In the quiet campus, the only sound was the emerald green leaves dripping from the branches onto the ground. William Sherman's face revealed nothing at all. After a long while, he forced a self-mocking smile, barely curving his lips, then lowered his head and hurried away.

Only in that moment when he lowered his head did a faint loneliness flash across his face and quickly disappear, his expression tightening as if carved by a knife, revealing a silent murderous intent.

Speaking of Charles Gray, this somewhat clueless kid had been given a task to "gather information," but he honestly had no idea what he was supposed to find out. So, he could only bite the bullet and stammer his way through conversations with people. He was well aware of his own shortcomings—he figured even the big parrots at the flower and bird market spoke more fluently than he did.

Near noon, he finally received a call from Logan Sullivan. Dejected, he brought along a talking, mysterious black cat and squatted at the school gate, waiting for his boss to come claim them.

Even the way Charles Gray squatted was different from others. He curled himself into a ball, his hair covering most of his face, and beside him sat a double-chinned, plump cat in a dignified pose. The striking scene frequently drew curious glances from passersby.

Half an hour later, the hurriedly arriving Logan Sullivan finally put an end to this embarrassing public display.

Charles Gray, whose legs had gone numb from squatting, hobbled after Logan Sullivan, walking along the quiet and beautiful campus path. Every so often, he would sneak a glance at Logan Sullivan's tall, slender figure, his expression like that of a young wife who had accidentally burned down the kitchen—worried and aggrieved.

During that half hour squatting by the wall, Charles Gray had deeply reflected on the series of events that had happened in the less than twelve hours since he joined the Special Investigation Bureau. He felt utterly defeated—wasn't it just a slightly creepy hallway? Wasn't the lighting just a bit dim and strange? Wasn't it just the boss making some ambiguous comment?

So why did he faint?

Regarding this Special Investigation Bureau with the highest salary and thickest bonuses, Charles Gray had always felt he was unworthy of joining. But now, by some twist of fate, since he had already gotten in through less-than-honorable means, if he couldn't even manage to stay, embarrassment aside, how would he explain it to his second uncle back home?

With a heavy heart, he looked at Logan Sullivan, who was carrying Darrin Grant on his shoulder—even though, due to the cat's excessive weight, Director Sullivan had to tilt his neck slightly, looking like a stroke patient, he still appeared so handsome and dashing.

Director Sullivan wasn't even that much older than him, yet he always seemed so confident, as if nothing could ever faze him.

Just then, Logan Sullivan suddenly turned around, and Charles Gray quickly averted his gaze.

"What's wrong? Want to say something?" The Director Sullivan who cursed his origins behind his back now asked in a gentle, mild tone.

Charles Gray lowered his head like a child with social anxiety, his bangs greasy and hanging in neat black lines before his eyes.

"It's okay," Logan Sullivan said kindly. "If you have something to say, just say it. In our work, we'll have to communicate with each other a lot. After some time, you'll see that I have a pretty good temper, and I'm not the type to hold grudges. Even if something unpleasant happens, I'll forget it after a night's sleep."

The listening Darrin Grant silently lowered its head. Even after living for over a thousand years, it still couldn't understand the boundless hypocrisy of humans.

"I... I... I..." Charles Gray stammered for a long time, but couldn't get anything out. His eyes even turned red before he finally blurted out, "I feel like I'm just a useless loser!"

Well now, Logan Sullivan thought with amusement, who could argue with that?

Still, he played his two-faced role to perfection, reaching out to ruffle Charles Gray's hair in a friendly manner. "Alright, kid, it's your first time out in the field. What's there to be afraid of if you make a few mistakes? Who hasn't messed up before? Take it slow, don't worry. I believe in you, so stop overthinking—now tell me, what did you find out from the teachers just now?"

"Oh... oh!" Charles Gray hurriedly pulled a notebook from his small satchel. "I found out... the deceased's name is Rachel Lowry, a graduate student in the mathematics department, a local, from a well-off family. There aren't many girls in the math department, so everyone usually looked out for her, and she had good relationships with people. No one ever heard of her having conflicts with anyone. Right now, she's trying to get an administrative position to stay at the school, so she spends a lot of time on off-campus activities, and her grades aren't particularly outstanding..."

