Clearly, no one had gone in just moments before, yet now it opened on its own.
Falson instinctively turned his head to look and saw a man holding a book, supporting his hat with one hand while pushing the door open with his shoulder, stepping out calmly.
The man wore a black trench coat, a gray shirt, black pants, and off-white gloves. He held a book in his left hand and supported his hat with his right. His clothes were somewhat disheveled, as if he had just been buffeted by a strong wind.
The man looked up at him, revealing a gentle smile and nodding with a laugh.
Falson recognized this person—he was the generous gentleman who had tipped him earlier at the Flora Restaurant.
"Hello," Samuel took the initiative to greet him. "I remember you. You're the gentleman who plays the piano, at the Flora Restaurant."
Falson hadn't expected this open-handed gentleman to recognize him. He immediately nodded in response, "Hello, sir. I remember you too."
To be honest, he was well aware his skills weren't anything special.
So being remembered was quite surprising.
Especially in his current appearance, which was completely at odds with his previous look wearing light makeup and formal attire.
"I know you, Mr. Falson, right?" Samuel took off his right glove, extended his right hand, and held it out in front of Falson.
"Yes, I am Falson." Falson looked at Samuel's outstretched hand, waited two seconds, and seeing he genuinely intended to shake hands, not just going through the motions, he also reached out his hand to respond to the handshake.
"I am Samuel, Samuel Gavris." Samuel released the handshake and introduced himself in a gentle tone.
"Alright, Mr. Samuel, this place..." Falson glanced at the telephone booth not far away, hesitating to speak.
"Can't get out?" Samuel raised an eyebrow, finishing his sentence.
"Uh... yes." Falson nodded, surprised that Samuel already knew.
He clearly hadn't tried to leave. Could Samuel have already noticed the problem before coming out of the telephone booth just now?
But more fundamentally, when exactly had Samuel gone in? Why did he come directly out from inside?
However, Samuel just smiled.
"No, I don't know." He glanced back at the telephone booth. "It's just, judging by your expression, I think we probably can't get out for the time being."
A cane appeared out of thin air in his hand. Holding the top of the cane, he tapped its end against the nearby telephone booth, producing a "clang... clang..." sound.
"Suddenly sent to this unfamiliar place by this thing, and then you're lingering here."
"I think I've probably guessed the reason." Samuel said with a smile.
Falson's gaze was drawn to the suddenly appearing cane, following its movement until Samuel planted the cane on the ground.
"You truly are a clever gentleman." Falson said sincerely.
"No, I'm just working backwards from the result to deduce the process." Samuel didn't accept his praise. Instead, he leaned his body's weight onto the cane. "This is called false reasoning, darling."
Falson scratched his head. This tone gave him a strange sense of déjà vu.
It felt similar to... similar to what exactly?
He tried hard to recall but couldn't remember anything. It felt like his mind was always missing something, unable to make the connection.
As he pondered, the System briefly concealed its presence, making it completely impossible for him to associate it with the System.
"Heh heh," Samuel let out a light chuckle of ambiguous meaning.
"Alright, don't look so glum. Smile a bit." Samuel waved his hand in front of Falson's face. "Just treat this as a puzzle-solving game."
Falson ended his contemplation and nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Alright, it... can only be that way."
"Afraid of having your wages docked?" Samuel leaned on his cane, tilting his body.
Falson nodded without hiding it.
He didn't think this was something worth concealing; it was perfectly normal.
Samuel smiled. "Indeed, a single sien can stump a hero."
*Clink!*
With a casual flick of his finger, Samuel sent a Liastan yur gold coin spinning and tumbling into the air. Falson instinctively raised his hand, letting the coin fall into his palm.
"Accompany me for a stroll." Samuel straightened up.
Falson immediately closed his fingers, pocketing the gold coin.
"As you wish, sir."
"Oh? Been a butler before?" Samuel looked over with considerable interest, feeling his age didn't quite seem like someone who could have been a butler.
