Mr. Death in the Steam World

Abandoned alleyways in Kansas City.

In the dim light, flies buzzed around a corpse.

Slowly, the corpse propped itself up and began to cough violently.

"Ahem, what's going on here?"

Moen remembered that he had stumbled upon a stroke of luck when he left home, and when he opened his eyes again, he was here.

"...Have I traveled through time?"

As soon as he turned his head, he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He instinctively raised his hand to touch it and found a deep ligature mark.

"hiss!"

He gasped, then suddenly noticed a rope lying next to him.

It was a hemp rope that had been broken in two.

At the end of the alley was a broken window, and looking through the glass, he saw his current appearance.

The young man in the mirror was in his early twenties, with a pale face, swollen body, and bloodless lips.

Deep purple bruises encircled his neck, digging into his flesh, a shocking sight.

All the evidence points to one conclusion: the original owner of this body ended his life with this hemp rope.

When Moen realized this, the original owner's remaining memories slowly resurfaced.

Moen Marcus, a student at the University of Kansas School of Pharmacy, lives with his sister. Although they are poor, they manage to get by.

Why did he suddenly commit suicide?!

While the possibility that the suicide scene was staged cannot be ruled out, he really couldn't understand why a poor student would be worth such a great deal of trouble.

If you really want to kill him, isn't it just a matter of one shot?

He picked up the hemp rope from the ground, tried to wrap it tightly around his neck, and then jumped twice.

A feeling of suffocation immediately welled up in his heart, and he quickly loosened the rope to catch his breath.

"The rope fits this body's size so well, it seems the original owner committed suicide without a doubt."

If there had been a place nearby where he could have tried it, he might have actually hung himself up to test it.

Just then, a book suddenly appeared in front of him.

It was an extremely ordinary-looking book, with a black cover and no decorations whatsoever.

He had never seen the text on the cover before, but he could understand its meaning.

—Death Note

The pages turned on their own without any wind, rustling as they stopped at a particular page.

Blood-red ink stains emerged from the paper, each stroke outlining the ornate characters.

[When you see this text, you are already dead.]

Happy anniversary of your death, my master.

"?"

Moen stared at the line of text, his lips twitching slightly.

You mean I was already dead when I first transmigrated here?

He covered his face and stood there for a long time before he finally accepted the fact.

Suddenly, a pale white orb of light floated up from between the pages of the book.

Harvesting death brings blessings.

[Subject of death: Mohn Marcus]

[Extracting the essence: "Living Towards Death" (Gold)]

The sphere of light emitted a faint warmth, like a candle flame that was about to go out.

"Could this be my cheat code?"

Without hesitation, Moen reached out his hand to the ball of light.

Anyway, he's already dead, so what's there to be afraid of?

The next instant, light exploded and surged into his body.

A chilling sensation surged through his limbs, and when he looked down, he saw his pale skin gradually regaining its color.

[Living Towards Death: You possess a false life, capable of functioning as a dead person, and your appearance is indistinguishable from that of an ordinary person.]

[Description: If their fate is unknown, then they are dead.]

[Warning: The price of a false life is a real life; you must replenish your life force.]

[Remaining Time: 24:00:00]

As the last sentence came to mind, Moen felt an unprecedented emptiness in his abdomen.

He felt that even in his past life, when he was so poor that he couldn't afford to eat a proper meal, he had never been this hungry.

"So, to survive you need to replenish your life force, right? How do you get life force...?"

He took a few deep breaths and leaned against the wall to calm himself down.

Let's take a look at the current situation.

He transmigrated, that's for sure, and he was most likely taken away by the original owner in a "life-for-life" exchange.

Fortunately, he obtained a mysterious Death Note, which allowed him to remain immortal, but he also needed to replenish his life force to sustain it.

Otherwise, he would actually die in 24 hours.

The question now is, where do we find this so-called "vitality"?

Moen looked at the Death Note that was still floating in front of him, and with a thought, the book disappeared and appeared in the center of his mind.

Fortunately, the original owner's memories are still there. Although some parts are blurry, most of them are still quite clear.

This includes the way home.

Perhaps there are clues at home, perhaps food can replenish life force, perhaps—

In short, he needed to get out of this unlucky alley first.

