Detective Agency of the Bizarre
Chapter 497 - 497 Sixteen

497: Sixteen.

The Last Lesson 497: Sixteen.

The Last Lesson The noisy casino, where people crowded around the gambling tables and shouted loudly.

They consciously avoided the fresh bloodstain extending out from the doorway.

But after a casino enforcer came with a bucket and a mop to wipe away the bloodstain, people started passing by the area again.

An unfamiliar face entered the casino.

There had been many new faces recently; the doorman only paused briefly on his face to confirm he wasn’t one of the patrol team, then ignored him.

Like the other gamblers, this sullen figure exchanged some money for chips, though only a few shillings, and turned to a gambling table where he threw a 1-shilling chip on “big”.

Neither his figure nor his chips drew any attention, much like most people beside the gambling table.

Soon, the dice cup was lifted, revealing the dice values to be “small”.

The figure lost 1 shilling.

At that moment, in a dark corner of the casino.

The voice of the Bald Man emerged by the dimly lit pipe, only to be drowned out by the surrounding noise.

“Lately, there have been many clueless rookies…

It could make the residents of the Inner District doubt the casino’s credibility…”

The Bald Man was talking to the owner of the pipe, but the pipe owner’s voice couldn’t break through the cage of noise.

Yet at a certain moment, the casino suddenly fell briefly silent, and the words of the pipe owner became clear.

“The poor still come back.

It’s not death they fear, but poverty.”

As the words ended, a familiar burst of astonishment erupted from a table in the distance.

“Go see what’s—”

The noise returned, drowning the conversation once more.

The Bald Man stepped out of the shadow, not needing to approach, as his subordinates already told him what had happened.

Another out-of-towner had guessed the sweepstakes.

The subordinate spoke, looking gleefully at the doorman squatting by the door—he would have to mop the floor again.

But perhaps this unlucky winner was not as foolish as the one before…

possibly.

At the heart of the noise—the man who had just made thousands of shillings from the gambling table remained unexpectedly calm.

If not for his ordinary linen clothes and the sickly pallor of his skin, people might have thought he was some noble or rich man come to play.

After the shout, people instinctively made way, their expressionless eyes watching the man go to exchange his chips.

Everyone present knew what was about to happen.

But most people would say nothing.

Because the money he took was from the Inner District, it was everyone’s money.

As if by agreement, as the man headed towards the door, the Bald Man with his subordinates blocked his way.

“A guest said they saw you stealing chips; we need to verify that,” the Bald Man replied lazily.

It was as though it was a repeat of something that had happened just minutes before.

“Which guest?” the man asked, puzzled.

The Bald Man’s expression was playful.

“I think we won’t give you a chance to remember that person.

Anyway, let us search your clothes and all will become clear.”

“Of course.” The man nodded.

“Uncle Klarel, your lunch!”

At this moment, near the door in the back row of the crowd, a middle-aged man with a stubbly chin startled at the sudden shout of the child and grumpily received the cloth-wrapped lunch box.

The little boy gazed up shyly at the middle-aged man until he had to wave him away.

“No tip for you today, two damned foreigners almost stole all our money!”

“Alright, may you have lucky day,” the little boy pouted, suddenly hearing a fierce voice from within the crowd: “Maybe he swallowed it.”

What happened?

The little boy tiptoed instinctively, but he was too short and could only see a row of trousers, one with a big hole!

Eventually, the boy figured it out: he crouched down and could vaguely see what was happening through the pairs of legs.

“Are you coming with me to check the latrine?”

He saw a man saying this, and for some reason, the man made him feel very uncomfortable.

Moreover, it seemed like he saw himself, but how could that be?

He hadn’t looked before, and he was crouched behind the crowd.

“I have a better idea,” said the fierce-looking bald man across from him, “I’ll cut open your belly.”

The boy blinked, and suddenly, his ear was grabbed by a rough hand: “Skipping school to come here!”

The boy, baring his teeth and trying to struggle, heard a familiar voice and quickly pleaded, “Aunt Susan!

I was just bringing lunch to Uncle Klarel!”

“Hmph…

I don’t care why; just follow me and leave.” Aunt Susan, a muscular and fierce woman, dragged the boy by the ear down the steps of the gambling hall.

Inside, the man was saying, “I also have a better idea…”

What happened next, the boy could neither see nor hear.

After being embarrassingly dragged by the ear for several meters, the boy took advantage of Aunt Susan’s inattention, broke free suddenly, hugged his backpack, and ran towards the school not far from there.

Approaching the school, the boy slowed down, bowed his head to straighten his wrinkled clothes, and smoothed his wind-blown hair, trying to look clean and neat, then he entered the wooden hut with no signs, indistinguishable from the surrounding houses.

The boy was somewhat late; his classmates were already seated behind their dilapidated desks, sitting upright out of respect for the class.

Returning to his seat, he noticed a line written on the blackboard.

[The Last Lesson]

“What does this mean?” the boy asked Little John quietly.

“Mr.

Fardman said today is the last class of the school…

There won’t be any more after this.”

“Why!”

The boy inadvertently shouted out, breaking the quiet of the classroom.

Before Little John could respond, Mr.

Fardman, the teacher of the school, entered.

He was still wearing the over-washed, whitened shirt and linen pants.

“So, everyone already knows,”

Mr.

Fardman, looking at his students quieter than usual, sighed and said,

“All facilities unrelated to production and business will close tomorrow; today is our last class.”

Whispering and quiet sobbing arose among the dozen students.

Mr.

Fardman wanted to say something, but suddenly, several figures appeared outside the door, calling him over.

From a distance, Mr.

Fardman’s voice drifted into the classroom.

“Can’t you let me finish…

Is the situation that bad?

No, I can’t leave; my students are still here…

but I haven’t had the chance to say goodbye…

Alright, thank you.”

A few minutes later, Mr.

Fardman returned, his face looking much older.

“Will you stay?” the boy couldn’t help but stand up and ask.

Those slightly clouded deep blue eyes dared not meet the boy’s gaze, and Mr.

Fardman said, “I’m sorry, this class is over, the school is about to close.

Go home and tell your parents.”

Suddenly, the distant chime of the church bell came through the window, making Mr.

Fardman’s complexion turn much paler.

He turned his back to the blackboard, waved at the children without looking back.

“School is out, you can go now.”