Sherlock Holmes is not a warp god.

Peggy, unaware of the secret police's thoughts, looked around, searching for the ragged man.

But Fren had already driven the Ford sedan that Stanislav had brought over, heading towards the city.

There was a bullet hole in the right rear door, and the back seat was splattered with blood from Fren, perhaps even brain matter. To be honest, though, the car was in pretty good condition; Fren wouldn't mind keeping it running after a few simple repairs. Driving this kind of car to work was certainly quite discreet.

One of the most important things in life is eating. Fren left work early at noon because he wanted to have something nice to eat, but he ended up experiencing this unpleasant incident.

Driving skillfully on the roads of Berlin, Fleur arrived at a nameless building in the old town.

"Ding-a-ling!"

Welcome!

The doorbell rang, and in the afternoon sunlight, it was easy to tell that it was a tailor shop.

Behind the counter stood an elderly man examining the fabric texture with a magnifying glass. Hearing the voice, he said without looking up, "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lagerfeld." Of course, Fren couldn't walk down the street in tattered clothes that were bursting at the seams. "Could you please pick out a ready-made, formal suit for me?"

Fren is now two sizes bigger than he was this morning, so buying an expensive suit isn't worth it. He'd rather just wear anything and buy a new one later after he's adjusted through some physical manipulation.

Lagerfeld tailor shop has existed even longer than the country itself, and many nobles were regular customers. The Holmes family always chose Lagerfeld when buying suits.

This was Floren's "first" visit here. He looked at the clothes in the store with a cross-generational perspective and thought that it was indeed worthy of the name Lagerfeld.

The fashion icon Karl Lagerfeld had this surname; he was the chief designer for Chanel and Fendi before he time-traveled. And here, every single understated yet luxurious garment, whether finished or unfinished, would look good to someone as rough as Floren.

The elderly man behind the counter, who looked to be about the same age as Chief Wilke whom they had just parted ways with, put down his magnifying glass and scrutinized Fren for a longer time than before.

Without saying a word, Mr. Lagerfeld walked through a wooden door behind the counter, which led directly to the storeroom. Less than half a minute later, he emerged carrying several pieces of clothing, including even underwear.

After letting Floren go into the dressing room to change into his undershirt and shirt, help Floren straighten out the wrinkles on his body, and then let Floren put on the last suit jacket.

Fren himself took out the tie clip and personally secured the tie.

Looking in the mirror, the suit fit perfectly. Even though he had gained a few pounds, the old gentleman could still pick out the most suitable size for Fren at a glance. There were minor imperfections, but that's a common problem with formal suits.

Mr. Lagerfeld stood beside Fren, who could see the somewhat serious-looking old man in the mirror.

A tailor with exceptional skills and a unique understanding of art.

"Mr. Holmes, if you need a suit made, you may come anytime." When Mr. Lagerfeld said this, he omitted the "small" before Holmes.

"If needed, I will definitely come and ask you to cut my hair." Fren didn't mind at all. Even when the mystery of his birth was still fresh in his mind, he didn't like socializing. He rarely attended even aristocratic gatherings that would invite the Holmes family. As a result, he naturally needed a custom-made suit.

"It won't be long," Mr. Lagerfeld said quietly, then led Fren to the counter to pay. Beneath his graying eyebrows were calm, unwavering eyes; he was quite certain of his words.

"500 ducats." The old man handed over a bill.

Even standard-issue suits were outrageously expensive in this store, and that was after the old man rounded down the price because he knew Fren.

With a flourish, Fren wrote the name "Mycroft Holmes" on the credit card statement.

Not all geniuses engage in forgery, but those who excel at creating convincing fakes are undoubtedly geniuses, like those two guys from Ningguta in my past life.

At this moment, Fren's cleverness was put to use in imitating his brother's signature.

After putting down his pen, Fren looked at his masterpiece and exclaimed, "Wonderful!"

Previously, there might have been extremely subtle differences, but with the ability to manipulate flesh and blood, the control over the body has been greatly enhanced, making it absolutely identical to Mycroft's signature.

The old man was taken aback when he saw the signature on the bill. After a closer look, he realized it was indeed Mycroft Holmes' credit card. He looked up again and confirmed it was Francessoko Holmes.

Mr. Lagerfeld hesitated for less than a second before putting away the bill. He was just a businessman; his job was simply to collect the money.

A refreshed Fren walked out of the clothing store, got into his car, humming a tune, and drove off into the distance. Now he could finally go to the restaurant he had been longing to eat at.

After the doorbell stopped ringing, the car engine noise gradually faded away. The old man, who had sat back behind the counter and picked up his magnifying glass again, suddenly chuckled softly.

Sunlight streamed through the window and fell on the fabric placed on the counter, giving it a subtle, shimmering sheen, as if inlaid with gold threads.

The old man's laughter seemed to startle the fabric, causing the smooth fabric to curl into an arc before being pressed down again by the old man.

"Just right."

This fabric is a recent product, and I didn't expect it to find a suitable owner so quickly.

-

Meanwhile, Yuri was driving, with Mycroft and Chief Wilke in the back, also heading towards the city.

"he..."

Now that there were no outsiders present, Director Wilke spoke up, wanting to know if Mycroft's brother had truly only awakened the power of flesh manipulation today.

"Yes."

The director had barely uttered a single word when Mycroft gave the answer, closing his eyes and stroking a watch face on his wrist.

"Then he..."

Wyman Wilke frowned, wondering if Mr. Holmes had received any blessings from either the benevolent Father or any other god.

For example, wise men.

The Wise One, a warp god on par with the Compassionate Father, admires intelligent people the most.

Given Frenz's abilities, it's quite normal for him to attract the attention of wise men.

"no."

Still interrupting the director, Mycroft continued to close his eyes and ponder, as if he had thought of something interesting, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

The bureau chief's face darkened; he indeed didn't like talking to these intelligent people.

However, having received answers to all his questions, Director Wilke recalled Fren's reaction when facing the high priest's remains.

A promising young man with a bright future.

The bureau chief was already considering whether to recruit this young man to work for the security bureau.