Mr. Death in the Steam World

The moon hangs high in the sky; the night is deep.

Clara lay on the sofa, covered with a blanket, breathing evenly, fast asleep.

Moen took a deep breath and opened the Death Note in his mind.

Harvesting progress: 5%

[Remaining Time: 18:34:17]

To fill the progress bar, nineteen more mice need to be killed.

He stood up and tiptoed to the corner of the wall.

The entrance to the mouse hole was pitch black, and occasionally rustling sounds could be heard from inside, as if many small things were crawling around inside.

Moen found an empty tin can and used it to block one side of the hole. Then he picked up the broom that Clara had placed behind the door and gently tapped the edge of the hole.

The rustling sound quickly grew louder; something was stirring inside the cave.

Moen moved the tin can open a crack, and the first mouse immediately peeked out.

"A second!"

The broom slammed down decisively, and the mouse twitched twice before immediately becoming still.

Harvesting progress: 10%

The second one crawled out, then the third, the fourth...

Moen's movements became more and more skillful, and with each swipe of the broom, the progress bar increased by one level.

By the time the twelfth mouse was born, the mice had learned their lesson. They stopped trying to burrow out and just squeaked and squeaked inside.

He was originally planning to quit while he was ahead and look for another opportunity.

But just as he was about to stop, the emptiness in his abdomen suddenly intensified, as if reminding him that time was running out.

Moen gritted his teeth, put down the broom, and simply found a stick and stuck it into the hole to stir it.

"Squeak squeak squeak—"

Chaos erupted inside the hole as rats, driven by sticks, scurried out of the entrance one after another.

Moen grabbed the broom and swept it once, twice, three times—

Harvesting progress: 100%

The last mouse collapsed to the ground, and Moen dropped his broom and slumped against the wall.

He looked at the dozen or so dead rats on the ground, and a wave of nausea rose in his stomach.

Before transmigrating, he was a professional gunman, but the original owner was just a student who had never even killed a chicken.

"It's alright, they're just rats, just rats..."

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to suppress the nausea.

The emptiness in my abdomen finally disappeared, replaced by a feeling of fullness.

Something warm flowed through my body, bringing a pleasant, cozy feeling.

In his mind, the Death Note automatically opened, and new words appeared.

Harvesting death brings blessings.

Target: Rat colonies

Three orbs of light floated up from between the pages of the book and hovered in front of him.

Moen opened his eyes and stared at the three orbs of light. His intuition told him that he could only choose one of them.

[The mouse's sharp claws (white)]

The mouse's fur (white)

【The Mouse's Clever Hands (White)】

The three options are very straightforward and easy to understand.

Claws represent offense, fur represents defense, and skillful hands represent agility.

And what does he need most right now?

The original owner was a pharmacy student, and he knew all too well what a pair of skillful hands meant to him.

Precise control of the fingers is required for dispensing medicine, dissecting, and sensing the subtle states of medicines.

and……

He looked down at his hands; they were so ordinary, without even a callus.

It is said that scholars are useless, but in a world where supernatural powers may exist, he needs some abilities that can be put to immediate use.

Claws? He can't exactly scratch people with his fingernails, and besides, that requires too much skill; his body can't handle that kind of fighting style.

Fur? As a dead man, he is even less sensitive to pain, so defense is not the most urgent matter for now.

But being skillful is a good choice, whether for academic reasons or for potential risks.

Without further hesitation, Moen pointed his fingertip at the silvery-white ball of light.

A burst of light erupted and flowed into his hands.

His fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, a sensation that lasted for about ten seconds before slowly stopping.

Moen looked down at his hands, which looked unchanged and were still as thin as ever.

But he could sense that something had changed.

He tried to reach out and pick up a mouse hair from the ground.

The moment his fingertips touched the hair, he could clearly perceive every detail of it.

The thickness, resilience, and even the texture of the hair.

With just a gentle twist, the hair is split in two perfectly straight.

