"Did you hear about Heckart?"
"Yes—that Heckart. The disowned son of the Deonhart family. He quit being a researcher."
"Really? What is he doing now?"
"I'm not sure. I heard he's been working out at the park. They even say he's become rather handsome, hehe~ If only I were younger… and if he still had his aristocratic name."
Two ladies whispered to one another from their homes, voices thick with curiosity.
—
"Did you hear that Heckart wants to become a detective?"
"He hasn't actually become one yet, but that's quite the leap in professions."
"I've heard… but his personality change is drastic. Some say he's gone mad."
Two aristocratic men discussed the matter over drinks, their tone amused rather than concerned.
—
"My good sir," a servant asked carefully, "did you hear that your son sold the house you gave him on his sixteenth birthday—to buy a smaller one?"
The tall man with a stoic face scowled, his expression darkening.
"As if I care about that failure. He can do whatever he wants—even die, for all I care. He is no son of mine."
—
"My dear Eleanor," a young lady in a pink dress said with a smile, "did you hear your little brother has become handsome? He even quit his job as a researcher."
The woman seated across from her—brown hair, blue eyes—grimaced.
"I don't care what he does."
"Oh? Surely you do. After everything, you still can't bring yourself to blame him, can you?"
"A dullard is a dullard," Eleanor replied coldly. "It doesn't matter if he becomes a detective."
She turned away, ending the conversation.
—
This was the reputation Heckart had built over the past few months.
It had not been easy. Slowly and painfully, he had begun working out, eating properly, and practicing mana control—expanding his reserves while avoiding catalyzation using methods Elois would only develop decades later.
But aristocrats would always gossip.
A disowned noble quitting research to work out… dreaming of becoming a detective?
How laughable.
Especially ironic, considering the Detective Association—formally known as the Assailants of Mystery Solvers—only existed because aristocrats exploited detectives in the first place.
And Heckart's reputation worsened simply because he embraced it.
After all, madmen were far more entertaining.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Heckart muttered with a grin as he performed pull-ups. "This is all part of the plan."
He had been popular back in America. He knew which strings to pull.
Reputation was everything. It smoothed interactions, opened doors, and erased inconvenient truths.
If you had a bad reputation, you didn't erase it—you buried it beneath better ones.
"Hah~" he laughed quietly. "To think the popular kid was also a nerd."
Dropping from the bar, he wiped sweat from his face with a towel.
Today, he had business.
He dressed in a white shirt beneath a brown vest and pocketed twenty-five peb. In Arkidia, currency was divided into Ark and peb—roughly equivalent to dollars and pennies. Thanks to the city's strong economy, most things cost only a few peb.
And despite being disowned, Heckart was still very much wealthy.
He exited his modest one-story house and hailed a carriage.
"Velvenwood Street," he said.
That was where the A.O.M.S headquarters stood.
A brown shoulder bag hung at his side as he hopped out of the carriage near the building—literally hopping.
Onlookers stared.
After all, a grown man hopping like a child while grinning wasn't exactly common.
Inside, the reception hall was adorned with paintings of famous detectives and records of legendary cases.
Smirking, Heckart leaned over the counter.
The receptionist—a woman with black hair and red glasses—looked up from her desk. She wore a black vest over a white shirt and black trousers.
She blinked once.
"Oh. Finally—a handsome one."
Heckart froze and blushed embarassed.
"A cute one, too~ What can I help you with?"
He cleared his throat. "I'd like to enlist as a detective and obtain a license. I already possess a firearm license."
That last part saved him months. Apparently, Heckart's old body had already taken care of that.
"Mhm. Go right and enter the examination hall," she said, winking.
Heckart found it strange—after his formerly dull, sleep-deprived face became livelier, women suddenly took interest.
But Victorian standards for men were… forgiving.
Inside the hall, wooden desks filled the room. A white-haired old man stood at the board.
"Sit," the man said bluntly. "I'll give you the papers."
The test covered skill assessment and morality.
Heckart passed effortlessly.
After all, it was the same test Elois had once taken.
The examiner didn't even react. Everyone knew the real test came next.
Through another door, Heckart entered a stark white room.
A burly man sat on the floor, eating lunch.
The combat test.
Heckart smiled and sat down, waiting patiently.
The rules were simple:
No guns.
No lethal use of astral linkage.
Only hand-to-hand combat, with minimal enhancement.
They never said anything about weapons formed through astral linkage.
And Heckart's body was already well-prepared. From his inherited memories, he knew this body had once taken dance classes—its balance, flexibility, and control far above average. Combined with Eun-bo's past life training in taekwondo, the two fit together disturbingly well.
He had planned for this.
In a world where people could destroy buildings with power alone…
Why would martial arts ever be created?