Mr. Death in the Steam World

Moen walked up to Clara, knelt down, and reached out to touch her forehead.

The body temperature is normal, so there should be no fever.

When did you start coughing?

"It's...it's this afternoon..." Clara was startled by his serious expression.

"My throat felt a little itchy during class, so I coughed a few times... Bro, am I sick?"

Moen did not answer.

His consciousness had sunk deep into his mind, touching that dark blue light.

"Vibrant Fragrance" quietly surged under his will, and the gentle power flowed slowly into Clara's body along his palm.

He has already verified the restorative power of "Vibrant Fragrance" countless times in the Other Shore Flower and the Fairyland Journey.

But this time is different.

Clara's face remained pale, unmoved by the power of "Fragrance of Vitality".

Moen's brow furrowed even more.

"Vibrant Fragrance" is a blue essence, an ability born from the nourishment of a Level 4 containment object like the Spider Lily.

How could it be that even a small cough can't be cured?

Just then, a black shadow darted down the stairs.

Lucy ran to Clara's feet and looked up at her.

Then, its pupils suddenly contracted, and it let out a sharp cry.

"Meow--!"

The sound was sharp and short, completely different from the shouts made during their earlier playful fight.

It kept calling out, one call after another, as if urging something, or as if driving something away.

Clara looked down at it, a hint of confusion appearing on her pale face.

"Lucy... what's wrong?"

She crouched down, reached out and stroked the black cat's head. Lucy meowed softly, her eyes filled with worry.

"Brother," Clara looked up, her voice even softer than before, "I'm so sleepy... I want to sleep..."

Her eyelids were starting to droop.

"Okay, bro, I'll take you to bed."

Moen picked her up and gently placed her on the bed, taking off her shoes and covering her with a blanket.

Clara fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, her breathing gradually becoming even and long.

If it weren't for the occasional soft cough, it would have looked like an ordinary afternoon nap.

Moen sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Clara's sleeping face, his fingers clenching the sheets tightly.

"Vibrant Fragrance" is useless; schools are closed due to widespread coughing. Martha is coughing, Teacher Baker is coughing, and now even Clara has started coughing.

This is by no means an ordinary infectious disease.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked through the glass at the gradually darkening sky outside.

There were far fewer pedestrians on the street than usual, and occasionally a few figures wrapped in scarves hurried by, all of them coughing.

Moen reached into his pocket and touched the parchment that Phils had given him.

As he ran his fingertips over the paper, he could feel the delicate handwriting pendant on it.

It seems I should go and ask her.

Just then, a soft meow came from behind Moen.

He turned his head and saw Lucy squatting at the bedroom door.

The black cat's tail curled quietly at his feet, its amber eyes looking at him calmly, a stark contrast to the fierce cat that had been chasing and beating him just moments before.

"Who exactly are you?" he asked in a low voice.

Lucy did not answer.

Moen tried to examine the cat with the Death Note, but the note did not react at all, which made him doubt his intuition again.

Unable to find an answer, he shook his head, turned and went downstairs, picked up the bunch of daisies from the ground, found a clean cup, filled it with water, arranged the daisies, and placed it on Clara's bedside table.

In the dimly lit room of the office, the yellow petals were the only bright color.

"I'm going out for a bit," he said in a low voice.

......

Moen walked quickly; Third Street was only a ten-minute walk from the firm.

The address Phils gave was a four-story red brick apartment building, sandwiched between a row of similar buildings on the street.

The paint on the exterior walls was somewhat mottled, and the mailbox at the door was rusty, but the few potted plants on the windowsill were neatly trimmed, exuding a simple and dignified air.

It's not exactly dilapidated, but it's not luxurious either.

In his mind, given Fils' natural air of a wealthy young lady, she should be living in a detached house with a garden, not an apartment building like this.

A plump middle-aged woman was guarding the entrance to the apartment; she was clearly the landlady.

Seeing that Moen was well-dressed and had an extraordinary appearance, she briefly confirmed Moen's identity and purpose before gesturing for him to go upstairs.

When he reached the door, he took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock.

"Who is it? Who is it?"

Phils's voice came through the crack in the door, tinged with nervousness.

"It's me, Moen Marcus."

There was a brief silence inside the room, followed by a loud crash, as if a stack of books had collapsed off the table.

Immediately following was Phil's suppressed gasp, and a flurry of hurried footsteps.

He stood outside the door, waiting expressionlessly.

About two minutes later, Phils finally peeked half her face out from under the door.

"Mr. Marcus, what happened? Why did you come to see me so quickly?"

Normally, Moen would probably tease her a bit and ask her why she was so flustered.

But right now, he really wasn't in the mood.

"Miss Ignis," his voice was calm, "my sister has started coughing too."

Phils's expression froze instantly. She pursed her lips and took a half step back.

"Come in and talk."

Moen stepped inside.

The room was smaller than he had imagined, with a single bed against the wall and several thick hardcover books piled up on the headboard.

Opposite the bed was a desk with several rolls of parchment and a notebook spread out on it. The cap of the ink bottle was not tightened, and the quill pen had rolled to the corner of the desk.

Phils brought him a chair and asked him to sit down.

"When did your sister's symptoms start?" she asked.

"This afternoon," Moen said, "her school was closed because too many students were coughing. She started coughing when she got home, and then fell asleep quickly."

Do you have a fever?

"No, your temperature is normal."

Phils frowned, twirling a strand of hair that fell over her shoulder with her fingers.

"Mr. Marcus, you mentioned before that you felt there were too many people coughing lately."

“Yes.” Moen took a deep breath. “Most of the people I know are coughing. This is definitely not the common flu.”

He paused, carefully choosing his words.

Fils was unaware of the existence of the Death Note, nor of the essence of it.

He needed a plausible reason to explain why he was so certain that this matter was related to supernatural powers.

"My physical condition is quite special, and I can sense things that ordinary people cannot."

"You should remember that in the mirror maze of Wonderland, I could sense the magical fluctuations of that mirror."

Phils nodded; she had witnessed it firsthand.

"In my perception, Clara's spirit is in disarray; this must be the result of supernatural power."

Her expression changed slightly.

"Spiritual disorder..." she repeated softly.

"This certainly doesn't seem like a common illness, but that's not my area of ​​expertise, so I can't make a definitive conclusion."

She bit her lip and thought for a while, then looked up, her gaze becoming serious.

"Mr. Marcus, although I can't help you, I know someone who might, no, he definitely has a way."

"Alone? Who?"

"My classmate, whose main job is a pastor at the Holy Church, was a surgeon before becoming a priest."