” After leaving the Mayor’s office, Alex went straight to the City Hall archives to check Snezhnaya’s historical demographic data.
As a result, he discovered some intriguing data.
For example, in recent years, Snezhnaya’s population has been in a state of continuous negative growth.
But miraculously, the number of newborns has been increasing year by year.
So, the question arises—where exactly did this population, which should have been increasing, go?
Alex did not dig deeper; he simply transcribed a set of key data and turned to leave.
Stepping out of the City Hall building, the golden sunlight fell upon him, bringing a hint of Warmth.
He stretched lazily and then set off, walking forward with large strides.
However, he hadn’t gone far when he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.
Stopping in his tracks, he turned to look back.
What met his eyes was a magnificent and imposing building—the headquarters of the Northland Bank.
Alex flashed a meaningful smile toward the building, turned around, and continued forward into the sunlight.
“Interesting.” On the top floor of the building, a man wearing a plague doctor mask was looking down at Alex’s receding back, a cold curve hooking the corners of his lips.
Standing beside him was a refined and elegant man, the gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses carrying a hint of curiosity: “Dottore, why are you interested in him?” “Pantalone, humans are creatures ruled by hatred.” Dottore tilted his head back slightly, his tone low and calm.
“When revenge fails, that painful despair will slowly twist him.” “But aren’t you afraid he’ll ruin your experiment?” Pantalone pressed.
Dottore only responded indifferently: “He is but a slightly clever ant.” His voice was devoid of emotion, as if stating an indisputable fact.
Pantalone shook his head gently.
“But this…
isn’t cost-effective.” “That is the difference between you and me,” Dottore chuckled.
“Bankers only calculate gains and losses, while I enjoy the experimental process of verifying a hypothesis.” After hearing this, Pantalone inwardly cursed him as a “pervert,” yet his face still wore a gentle smile: “I hope you get your wish.” Dottore did not speak, his gaze still following that increasingly distant figure.
For some reason, a persistent trace of irritation lingered in the depths of his heart.
…
Pushing open the creaking, rickety wooden door, Alex walked into the room and sat down at his desk.
His gaze fell on the yellowed photograph at the corner of the desk; a moment later, he pulled a stack of white paper from the drawer.
At the top of the first page, he solemnly wrote down four words—the disappearing her.
After conceptualizing the plot, Alex began writing furiously: “A young couple from Fontaine, bringing their adorable daughter, came to the Winter Capital for a tour.
Unexpectedly, their daughter went missing.
The husband searched desperately, only to be told by his wife that they never had a daughter.
…Finally, in an emotional breakdown, the husband revealed the truth—because of gambling debts, the daughter was actually…
by him.” At the end of the article, he added a set of fabricated data: “According to incomplete statistics, over fifteen hundred children have gone missing in the Winter Capital in the past year.” After finishing, Alex shook his aching wrist.
Immediately following that, he set to work without pause, writing a sensationalist “in-depth analysis”: “SHOCKING!!!
The Truth Behind the Serial Disappearance of Young Girls is Actually…” In the text, he directly fabricated the truth behind Fontaine’s unresolved serial disappearance of young girls as “victims being lured to the Winter Capital, falling prey to secret human experiments.” Before he knew it, the world outside the window was pitch black.
Alex carefully tucked the two manuscripts into a file folder, stood up, and hurriedly left the house.
The moonlight was cold and the night breeze was slightly chilly, bringing a rare sense of refreshment as it brushed against his face.
About half an hour later, clutching the file folder, he stood before the gates of the House of the Hearth and gently knocked on the door.
After a brief wait, the door slowly opened.
The one who opened the door was his acquaintance—Lynette.
She was wearing soft, cute pink pajamas, appearing exceptionally clear and lovely under the warm yellow light.
However, she seemed to be in a bad mood, her violet cat-like eyes glaring at him huffily: “Alex…
it’s so late, is there something wrong?” “Naturally, I have important matters to discuss with your Father,” Alex replied as if it were only natural.
Lynette bit her lower lip and whispered with slight dissatisfaction: “Couldn’t you have come earlier?” “No,” Alex shrugged helplessly.
“Visiting at this time is precisely to avoid bringing unnecessary trouble to the House of the Hearth.” Hearing this, Lynette’s expression softened slightly, and she stepped aside: “Come in, Father is in the study.” Alex nodded and then walked toward the study.
Inside the room, Arlecchino sat behind the desk, her expression as cold as ever, radiating a dangerous pressure.
“It seems you have already begun your operation,” she said indifferently.
Alex nodded, stepped forward, and handed her the file folder.
Arlecchino reached out to take it, pulled out the stack of manuscripts, and began to read through them seriously with lowered eyes.
Alex paced to the sofa opposite her and sat down casually, his posture relaxed.
The room fell silent for a while, with only the faint rustling sound of pages turning echoing softly in the air.
After a long time, Arlecchino turned the last page, looked up at Alex, her gaze calm: “These methods of yours are indeed not bad…
but I’m afraid they aren’t enough to achieve your goal.” Alex’s expression remained composed as he took out the seal Pulcinella had given him from his pocket.
“With this added, is it enough?” Arlecchino was momentarily stunned, a flash of surprise crossing her eyes.
“How did you get that from that shrewd old fox?” “Lord Arlecchino, you have some misunderstandings about the Mayor.” The corners of Alex’s lips curled up in a gentle smile.
“He is actually a good man who exists in the darkness but looks toward justice.
He was the first person to fully support me.” Arlecchino remained silent for a moment, her gaze deep, as she spoke slowly: “…Does Pulcinella know he is a good man?” “Of course he knows,” Alex countered with a smile.
“Otherwise, why would he have given me this seal?” “Naturally, it’s because you used some deceptive means!” “I, Alex, am honest and trustworthy; I would never use such shameless tactics!”