Episode 3: A Private Dinner...

Episode 03: A Personal Dinner Test

Even in the evening after the bank robbery ended, I was still thinking about how to get back into the bank.

At the same time, Albert's cold, blue eyes kept flashing through my mind.

At the time, if I hadn't seen his unusually calm demeanor in such a critical situation, I probably wouldn't have thought of cooperating with him first.

This collaboration, to some extent, dispelled his suspicion that I was an accomplice.

Thinking about how I almost died for no reason, I suddenly felt a bit scared.

What should I do if I die?

He finally got a second chance at life, not only with a healthy body but also as a billionaire. He didn't even get to experience it for a day or two before he died here.

Just thinking about it makes me feel the pinch.

That night, after much thought, I decided to treat myself.

"I want to eat Australian lobster, Arctic surf clam, king crab, and bluefin tuna!"

I want to try everything I've never eaten before.

In my past life, I had to strictly control my intake of not only sashimi and sushi, but also fried foods and sugary snacks.

As soon as I said that, London calmly and coldly commented: "What pathetic nouveau riche behavior."

If you can't spend your money as you please, and you're only concerned with so-called prestige, then what's the point of becoming a billionaire?

London is really not smart.

“Then I’ll buy the hotel next door, level it, and give myself a clear, unobstructed view from my floor.”

London: "Yes."

London: "Not only is it time-consuming, but it can also severely damage your public image by ruining the cityscape. From a return on investment perspective, it's a very real negative."

I:"……"

...It's mocking me.

Dealing with this kind of person... material things... the city? Simply not responding is the best counterattack.

So I picked up my phone and shook my butler, Herb.

In fact, in the original 19th-century setting, Milverton had a loyal butler, or rather, secretary, named Herbs. Herbs would usually stay in the study, never leaving his side, responsible for guarding the large number of carefully archived letters related to high-ranking officials in the safe inside the study.

In the 21st century, Herbers has been fully upgraded to become my all-around butler.

He is not only my all-around assistant in life, but also manages my assets meticulously and takes care of all the boring and trivial matters in my life. He is like my external brain.

To describe his job in one sentence, it would be: take good care of me.

Or, one could say that this is a setting inherited from the original 19th-century Sherlock Holmes stories—he needs to guard the "safe."

This safe refers to "Milwaldton" itself.

The current body belongs to Milverton from the Sherlock universe.

According to the movie's setting, all confidential and exclusive information is locked in the "Milverton" memory palace.

Only Milverton knew exactly where those secrets, enough to destroy a person, were hidden.

This "safe" is invisible yet tangible.

But speaking of myself, I inherited Milvolton's body, but I didn't inherit his memories at all.

London said that's because I haven't fully integrated with "Milverton" yet.

I asked it when it would be fully integrated.

London replied, "When others see you as someone who is already quite similar to Milverton."

Because this part is very mysterious, London said it was willing to provide me with the specific values ​​for fusion for reference.

It's just that the value is too low, so it's too lazy to say anything.

I don't know whether to call it willfulness or arrogance.

"You must learn to speak in Milverton's cat-and-mouse style. When facing visiting dignitaries and celebrities, even if your palms are sweating, you must put on an all-knowing smile. Every glance, every pause must be perfect."

I'm not particularly good at acting, so I asked, "Do I have to inherit Milverton's memories?"

London replied clearly: "Then you will never know who is trying to kill you, and you will never know when to fight back."

I couldn't help but frown. "Has Milwaldton offended so many people?"

London's tone even held a hint of amusement upon hearing this.

"It is my pleasure to tell you that the entire British high society wants to see you die."

It paused for a moment, then added: "Some people hate you because you know their secrets. Some people hate you because even after the money is exchanged, you still can't forget them."

"He Ji".

It called my name as a reminder: "Never forget that you are surviving surrounded by wolves."

"..."

...

I shook Hebers upstairs so he could prepare the dinner I wanted.

"Mr. Milwalton, the top-quality ingredients you ordered have been delivered, and a Michelin three-star chef has been arranged to come and cook at your home."

