The stillness of the night was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream.

More lights flickered on in the rooms lining both sides of the street.

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A sharp whistle pierced the air as two patrol officers in black uniforms sprinted from the distant street corner.

Zhao Wumian saw everything clearly, yet his face remained calm just like the other onlookers. When the officers' gazes swept past, he instinctively shrank back, closing the window and pulling the curtains shut.

Once his figure was fully concealed behind the curtains, he turned swiftly and strode toward the desk in the room.

According to 'Goethe’s' memories, inside the desk lay a wallet and a dagger.

The wallet contained little cash.

The dagger, on the other hand, was one of the few things that had given 'Goethe' a sense of security in recent days.

And now, it was equally important to Zhao Wumian.

His fingers brushed against the hilt. He picked it up with practiced ease and gave a flick of his wrist, causing the hilt to spin once around his index finger.

The familiar motion brought a slight smirk to his lips.

In an unfamiliar environment, what was most important?

Money and weapons.

Of course—

Food too!

Zhao Wumian grabbed a doughnut from the side of the desk, gave it a sniff, then stuffed it into his mouth.

It must have been sitting there for a while, the outer layer had lost its crispness, but it was still sweet.

After shoving two doughnuts into his mouth, chewing and swallowing them down, he licked his fingers and walked toward the wardrobe, where ‘Goethe’s’ spare clothes and an extra pair of leather shoes were stored.

He dressed quickly, tucked the wallet into his inner pocket, and skillfully hid the dagger up his sleeve. Then, grabbing a black trench coat and a matching fedora from the coat rack by the door, he stepped out.

Dressed in ‘Goethe’s’ clothes, Zhao Wumian looked indistinguishable from the original.

Descending the stairs, he spotted a patrol officer standing guard beside the corpse, while another dashed down the street, blowing his whistle.

Clearly, they were calling for reinforcements.

"Stop right there!"

The officer guarding the body immediately shout at Zhao Wumian upon seeing him emerge, tightening his grip on his baton.

Whether it was suicide or murder, most people would instinctively avoid a death scene.

For someone to walk out on their own like this? Naturally, it was suspicious.

Faced with the officer’s wary gaze, Zhao Wumian smiled and raised his hands.

"Relax."

"I mean no harm."

"I’m here to turn myself in."

He spoke calmly.

"Huh?!"

The officer froze, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

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"What did you say?"

"I said, I’m turning myself in, Officer."

Zhao Wumian paused, then enunciated clearly: "I am Goethe. I killed that man who deceived me, and I’m turning myself in."

That’s right—

Goethe.

To survive in this unfamiliar world, an appropriate identity was crucial.

As for the name Zhao Wumian?

He buried it deep within himself.

And reminded himself that from now on, he was Goethe.

"What?!"

The officer paled in shock but reacted swiftly, drawing his revolver and aiming it at Goethe.

"Stay still!"

Keeping his gun on Goethe, the officer pulled out a pair of handcuffs and tossed them over.

"Cuff yourself!"

Not once did the barrel of his gun waver.

Goethe did not resist. He obediently secured the cuffs around his wrists.

Throughout the process, he maintained a polite, composed smile.

Then, he was escorted into a carriage.

Inside sat three patrol officers. The two from before flanked him on either side, while a middle-aged officer, who had arrived later, sat across from him, glaring at Goethe with a fierce expression. In his hands were Goethe’s wallet and dagger.

And Goethe?

His smile never faltered.

Because this was exactly the situation he had wanted.

If he had no choice but to become Goethe, then he would also have to deal with the troubles that came with this identity.

The mysterious deaths of his grandfather, parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins all within a month. The revelation of his once-prosperous family’s overwhelming debt. And the so-called 'ritual' that followed...

All of it was enough to keep Goethe on high alert.

If it were just the former, Goethe was confident he could handle it.

At most, it would take some time.

But the latter?

Just thinking about that glowing "ritual" heightened Goethe’s vigilance to the extreme.

What could be worse than encountering malicious individuals in an unfamiliar environment?

The answer: those malicious individuals also wielding powers beyond his understanding!

Fortunately, this world appeared to have "order." Based on Goethe’s memories, aside from his so-called "friends" offering help at the last moment, Zhao Wumian had not discovered anything in Goethe’s memories regarding "powers beyond the mundane."

In other words, while this world harbored a "hidden realm," it remained unknown to ordinary people!

Or to put it another way: this world had a secret side that most people were oblivious to, yet life still carried on normally for the majority. This suggested that some authority was keeping it in check, along with a structured system for handling such matters.

With this assumption in mind, where would be the safest place?

Without a doubt: the police station!

"In a world where 'mystical powers' exist, the police should have countermeasures in place. Otherwise, the city wouldn’t be this 'peaceful.'"

"Even if the police themselves don’t possess such power, there must be an organization maintaining order."

"And such an organization would undoubtedly have close ties with the police."

Goethe pondered these thoughts silently.

Then, more questions arose in his mind.

Why had the ordinary Goethe and his family caught the attention of these people from the "hidden world"?

Did they inadvertently obtain something important?

Or had they seen something they weren’t supposed to?

And as a result, were dragged into this "hidden world"?

Or was it because of the so-called "Mad King’s bloodline"?

Despite the many uncertainties, Goethe remained composed, maintaining his usual calm smile. Even as he was escorted from the carriage and into the interrogation room, his demeanor did not waver.

The interrogation room was small, containing only a single black iron chair. It was an old-fashioned torture chair besides its sturdy backrest, its armrests had built-in restraints for securing a person’s hands.

As Goethe examined the chair, two burly officers pressed him down onto it, locking his hands firmly into place.

"Stay put!" the middle-aged officer ordered sternly.

Then, turning to his subordinates, he instructed, "Keep a close watch on him!"

With that, he strode out of the room, presumably to report to his superiors.

Bang!

The heavy door slammed shut. Goethe glanced at the two officers staring intently at him, then calmly closed his eyes.

He began considering the potential interrogation methods they might use.

However, to Goethe’s surprise, less than a minute later, the tightly shut door swung open again.

It wasn’t the middle-aged officer from before but a young officer Goethe had never seen before.

The newcomer quickly swept his gaze over Goethe before blurting out in urgency—

"There’s been a mass shooting on Pinewood District! The chief wants all available officers to respond immediately!"