Why did he choose to display the body… his artwork, in this manner?

I understand his need to exhibit, but I feel like he could have played with it a while longer, don’t you think?”

Karen looked at Sheriff Duke and replied, “It’s possible the killer grew bored.”

Sheriff Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re saying the killer already has his sights on a new target?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Sheriff Duke sighed in relief.

Karen continued:

“It’s likely the killer… is already watching.”

…

Karen stepped outside the hall, where two ambulances were already parked, and several injured people were being carried in. The chaotic scene had regained some order.

But Karen was slightly embarrassed to see that the Inmerres family’s “Shell” brand modified hearse was nowhere to be seen.

Uncle Mason must have been too focused on transporting his “clients” to realize his nephew wasn’t in the car!

With no other option, Karen prepared to hail a taxi to go home.

The reason he’d assisted Sheriff Duke with the criminal profile wasn’t because he had a detective itch to scratch, but rather because he was eager for some social interaction. While he wasn’t ready to “run away” from home yet, he could still lay some groundwork for the future—like, getting to know people.

There was no need to hide his talent. When you have a grandfather at home constantly debating whether or not to kill you, what’s the point of hiding anything?

Just then, a taxi pulled up in front of Karen.

A man stepped out of the car, wearing a cap, with a hooked nose and a pointed chin.

As he got out,

Karen naturally took the back seat, only to realize a woman in a gray dress was leaning against the window next to him, fast asleep.

The taxi driver turned around and called out,

“Ma’am, ma’am, you’ve arrived.”

The woman woke up, grumbling under her breath as she got out of the car, sounding slightly annoyed:

“The boss is too much. The police already said it was an accident, so how could it possibly be related to a demon? And yet, he still insisted on coming here for a look. Boss, wait for me!”

“Where to, sir?”

“Sir?

Sir?”

“Ah, hmm?” Karen replied, a bit absent-minded.

“Where are you headed? You’ll need to give me a destination before I can take you.”

“Main Street, number 13.”

“Got it.”

The taxi started.

Karen slowly opened his clenched left hand, staring at the burn mark in the shape of a cross.

She had just mentioned something about a demon?

At that moment,

Karen felt a sudden pang of uncertainty and fear.

The world outside his home

didn’t seem to be as beautiful as he’d thought…

"Hello, you've arrived. That’ll be 45 rubles."

"Uh... huh?"

"45 rubles."

"Alright."

Naturally, Karen didn’t carry his whole stash with him, but he usually kept a few hundred rubles in his pocket.

He handed over a 50-ruble bill.

The driver took it and smiled, "Thank you for your generosity."

"Huh?"

Karen could only nod, accepting that the 5 rubles he’d expected as change had somehow become a tip.

As he stepped out of the cab, it drove off.

What an expensive fare that was.

50 rubles—enough to support a family of four for a day, with three basic meals at that.

The distance from the Crown Dance Hall to Mink Street wasn’t even that far.

For a moment, Karen recalled the feeling of taking a taxi during college, watching the red numbers on the meter creep up from the starting fare, one by one.

The Immoles family’s hearse wasn’t parked at the curb, so his uncle and the others hadn’t returned yet.

"Sigh..."

Looking at the building in front of him, the one he called "home," Karen felt a mixture of emotions.

“Police station, report, accident… not demonic...”

The key words from that gray-skirted woman’s conversation echoed in his mind.

The dance hall, the incident—two people had arrived who could receive a police report. This implied they held some kind of official status, and in the end, the matter involved "demons."

This world appeared normal on the surface.

At least, you could get that impression from newspapers and books.

But the truth was different.

People have an instinct for self-preservation. Before the taxi stopped, all Karen had been thinking about was leaving this house, living a normal life. Of course, it would take hard work to make that life comfortable and stable.

But now, he realized there was indeed an undercurrent flowing beneath this seemingly ordinary world.

His grandfather had been weighing the idea of killing him, but up until now, the only action his grandfather had taken was to “confine” him. As long as Karen didn’t try to escape Rokja City, he wouldn’t be crossing any lines.

Outside, however, was like a “witch-hunting” world.

“You can’t not be a demon! You can’t not be a demon!”

The memory of Mr. Hoffen’s screams on his sickbed still echoed in his ears.

Karen clenched his left hand again.

Though he didn’t fully understand the concept of a “demon,” his “reborn in another’s body” status had shaken his confidence from the start.

Because he knew, deep down, he wasn’t the original person.

So…

Was it really worth going out there?

