The two chatted as they walked, passing through the mine entrance and back into the antique shop.
"As I've said, I haven't changed much in this Mysterious Realm. It was already here, waiting for you. The seven targets were not of my design."
The Gear Man reiterated his point, but Jenkins remained noncommittal.
"But regardless of what my arrival ans for the world, I've been doing a decent job lately. Debating fate always leads one into the traps it weaves. So, isn't the smartest thing to do just look ahead and do what I can?"
He handed the scorching, heart-shaped diamond to the Gear Man. For the third ti, the Gear Man opened the cavity in his chest and pushed it inside. Just like the first, the second diamond had also vanished without a trace.
"I've noticed you haven't said anything this ti about human civilization being inherently corrupt or tried to persuade to join your side," Jenkins remarked. "Have you given up?"
Jenkins asked. The Gear Man shook his head.
"You'll understand on your own sooner or later. Without a complete revolution, human nature will never change."
The miner was the third target. Of the seven, only four remained. Since they had just visited the mine outside the city, Jenkins decided to stay within its limits this ti, choosing the red dot in the southern part of Nolan.
The location was a district packed with apartnt buildings, the streets lined on both sides with nearly identical rental units. Locals who had inherited property could live off the rent, while those without a ho of their own had to pay for a temporary place to stay.
In fact, given the current cost of living in Nolan, an ordinary worker with no savings could start saving from adulthood and still have absolutely no chance of buying a house in the city before they died of natural causes. Living in a rental apartnt was therefore the norm for its citizens, especially those who ca from elsewhere.
Of course, these exorbitant housing prices were unique to a major city like Nolan. In countryside towns or more remote cities, the cost of a house was still within reach for the average person.
The small brass statuette at that location depicted an elderly man with thinning hair. He wore slippers on his feet and a mismatched, haphazard collection of clothes, topped with a white lab coat whose hem reached nearly to his knees.
He wore thick glasses on his face and was squinting one eye shut, peering through a magnifying glass he held in his hand.
"Is this... a scientist? No, more like a mad scientist."
Proper, academic scientists all lived quite respectable lives. Thanks to the explosion of steam-powered industry, practical scientists were doing very well for themselves. But the "mad scientists," who weren't accepted by the mainstream, often struggled with insufficient research funding and a lack of a steady inco. It made sense that they would look like this.
Jenkins had often read newspaper advertisents from inventors seeking sponsors, and most of them were placed by people just like this.
Of course, just because they weren't accepted by the mainstream didn't an this group was without talent. If one had a keen eye, it was possible to make a tidy profit by investing in them.
"Are you sure this is the one?"
the Gear Man asked.
"Of course I'm sure. Do you really need to ask?"
"Naturally. This shows I'm not playing any tricks."
With that, the Gear Man took the lead and leaped into the map on the counter. Cradling his cat, Jenkins jumped in after him.
In the silent antique shop, Papa Oliver's right eyeball twitched abruptly.
He fell from the sky, but his descent suddenly slowed as he neared the ground. When his boots touched the damp pavent, he didn't even feel his body sway.
Since this wasn't the city center, the rainy street was mostly empty, much like Fifth Queen's Avenue at that mont. Though he had landed in the street, directly ahead were the two steps leading up to an apartnt building's entrance.
A tal sign hung on the door: "9B." The building number.
"The target lives in the basent. Follow ,"
the Gear Man explained, then stepped onto the stairs and pushed the door open. With his movent, the frozen world began to flow. Pedestrians walking from Jenkins's left to right along the street spontaneously moved around him, yet seed not to see him at all.
Cradling the well-behaved Chocolate, Jenkins also climbed the steps and entered the building. To avoid dirtying the floor with the mud on the soles of his boots, he took a mont to wipe his feet on the doormat.
The building was quiet, as if all the tenants had left. The Difference Engine led Jenkins behind the wide, ground-floor staircase, where a door led to the basent.
As he opened the door, a droning noise imdiately filled his ears, accompanied by the stink of machine oil and the musty sll of a room left unaired for too long.
Following the Gear Man down a few steps, he entered the basent. The space hadn't been divided by walls. The entire area was the domain of the old man currently bustling about at a long table cluttered with chanical parts. His bedroom, laboratory, dining room, and reception area were all cramd into this low-ceilinged space, with furniture used to demarcate the different zones.
The basent ceiling was slightly higher than the street level outside, allowing small windows to let in so sunlight. But since it was raining, the windows couldn't be opened, or water would pour straight in. Compounding this, a small steam engine in the corner was running continuously, making the basent unbearably hot and humid.
"This target is certainly a new type of character. So, what do I need to obtain this ti?"
Jenkins asked.
"The Heart of Whimsical Ideas."
the Gear Man replied.
Compared to getting the "Heart of Unwearying Labor" from the miner, obtaining the "Heart of Whimsical Ideas" from a mad scientist sounded like it would be on a completely different level of difficulty.
Even though he knew it wouldn't be that simple, Jenkins still breathed a sigh of relief. He straightened his clothes, placed the cat he was holding onto his shoulder, and cleared his throat again to alert the old man, whose back was to them, that he had visitors.
"Hmm? How did you get in here?"
The cough startled the old man. He turned around, looking slightly bewildered, and asked:
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter who I am?"
"Oh, right. It doesn't."
With that, he actually turned back around, showing no intention of dealing with the strange man who had suddenly appeared in his "ho."
If this weren't a Mysterious Realm, Jenkins could have emptied the man's entire house, given his current state of near-invisibility. Of course, Jenkins wasn't that bored.
He walked over to the table and stood beside the old man, watching him assemble sothing out of gears that was still unrecognizable. To improve the lighting, a gas pipe had been crudely run from the wall to the table using a rusty conduit, feeding a high-powered gas lamp. At least the tabletop was brightly lit, providing enough light for detailed work even on a rainy day.
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