"Let me summarize. The deceased held a clerical position involving writing. No signs of alcohol consumption—no residue detected... Hmm. Isn’t there a casino near the military district?"

"Huh? Wait, let me check the map..."

I hurriedly pulled out Gloria’s map. Though no casino was marked, the area was labeled slums—and slums always meant casinos.

"Should be one there..."

"So he was likely a gambler. We can confirm by examining his bruises... The punches weren’t thrown with full force, deliberately avoiding soft tissue areas while ensuring maximum pain. Only casino enforcers work that precisely. He probably lost big, racked up debts, and got beaten for it..."

"So the enforcers killed him?"

"No. As I said, they avoid lethal strikes. A debtor like him still brings profit—they’d never kill him outright."

"Then who’s the killer?"

"Hmm... We can deduce it from the lower body."

My teacher paused briefly, expression unchanged. "Residual fluid on his genitals indicates recent intercourse with a woman. He was killed before cleaning himself... meaning the murderer witnessed the act. Quite the dramatic story..."

He didn’t continue, but I followed his train of thought.

The victim gambled away his money, got beaten, then spotted a decent woman on his way out. He followed and raped her—only for her husband (likely a blacksmith, given the weapon) to appear. The husband bludgeoned him with a hammer, then he and the wife disfigured the corpse to hide the crime.

"Something like that?"

"No."

My teacher shook his head. "I told you his strength was average. Forcing himself on a woman would’ve left scratch marks on his hands—inescapable, even for strong men. Combine that with the Holy See’s doctrines... Another female corpse will surface soon. As for the killer? Not our concern."

He stood, snatched the report from my hands, and strode toward the surgery room exit—likely to hand it to the soldiers waiting outside.

"Wait, Teacher! Aren’t you curious about the killer?"

"Why should I be? As coroners, we never overstep into Enforcers’ territory. Our duty is evidence—not chasing killers, but predicting the next victim."

"Uh..."

Guess I’m still not cut out for this job.

"Oh, wait in my office later. I need to handle something at the dean’s."

"The office? Got it!"

He rarely let me in there. "Certain things shouldn’t involve you," he’d always said. Now, alone in his office? A chance to uncover his secrets.

After changing out of my scrubs and washing my hands thoroughly in the restroom, I slipped into his office.

The first glance hit me like chaos. Books sprawled everywhere—floor, desk, no visible pattern. The lab table across the room was neater, but what sat on it froze my blood: a large jar filled with yellow liquid, containing something wrapped in black, hair-like strands. At first glance... it looked like a human head.

*Just my imagination. This place is getting to me.* I pushed the thought aside and navigated the fortress of books to his desk. Behind it lay his bedroll.

The school provided dorms, but he always slept here.

*This* was his resting place? Seriously? I glanced again at the jar. If I lived here, I’d flee after one sleepless night.

*Is this the price of becoming a coroner?*

My eyes snagged on a worn notebook beside the bedroll—far more used than the others. Naturally, I picked it up. Flipped it open.

And froze.

I couldn’t read a single character. WTF?! Why?! How?!

"Can’t read it, can you?"

"TEACHER!!!"

His voice from the doorway made me hurl the notebook onto the bed.

"I may not be a powerful mage," he said dryly, "but I *can* ward my diary."