Compared to the dangerous unknowns outside,

his grandfather’s image suddenly seemed… much kinder.

If his grandfather had wanted to kill him, he should have done so in those first few days after he woke up.

In those days, it seemed as though his grandfather had been hesitating and deliberating, but as time passed, people learn to reconcile with themselves and slowly “adapt” and “accept”;

After all, Karen hadn’t behaved like a troublesome child who threw tantrums or looked at everyone like they owed him ten thousand rubles. He’d been sensible, obedient, and well-behaved.

His grandfather’s anger and killing intent were bound to wane with time. Living in this house actually became safer the longer he stayed.

Just then,

Karen saw Dis approaching from the west, wearing his priest’s attire.

Karen simply watched him, watching closely, not looking away.

Until a hint of confusion appeared on Dis's face, and he stopped in front of Karen.

"Grandfather, you’re back."

"Hm."

Karen opened the door and walked into the house with his grandfather.

"Father, you’re back."

"Hm."

Aunt Mary looked at Karen and said, "Your uncle called from the hospital to check if you’d returned. He said another funeral home’s hearse had shown up, so he rushed to the hospital without waiting for you to avoid losing the contract."

“When he gets back, I’ll give him a good scolding. That street just had an accident, with someone dead; it must be chaotic. How could he leave you there alone?”

Ordinarily, Aunt Mary had a sharp tongue but a soft heart for Karen. Yet in front of Grandpa, she even softened her words.

“Aunt, I’m already an adult. How could I not know how to get home? No matter where I am, I can always follow the scent of home.”

Dis walked over to the couch and sat down, then asked, "What happened?"

Aunt Mary patted Karen on the shoulder and went to the kitchen upstairs to prepare some tea.

Karen sat on the couch opposite his grandfather and recounted the events at the Crown Dance Hall.

When he described finding the body hidden beneath the stage,

Aunt Mary, who had just brought down the tea, covered her mouth, stifling a scream.

She wasn’t intentionally trying to appear delicate and frail in front of her father-in-law.

She’d simply grown into a skilled mortician, but that didn’t mean her courage had expanded.

She wasn’t afraid of bodies because she saw them as another type of “client,” and after becoming familiar with them, she no longer felt that instinctive fear; just like how people who raise snakes don’t fear them.

But this type of twisted serial killer—who could say with certainty that they wouldn’t target her? It was possible she’d become a “guest” of her own family one day.

After describing the corpse in detail, Karen recounted his “analysis” with Sheriff Duke.

Originally, he’d planned to keep that part to himself since he wanted to develop relationships and connections on the side. But after encountering those two people who’d exited the taxi, Karen changed his mind.

Grandfather,

See,

Your grandson can not only cook and provide psychological counseling but also help the police solve cases.

“Oh my goodness, Karen, did you really figure all this out on your own?” Aunt Mary exclaimed, with an awestruck expression on her face. “How did you do it?”

“To put it simply, I just placed myself in their shoes,” Karen replied, trying to simplify the complex matter. It wasn’t just for his aunt but also a subtle explanation for his grandfather.

After all,

Dis wouldn’t ask, “Oh my goodness, grandson, how did you manage this?”

“By placing yourself in the mind of the killer and deducing, based on the clues they left behind, the psychological reasons they would do such things.”

Dis took a sip of his tea and commented calmly,

“You can easily put yourself in the mindset of a killer?”

“…” Karen.

That sounded a bit too much like “birds of a feather flock together.”

Karen quickly clarified:

“Grandfather, Aunt, it’s like this: generally, the more someone sees themselves as an artist, the easier it is to guess their thoughts, and it becomes easier to step into their shoes.

Some people think they’re unique:

For example, they enjoy solitude and dislike socializing.

But over ninety percent of people dislike socializing. Among the remaining ten percent who excel at it, most would prefer to be alone if given the choice.

Or, they think they’re deeply emotional, sensitive, and tend to empathize easily, always feeling the urge to express themselves and leave something behind.

But the majority of people in their thirties, struggling with life, whether men or women, tend to believe they’re budding writers.

The more someone pursues high-profile, unique behavior and believes they deserve attention, the more ordinary they are.

So, their thought process is actually quite easy to follow.

When they break free of humanity’s shackles and start killing for pleasure, they’ve already transitioned from human to beast, and beasts—well, they’re rarely that clever.”

Karen explained in one long breath and then took a large sip of tea.

Dis seemed to ponder Karen’s words and finally commented, “An interesting theory.”