"Just seen something similar." Falson replied with his head lowered.
Samuel looked at Falson, and after a few seconds, suddenly laughed.
"So then, the initial teammates for the game," Samuel pointed at himself, then at Falson, "Me, and you."
"No problem?"
"Yes, no problem." Falson replied.
He wanted to perform a hat-tipping bow but realized he wasn't wearing a hat right now.
So he could only place his left hand behind his back, press his right hand to his left chest, lean his body slightly forward, and give a bow.
"Then follow along. Let's go find clues to leave this place together." Samuel turned and walked towards the edge of the market not far away.
"Let's go~ Peanut."
Falson immediately chose to follow with one click.
He chose to accompany Samuel without any tension at all, because he trusted his trump card enough.
Not the System, but his innate talent—that indescribable, inexplicable attraction.
His life hadn't been smooth sailing like many protagonists in novels, but whenever he encountered difficulties, his talent would activate, attracting people, objects, or events beneficial to him to his side.
And precisely because of this, he could accept the System's existence so easily.
If the System was beneficial to him, then being drawn to his side was perfectly normal. If the System was harmful, then before long, someone like a "System Hunter" would coincidentally pass by his side.
The same was true now.
He was trapped in this unfamiliar place, and then encountered a gentleman who appeared to possess extraordinary abilities and an exceptional demeanor.
Samuel walked with light steps, humming an unknown melody, seeming quite relaxed.
Simultaneously, his consciousness slightly dispersed, slowly rising, overlooking the entire city.
Walking towards the edge of the town square, Samuel asked Falson behind him as they walked, "You must have thought about leaving this place directly, without using that telephone booth, right?"
"Yes." Falson replied.
There was nothing to hide about this.
"Unfortunately, it can't be done." Samuel looked up, his eyes flashing with lights of various colors.
"You know what? This town right now is like it's encased in a soap bubble."
"When you walk to the edge of the town, you'll discover a very springy boundary. You can't get out."
"So that's how it is. I understand." Falson responded softly.
This answered one of his questions.
That thing called a telephone booth suddenly pulled him here but placed no restrictions. Wasn't it afraid he'd just run away, not using that thing called a telephone?
Now he knew the answer.
Samuel suddenly changed his tone and asked a completely unrelated question.
"Speaking of which, what do you think about Reins having one more theater?"
Hearing this suddenly popping question, Falson didn't immediately grasp its connection to the context, but he still thought for a moment and answered, "Hmm... regarding theaters, the West District already has a sufficiently high-end theater. However, people from the South and North Districts generally can't get in, so it might not be a good reference."
"The South District has a slightly smaller theater, and the North District has a few traveling circuses..."
"Most people interested in this would probably prioritize these options."
"So I think even if there's one more theater, it might be hard to attract visitors in the short term."
"Is that so."
While chatting, the two had already reached the edge of the town square.
At the square's edge were many small stalls. Mobile street vendors selling vegetables, fruits, and cooked food loudly hawked their wares, calling out to hurried passersby. Among them, some would stop to carefully compare and buy, while others would simply leave.
The two stopped in front of a small stall. It was a mobile bread stall with an awning.
The owner was a middle-aged man who looked very strong and sturdy, wearing a white apron and sitting on a small folding stool. Several types of bread were displayed on the stall in front of him, and not far away lay a bread-killing knife.
Yes, a bread-"killing" knife.
This type of knife was very sharp, specifically designed to cut those black breads hard enough to be used as weapons.
Who knows what obsession Liastan people have with sturdy hard bread, but these breads are each harder than the last. Carved into the shape of a katana and thrown into the world of One Piece, they could easily earn the title of "Supreme Grade Bread Blade."
Hence the need for a specialized "bread-killing knife."
They'd rather develop knives capable of cutting iron like mud than research making softer black bread.
"Boss, could you trouble yourself to give me some change? Change for three one-sien notes. The remaining two sien is your reward." Samuel took out a five-sien banknote and handed it to the bread stall owner.