------

The dilapidated wooden house is located in a remote neighborhood.

The light shone through the window, like a warm candle flame in the darkening sky.

Following the path he remembered, Moen finally found the original owner's home.

The door creaked open.

The living room was small, with a worn-out sofa, a wobbly table, and some miscellaneous items piled up in the corner.

A petite girl was sitting on the sofa. Hearing the door open, she looked up abruptly.

"elder brother?!"

Clara hurriedly hid what she was holding behind her back, a hint of surprise flashing across her face before she feigned anger.

"You...you...why didn't you tell me you were coming back?!"

Moen walked over and, just like the original owner of the body in his memory, raised his hand and touched her head.

"The professor sent me out to buy materials, and I happened to be passing by my house, so I came back to take a look."

He made up a lie on the spot.

"As expected of my sister, she's still so diligent and capable."

Clara was a little embarrassed by the compliment and lowered her head, blushing.

Moen looked at her small, thin figure and sighed inwardly.

The original owner's memories told him that Clara was only twelve years old this year.

At an age when she should be innocent and carefree, she was forced to do needlework to supplement the family income after the death of her parents.

Even without the influence of the original owner's memories, he still hoped that such a girl could live a good life.

Suddenly, he frowned and unconsciously clutched his stomach.

The emptiness in my stomach returned, even stronger than before.

"Is there anything to eat at home? I haven't had dinner, and I'm starving. I'm about to faint from hunger."

"Eating? Brother, you're finally eating! I'll go make you some porridge right now!"

Clara was taken aback, then put down her needle and thread and skipped and hopped towards the kitchen.

But the smile on Moen's face gradually faded.

What does "finally willing to eat" mean? Did the original owner not eat anything for the past few days?

Judging from Clara's reaction, the original owner hadn't eaten for at least two or three days.

Even in poverty, eating is the most basic need for survival. What could possibly cause the original owner to be unable to eat?

Before she could think any further, Clara had already come out with a bowl of porridge.

"Brother, the porridge is ready!"

Moen took the bowl, and a wave of steam hit him.

It was simple white porridge, very thin, with a few specks of oil floating on top, probably the last bit scraped out of some jar.

"You haven't eaten for the past few days, you need to eat more today!"

Clara stared at him expectantly.

Driven by hunger, he ignored the heat and scooped up a large spoonful, putting it directly into his mouth.

Then I almost threw up.

Not to mention how delicious it was, he even felt that the rice grains had a strange, fishy smell.

He forced himself to swallow, but his expression couldn't help but become somewhat distorted.

"Brother?" Clara tilted her head to look at him. "What's wrong? Is it not good?"

"No, it's delicious, thank you."

Moen managed a weak smile.

"It's a little hot."

Clara looked incredulous. She scooped up a spoonful, put it in her mouth, chewed it, and blinked in confusion.

"It's alright, it's just regular porridge... Bro, are you sick?"

Moen paused for a moment.

Was this bowl of porridge just normal food to her? But he…

Yes, he is now a dead man.

It seems that ordinary food not only cannot replenish his vitality, but he can't even taste it.

He put down the bowl, just about to find an excuse to get by, when he caught a glimpse of something darting around the corner.

It was a fat, gray rat, waddling towards the hole in the corner of the wall.

Clara saw it too. She frowned, rushed over in three quick steps, grabbed the broom behind the door, and swept it cleanly and efficiently.

"Snap—"

The mouse was hit by the broom, squeaked twice, twitched a few times on the ground, and then stopped moving.

Moen's eyes widened.

Goodness, a twelve-year-old girl, so decisive in killing a rat?

Suddenly, Moen felt the emptiness in his abdomen lessen slightly.

A thought struck him, and the Death Note in his mind automatically opened, revealing a line of text on the page:

Harvesting progress: 5%

Could it be that the Death Note can collect not only human lives, but also animal lives?!

"Clara!" Moen's voice rose slightly involuntarily. "Have there been a lot of mice in the house lately?"

Clara was picking up a broom to clean up the body when she was startled by Moen's reaction.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, there have been so many these past few days for some reason. I've killed quite a few already. What's wrong, bro?"

Moen took a deep breath, his gaze falling on the hole in the corner of the wall.

"It's nothing, I just felt... it needed a proper cleaning."