“So, all those movies and novels I used to watch with smart villains—they were lying to me?” Aunt Mary asked.

“Every rule has exceptions, Aunt, but artistic works often emphasize drama and conflict, which is why villains tend to be portrayed that way,” Karen said, standing halfway up to pour tea for his grandfather. “True wisdom lies in restraint from killing.”

Aunt Mary patted her chest, nodding, “Yes, yes, it’s true—most smart people are definitely good people.”

The phone rang at home, and Aunt Mary went over to answer it.

"Yes, yes, I understand... alright."

After hanging up the phone, Aunt Mary was smiling, but upon seeing her father-in-law still sitting there, she tried to suppress her smile. However, it was hard to completely hide her joy, making her expression a bit stiff.

"Father, Mason just called from the hospital again. The injured man who was sent in for emergency treatment did not survive, and his family has agreed to let us handle the funeral."

"Mason and his team will bring the body back this evening."

"So late?" Deiss asked.

"They’re waiting for the family of another deceased person, a man whose head was half severed. When the hospital contacted his wife, she still firmly believed that her husband was on a business trip to Vane right now."

"Mason wants to wait at the hospital a bit longer for her, hoping to secure that case as well."

When someone has just passed, the minds of the family are usually in a kind of "numb" state. They often seem like "puppets," losing the ability to think. There’s also a common mindset to quickly arrange a respectable funeral, so that the deceased can rest in peace. Thus, if a funeral home manages to reach them first, they’re highly likely to get the business.

Deiss nodded, "Alright, get ready."

"Yes, Father."

Aunt Mary went to the basement to begin preparing to welcome the guests.

Karen saw Deiss still seated on the sofa. He hesitated but didn’t dare to leave.

"Aren’t you afraid?" Deiss asked. "Of seeing such scenes?"

"Not very much," Karen replied. "After a while, you get used to it."

"You seem to have something you want to say?"

"Nothing, Grandpa. What could I not tell you?"

"Oh."

Deiss stood up.

"I’m going back to my study."

"Alright, Grandpa."

Karen stood up, watching as Deiss’s figure disappeared up the stairs, and then he sat back down on the sofa.

Actually, he had wanted to ask Deiss about the demons, and maybe bring up the couple in the taxi, too. But after thinking it over, he realized it wasn’t the right time.

Some things, even if thin as a window’s paper, still serve an important purpose.

Karen was worried that if he asked bluntly, his grandfather would patiently explain the concept of demons to him, introducing him to the hidden side of the world, and analyze that couple’s affiliations, responsibilities, and powers. And after finishing his explanations, his grandfather might sigh, stand up, and say:

"Since we’ve spoken plainly, there’s no need for me to deceive myself any longer. Demon, prepare to die."

When it came to reading people, Karen was a professional. He didn’t want to remove his own safety net in the name of curiosity. This was much more dangerous than the time he went to the basement to have a "chat" with Mr. Mohsan.

There is a difference between tempting fate and courting death, and Karen understood it well.

"Meow..."

Karen looked down and saw that Puerh, the cat, was crouching beside the sofa. It had seemed low-energy for the past few days, almost as if it were sick.

Karen reached out and lifted Puerh up. The cat didn’t resist or display its usual arrogance. Instead, it looked somewhat resigned.

In Karen’s impression, this cat always had a rich expression.

"Woof, woof..."

In the corner by the door, the Golden Retriever lay with its chin on the floor, looking enviously toward them.

Mr. Hoffen was still in the hospital, so the dog stayed with the Immers family, but the adults and kids in the house didn’t seem too enthusiastic about pets. They didn’t dislike it, but they weren’t interested in petting it either. Only Karen took some time each day to walk it around the neighborhood.

Karen beckoned, and the Golden Retriever happily trotted over, placing its head under Karen’s hand.

With the cat on his lap, the dog leaning beside him, and the lingering scent of tea on the coffee table, Karen found himself enjoying a surprisingly pleasant moment in their family villa.

He suddenly thought that perhaps life like this wasn’t so bad. Although he couldn’t change reality, at least it allowed him to choose a comfortable way to live.

Ability...

Karen suddenly sat up.

Puerh, who had been lying on his lap, looked up at him, puzzled. The Golden Retriever nudged his hand again, wanting more attention.

Jeff’s dream, Mr. Mohsan’s tears…

Did he have the ability to get a reaction from the victim lying under the stage, too?

If he could say something, would that directly reveal the identity of the murderer?