He rambled on with a bunch of trivial details, and to his credit, Logan Sullivan patiently listened to the whole thing, even asking at the end, "Anything else? What are your own thoughts?"

"I think, because of the competition for staying at the school, some of her rivals might have had a motive, or maybe she got into trouble with someone during her off-campus activities. We could start by looking into her social connections—maybe the suspect is among them," Charles Gray said, sneaking a nervous, insecure glance at Logan Sullivan. "That's... that's all I can think of for now."

"I see," Logan Sullivan neither agreed nor disagreed, just nodded slowly, stopped walking, and put his hands behind his back, leaning forward slightly. "So how do you think she died?"

Charles Gray couldn't figure out what he meant, so he blurted out, "She was murdered?"

That made Logan Sullivan laugh out loud in exasperation.

Unfortunately, comrade Charles Gray probably didn't even know how to spell "read the room." Seeing Logan Sullivan laugh, he immediately relaxed and grinned foolishly in response.

Director Sullivan had never dealt with such an oddball before, so he had to suppress his internal injuries and put on a mysterious, leaderly air, telling him, "You did well, very attentive, and you have a lot of potential."

Charles Gray suddenly looked up. The man before him was looking down at him, a warm smile on his face, his features so handsome that Charles Gray couldn't even find the words to describe them. That one sentence filled him with warmth and strength.

Charles Gray's face turned red on the spot. For a moment, he felt his boss was just too good to him. Suddenly, he understood what the ancients meant by "a scholar dies for the one who truly appreciates him." He thought, with Director Sullivan treating him so well, it would be worth dying for him.

So, Charles Gray took the initiative to shoulder a task even harder than dying—dealing with strangers and making phone calls: "Then... then I'll go check her social connections!"

"What's the rush? Holly Harlow is still on duty in the office. I'll call her in a bit and have her look into it." Logan Sullivan coaxed him. "How about this, I'll give you another task that's great for building experience—the girl who tried to jump off the building earlier, did you see her? She's an important eyewitness, but I think she's hiding something. You, go follow her now and find out what she's not telling me."

Charles Gray's eyes lit up and he straightened his back. "Yes, sir!"

Logan Sullivan nodded. "Alright, go on."

With his blood still boiling, Charles Gray turned and ran off, his chest puffed out and his heroic posture making it look like he was off to block a bullet rather than tail someone.

Once he was out of sight, the benevolent leader instantly dropped his kindly facade.

"Damn," he muttered to the black cat on his shoulder, "I've never seen such a purebred idiot before. It's honestly awe-inspiring!"

Darrin Grant lifted its big, round face and praised, "You really are both mean and split-personality, boss."

"You're a cat, don't talk nonsense. You're the one with split personalities—go follow him. I need to head back to the office to check on something. Keep an eye on him, and don't let him die, or I won't be able to explain it to the higher-ups." Logan Sullivan gave the cat's rear a pat, and Darrin Grant lazily meowed, leapt off his shoulder, and rolled away like a ball shot from a bow.

Chapter 11: The Reincarnation Sundial Ten …

When William Sherman walked into the campus clinic carrying takeout from the cafeteria, he saw Charles Gray standing timidly at the door, craning his neck to peek inside but not daring to enter. The black cat Darrin Grant, who had gained sentience, was squatting nearby with its belly sticking out, nonchalantly licking its sleek, shiny black fur.

"Aren't you..." William Sherman started, then paused a bit awkwardly, clearly his attention had just been on someone else. "Sorry, how should I address you?"

Charles Gray was startled, but then recognized Professor Sherman.

Facing William Sherman, Charles Gray felt noticeably less pressure. With William Sherman, he didn't sense that... inescapable feeling of oppression that lingered even in the kindest attitude from Logan Sullivan.

Maybe that's the charm of these highly educated intellectuals, Charles Gray thought enviously. Around people with a strong presence, he could hold his own without seeming weak, and with someone like himself—a lifelong member of the useless club—he never came across as overbearing.

Charles Gray bleated, "My surname is Guo."

"Oh, Officer Guo," William Sherman smiled. "What are you doing here?"