Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

The next day, as soon as Durin arrived at the academy, he discovered that the news of his exam score of nine points had already become common knowledge across the entire academy.


Everyone at the academy understood what a score of nine points signified, and this time, the few boys in the class, who were usually envious, lacked that sentiment. As soon as the second period ended, they immediately crowded around Durin, clamoring for tactical guidance and brought out their short films for him to see.


How should I put it, Durin felt as if he were in a hell of thighs. In everyone's short films, there inevitably appeared various types of otherworldly beings braving the cold, baring their legs.


There were no young girls to be found, no semblance of a plot either; in the bizarre scenes, flashbacks consisted of nothing but thighs, always thighs.


Chapter 62: The Founder of the High Resolution School