As Hebers spoke, he walked towards me carrying his tablet.

He was efficient, and as he worked, the content of the tablet was transmitted to the white screen in front of the dining table.

It was full of photos of people: handsome, greasy, old, dignified, elegant, and vulgar.

Because there are too many people, we can only use the 26 letters of the alphabet to distinguish them.

I don't recognize any of them.

Hebers, oblivious to my confusion, calmly adjusted the projected screen. Soon, after adjusting it, he bowed towards me, avoiding direct eye contact, and said with exceptional humility, "Sir, who would you like to invite to dinner tonight?"

The tone was so casual, as if asking about preferences for drinks to accompany meals.

If this is a matter of choosing a partner, then Milwaukee has really unusual tastes.

I:"……"

Because I had been silent for a while, London spoke up to explain: "These are all the people you've blackmailed or are about to blackmail."

It paused, then continued, "Milverton has a peculiar dining ritual. He likes to place a few smiling faces that he can destroy among the exquisite tableware and expensive wines."

I was startled and turned my gaze back to the face behind the curtain.

Those unfamiliar faces were displayed silently, like ingredients waiting to be served, which were unappetizing.

My first instinct was to refuse, but London reminded me at the right moment.

"Don't act unlike Milverton, or you'll lose your loyal butler."

Herbers, of course, was unaware of the inner conversation between London and me; he only sensed an eerie silence hanging in the air.

"I don't need them."

This statement indeed elicited a response from Hebers.

His head didn't move, but his eyes looked over like searchlights.

London: "He really does suspect you."

I countered with, "Really?"

"You've changed a lot since you took over Milvolton's body."

That's exactly what I wanted to hear.

Under Herbers's gaze, I looked back at him, my eyes fixed on him without flinching, leaving him no way to hide his peeping.

“Hebers,” I tapped the table with my fingertips, “come have dinner with me tonight. We can talk about those things about guessing what your superiors are thinking and doing.”

I said gently, "I'm amazed that you can observe me, guess my thoughts, and even try to guide me further based on my past behavior. You're truly my good housekeeper."

Upon hearing this, Herbers' face turned deathly pale. "Mr. Milverton... I didn't..."

As I chuckled, I leaned forward toward him and said, "Hebers, your recent behavior is so different from before. Have you noticed? And it's not just that one time."

His breath hitched.

I said without room for argument, "So, this dinner is on me. Tonight, it's your turn to sit at the table."

Herbers abruptly took a large step back, his back almost bent at a 90-degree angle. "Mr. Milverton, I can't afford it. Please let me go..."

I neither said I would let him go nor that I would not. I quietly examined him, watching him tremble with fear, watching his body maintain that stiff posture and unconsciously shudder.

After a long while, I slowly leaned back in my chair and said calmly, "What can be said, what can be done, and what thoughts should be in one's mind. Herbers, you know better than I do."

"I understand, I understand, I understand." Herbers' voice was full of respect, tension, and even a sense of vulnerability that threatened to break down.

I leaned back completely against the chair, my voice carrying a deliberate hint of weariness, "Hebers, when can I eat?"

"I'll have the chef bring out the sashimi now." Herbs bowed and left.

Watching his departing figure, London's electronic voice was like a cold, detached narration.

"Congratulations, in Herbers' eyes you are now 100% Milvolton himself."

"He dares not doubt you anymore."

"Now, through his cognitive lens, all your 'subtle differences' are seen as meticulously designed loyalty tests, or rather, cruel games, specifically aimed at him. Even if you act strangely again in the future, his fear will lead him into self-censorship, preventing him from having any doubts. This is done very well..."

There was also a barely perceptible hint of approval in that voice.

I instantly grasped the key point and quickly interrupted it.

So, are you praising me to the skies?

"Are you going to say, 'I've officially passed the first level as Milvolton'? Go ahead, be bold and say it like a video game simulator! I won't be ashamed of you. I'll definitely listen to the whole thing."

London fell silent.

And I, smugly, said to myself, "Then, I'll accept your approval without hesitation."

Tonight, I ate a very satisfying meal all by myself.

A note from the author:

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