Hearing he could earn two sien for free, the owner naturally agreed happily immediately, reaching out to take the paper money from Samuel's hand.
But soon, just as the money reached his hand and he flipped it a couple of times, the owner's expression instantly darkened.
"What? Are you here to cause trouble?" The owner squinted at Samuel, raising a bread stick that had been diagonally cut halfway, pointing it at Samuel. "Dressed all fancy, trying to fool me with counterfeit money?"
For some reason, Falson felt the owner's gaze was quite intimidating.
And for a moment, Samuel actually sensed "sharp sword aura" from the bread stick.
This was somewhat absurd.
This uncle in his youth was definitely a swordsman of some renown.
"Ah? It's counterfeit?" Samuel feigned surprise, supporting his chin with his hand.
"Get lost!" The owner flung the banknote back at Samuel. Samuel reached out, pinching it between his index finger and thumb. His eyes rolled, sweeping over the box where the owner kept his money.
"Oh dear, it seems I really took the wrong one." He said, troubled, stroking his chin.
He reached into his pocket and took out a pure gold coin.
"Sorry about that, I took the wrong one just now. I'll exchange this gold coin with you. It's pure gold, for two yur."
Seeing the gold coin, the owner suspiciously weighed it in his hand, then placed it on the bread in his hand. Using the edge formed from the diagonal cut, he lightly pressed down with the knife's edge, leaving a clear knife mark.
This bread could actually cut people!
It successfully cemented its identity as a "Supreme Grade Bread Blade."
Seeing the gold coin could be marked and after weighing it on a steel scale, the owner's expression finally softened.
He reached into his clothes pocket, pulled out a wallet, fished out a one-yur banknote from it, placed it on the table, and said nothing, his meaning clear.
Samuel shrugged, picked up the banknote, and turned to leave.
Falson's gaze shifted between the bread stall owner and Samuel, but he said nothing and followed Samuel's steps.
"This... shouldn't be counterfeit money, right?" Falson looked puzzledly at Samuel's fingers holding the banknote.
In the Kingdom of Liastan, everyone could easily distinguish real money from counterfeit.
It was an indescribable intuition. Real money always had a feeling counterfeit money lacked. No matter how closely counterfeit money imitated, it could never give people the feeling of real money.
"No, mine was fake." Samuel tilted his head to answer the question. "At least for them, mine was fake."
He handed the banknote to Falson for him to see for himself.
Falson didn't understand but still took the banknote and looked at it.
When he took the banknote, its back was facing him. He instinctively felt something was off but couldn't pinpoint what.
Turning it to the front, he finally discovered what was wrong.
The king on the banknote was incorrect.
The money people used here had the wrong king.
He flipped it to the back again, counted, and the number of past kings was also wrong, and among them was not the current king he was familiar with.
"Found it?" Samuel asked, tilting his head.
Falson flipped it back and forth and nodded.
"This seems to be... roughly a style from 100 years ago."
"Correct." Samuel nodded. "So for them, our money is counterfeit."
Soon, they arrived at the center of the square.
Here, near the town hall, stood a notice board with many announcements posted on it. Quite a few people were gathered here watching. Samuel and Falson also moved closer.
In the center of the notice board, a slightly yellowed white paper was pasted over the other announcements.
"Do you want to become a Law Seeker?" Samuel suddenly turned and asked.
Falson hadn't yet clearly seen the words written on the bulletin board when Samuel's question entered his ears, making him freeze for a moment.
Law Seeker. Falson thought for a few seconds before realizing what that term referred to.
After all, he had been exposed to matters in this area for less than an afternoon, and he had only heard this title once.
"Me?" Falson pointed at himself. "Can I too?"
"Of course you can. You have great talent." Samuel replied in a light, cheerful tone.
"This... of course I want to..." Falson replied.
"Wanting is enough." Samuel smiled and didn't continue further.