"Hey, Galad!"
Bathed in sunlight, Galad was about to sigh, recalling everything that had just happened, when Rosanne's voice rang out from the front desk. She leaned forward, waving at him.
"What is it?"
Galad walked over.
"The Captain had to step out. Before leaving, he told me to remind you to go get that mental evaluation certificate as soon as possible. Best to have it done before the newcomer welcoming banquet."
"Oh, right. That too."
Only then did Galad remember. So much had happened since joining the team that he'd nearly forgotten. The banquet was Friday night, and today was already Wednesday. Time was running short.
"Got it. I'll head to the Lunatic Asylum tomorrow."
He agreed casually.
But then he noticed Rosanne's expression hesitant, as if something was on her mind.
"What's wrong?"
"Galad, I heard Old Neil left you his estate. Is that true?"
Rosanne's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"You even know about that."
Galad chuckled. Rosanne's information network was truly impressive.
"Wow, that must be worth a fortune!"
At first, Rosanne had been wary of him, but after growing more familiar, she'd relaxed. Now she looked at him enviously. "That's amazing! If I had that kind of money, I'd invest it and make a fortune."
"Invest?"
"Yeah. Look, the papers say a huge iron mine was discovered in the Hornacis Mountains. They're setting up a company for development and recruiting investors. The returns are supposed to be enormous." Rosanne handed him a copy of The Tingen City Honest Man. "Want to think about it? Money making more money?"
Thanks to Emperor Roselle, the idea of "stocks" had spread through this world. Companies raised funds quickly by selling shares , some investors became rich overnight, while others lost everything.
Galad skimmed the article. The report matched Rosanne's words, complete with photographs of the mine and a portrait of the company's young head: a black-haired man with glasses, an ordinary face, a broad forehead, and a warm smile.
"I'll pass."
Galad smiled faintly and shook his head. "Investments come with risks. Easier to just lie back and collect rent."
The next day.
Galad stood before a towering building, his expression unreadable.
A high wall encircled the grounds. Through the iron gate, he could see a lawn and activity square, beyond which loomed a three-story building. Patients in hospital gowns wandered aimlessly some dull-eyed, some silent, some shrieking or giggling. Doctors and nurses moved among them, looking more exhausted and in some cases, more unwell—than the patients themselves.
This was the Greenhill Mental Sanatorium. The Tingen Lunatic Asylum.
"How fitting. Feels like coming home."
He gave a bitter laugh.
Sifting through the memories of his body's past, he recalled scenes all too clearly: his parents' haggard faces as they paid endless bills, Cecilia's frightened sobs after being scared by mad patients in the courtyard, himself strapped in a straitjacket and forced to swallow potions… Until finally, when all treatments failed, his parents had given up in despair.
So yes calling this place "home" wasn't wrong.
"Galad, don't say that!" Cecilia, standing beside him, spoke sharply. "You're healthy now. Normal. Not a lunatic!"
"Alright, alright, I'm normal." Galad soothed her with a smile. "Isn't that why we're here? Just to prove it?"
Cecilia fell silent. Instead, she clutched his arm tightly and walked with him through the iron gates.
Her hand trembled faintly. She was still just as afraid of lunatics as when she was a child.
"Why don't you wait outside?" he asked gently.
But Cecilia shook her head.
She'd been like this at home too. The moment she heard he was going to the asylum, she insisted on accompanying him. Galad understood she was worried. What if, after finally recovering, he came here and something triggered a relapse? It was an unscientific yet heartfelt fear.
So he simply held her hand, guiding her into the dark treatment building, just as the young Galad once guided Cecilia across busy streets.
Gradually, she stopped trembling.
The cries of the mad echoed around them, yet within Galad's heart there was only calm.
Inside the treatment building, they explained their purpose to the nurse at the desk. She blinked in surprise, checked his records, and her expression deepened.
"Could you take us to Dr. Wilde? He was my attending physician."
Galad asked.
"Ah, yes! Dr. Wilde is in his third-floor office. Up the stairs, turn left it's the first door."
The nurse's words came quickly, nervously, under his steady gaze.
But if the nurse was startled, Dr. Wilde was even more so.
After a full set of examinations, the doctor set down the charts, eyes wide. "All indicators… completely normal! How… how did you manage this?"
I died once.
"I had some unexpected experiences. Survived them. My illness improved on its own."
Galad answered vaguely.
"Mr. Rondell, be serious. This could be a breakthrough in psychiatric treatment!"
Dr. Wilde was growing agitated.
"Don't be angry, doctor. My recovery was pure coincidence unrepeatable. And the specific reasons involve official secrets. I can't say more." Galad waved it off. "Just write the certificate. I'm in a hurry to go home."
"Go home? Impossible. Not tonight."
Dr. Wilde shook his head.
"Why?"
Galad frowned. Beside him, Cecilia bristled. "My brother's fine now. Are you trying to keep him locked up?!"
"Please don't misunderstand."
Dr. Wilde adjusted his glasses. "Your brother appears normal, yes. But he's had relapses before. For his safety, I need to observe him overnight to ensure stability. It's my duty as a doctor."
Cecilia glared. "And if we refuse?"
"Then I cannot sign the certificate." His tone was firm, though not malicious. "This is not me making things difficult. If you're dissatisfied, you can return the day after tomorrow, when another doctor is on duty. Perhaps they'll be more lenient. But if you ask me ,I require a full examination."
The choice was clear: stay overnight, or wait two more days.
Galad hesitated.