[The Mouse's Dexterity: Your fingers are more dexterous, and you can perceive what you touch more clearly]

[Introduction: The owner of these hands will show you what it means to be "a rat crossing the street, everyone shouts to kill it"]

Moen looked at the two severed hairs and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

Such refined perception and control were far superior to what he had imagined!

As the essence was absorbed, the harvest progress bar reset to zero, and new text appeared:

[Remaining Time: 39:18:27] (+24 hours)

Moen secretly breathed a sigh of relief; he had gained another day.

"elder brother……"

As I was pondering this, a trembling voice suddenly came from behind me.

Clara woke up at some point. She sat up on the sofa, holding a blanket in her hands, and stared straight at him.

"Brother, you..." Clara's voice trembled, "You weren't like this before."

Moen opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say.

The original owner was a typical nice guy who didn't want to kill, and his current behavior is indeed very different from the original owner's image.

You haven't been acting right these past few days.

Clara's voice was broken and halting, as if she were using a great deal of effort to speak.

"You go out mysteriously every day, and I never know when you'll come back. I thought you didn't want me anymore..."

She threw off the blanket, ran over barefoot, hugged his waist, and buried her face in his clothes.

Warm tears quickly soaked a small patch of his clothes.

"You're still not eating? You won't eat a single bite of the food I made."

"You know what, Clara was so happy when you said you wanted to eat, so incredibly happy, but you still didn't eat in the end..."

Her voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a murmur.

"Brother, what's wrong with you lately?"

Seeing Clara's tearful eyes, Moen could only remain silent.

In the days leading up to his suicide, the original owner not only suffered from mental health issues but also stopped eating.

This is not a situation that an ordinary college student would experience, nor can it be explained simply by "high pressure".

Something must have changed in his body; perhaps it was affected by some drug, or perhaps some force was controlling him.

But now, faced with Clara's tears, he couldn't say any of that.

He reached out and gently wiped away the tears on her face.

"I'm fine, it's just... I've been under a lot of pressure lately and haven't been getting enough rest. Don't worry about me."

"I'm sorry, Clara, I scared you."

Clara didn't respond; she just buried her head in his chest.

Moen awkwardly stroked her head, again and again.

In her memory, Clara loved being stroked on the head to fall asleep since she was little; it was the only way she could fall asleep peacefully after her parents left.

Clara's breathing gradually calmed down, and Moen carefully carried her back to the sofa.

This time, he didn't get up again, but just sat quietly by the bed.

It was late at night, but he felt no sleepiness whatsoever.

Now that the problem of his vitality has been temporarily resolved, the original owner's memories are playing back in his mind.

But those memories are like a shattered mirror, each fragment reflecting a different scene, yet they cannot piece together a complete truth.

Why did the original owner commit suicide?

What could make someone abandon even their most cherished younger sister?

Will the reason that drove the original owner to his death cause him to die again after being resurrected?

He was unwilling to sit idly by and wait for his fate. Even if he couldn't solve the problem, at least he had to figure out what the problem was.

The last clear fragment in the original owner's memory was a pharmaceutical experiment class.

That day, Professor Leonard said a lot of strange things on the podium.

Looking back now, it didn't feel like a class; it felt more like... saying goodbye.

Moen decided to go to the academy.

Before leaving, he left Clara a note saying that he had important business to attend to in the next couple of days and might not be home for a while, and told Clara to take care of herself.

As he reached the door, he couldn't help but look back.

The moonlight streamed through the window and fell on Clara's face, making her look very peaceful.

Moen withdrew his gaze, pushed open the door, and stepped into the night.

The moment the door closed, the person on the sofa rolled over.

Clara opened her eyes, looked at the closed door, her lips moved slightly as if she were saying something, but no sound came out.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself before finally surrendering her body to sleep.

"Brother, be careful and come back soon."

"Clara will be good, Clara is waiting for you."