.

Suppressing the urge to retch, Lumian retrieved a mirror and all his cosmetics, busying himself with preparations.

He opted for subtle alterations, focusing on thickening his eyebrows, accentuating his cheekbones, and enhancing shadowy areas. The adjustments created an impression that it was indeed Ciel and not someone else.

As soon as he finished his makeup, Lumian hastily set the mirror aside, unwilling to catch a glimpse of his reflection.

Shortly before 10 a.m., he arrived at the Valiant café and was promptly escorted to a private room by a waiter.

Upon entering, he immediately recognized several familiar faces—Baron Brignais, adorned in formal attire with a top hat and pipe; Franca, sporting trousers, red boots, and a blouse; the towering “Giant” Simon; and the merchant-like figure of “Blood Palm” Black.

Seated in an armchair at the head of the table, Travis Everett, donning a black uniform, rose with a smile upon seeing Lumian enter.

“You must be Ciel, am I right?”

“Yes, Superintendent Everett,” Lumian responded respectfully.

Franca, Baron Brignais, and the others, who had risen alongside Travis Everett, exchanged puzzled glances as they observed Lumian.

Franca’s gaze averted in enlightenment as she recognized the golden-black hair. Baron Brignais, Giant Simon, and the rest gradually “realized” that it was Ciel.

Adjusting his black-framed glasses, Superintendent Everett’s blue eyes gleamed as he half-praised Lumian and patted the recliner beside him.

“You’ve only been in the market district for less than three weeks, but you’ve already taken over Salle de Bal Brise. And you’re so young. You’re really outstanding.

“Sigh, the market district hasn’t been peaceful for the past month.”

He half-praised Lumian and patted a recliner beside him.

“Come, have a seat here.

“Let me introduce you to the others.”

When Lumian stood by Everett’s side, the superintendent gestured toward a middle-aged man seated across the coffee table and spoke, “Roger, you’re acquainted with him, aren’t you?”

“Black Scorpion” Roger? Lumian directed his gaze at the middle-aged man.

Roger, dressed in formal attire with neatly combed black hair, had a slightly chubby face, and his deep-blue eyes resembled the vast sea.

“We’re meeting for the first time,” Lumian replied with a smile. He noticed a chilling gaze emanating from Black Scorpion.

Everett proceeded to introduce the individuals sitting beside Roger.

“Harman, Castina.”

Upon entering the private room, Lumian had noticed only Harman among the few members of the Savoie Mob. The bald man’s shining head was so eye-drawing that Lumian almost looked away, fearing that it might reflect his disguised appearance.

Upon closer inspection, Lumian recognized Harman’s unique features—a prominent brow, a high nose bridge, and deep-set lips. He possessed the allure of a ruggedly handsome individual. Even in a seated position, his imposing height was evident, complementing his dark breeches shirt splendidly.

Castina, petite and likely under 1.55 meters tall, appeared to be around 30 years old. She possessed curly auburn hair, brown eyes, a curvaceous figure that turned heads, and full lips.

“You should be familiar with Ciel from the Savoie Mob, right?” Everett introduced Ciel to Roger and the others.

Roger flashed a cold smile.

“Indeed, Superintendent. The impression he made on me will never fade.”

“Baldy” Harman’s eyes brimmed with hatred and cruelty.

Everett sighed and said, “We all reside in the market district. Only by coexisting peacefully can we secure a better future and greater wealth.

“If any conflicts arise, come to me. I’ll mediate and arbitrate.

“Ciel, take this cup of coffee to Roger and hand over Salle de Bal Brise’s profits for the next six months. The issue between Margot and Ait ends here. If anyone troubles you regarding these matters again, feel free to inform me directly.”

Lumian observed Roger, Harman, and Castina with a sense of amusement, realizing that their eyes held no mercy, only restrained coldness and malevolence.

Baron Brignais and the others remained silent, watching the scene unfold as though it were a spectacle. Franca shook her head at Lumian, signaling him not to act recklessly.

Lumian bent down and picked up the cup of coffee from the table.

Suddenly, he raised his hands and flung the contents of the cup at “Black Scorpion” Roger.

Reacting swiftly, Roger evaded the liquid, colliding with the coffee table. Harman and Castina sprang to their feet.

Simultaneously, Lumian pointed at “Black Scorpion” Roger and cursed, “F*ck you! Are you disregarding the Superintendent’s words? Playing dumb, are we? If you don’t desire peace, speak up. I, Ciel, shall await you at Salle de Bal Brise!

“The look in your eyes tells me vengeance is on your mind!”

How brazen… Franca had not anticipated Lumian’s audacity.