Monet's office was very simple. The only valuable thing was probably the broad office chair, which looked comfortable.
After sitting down, Monet first turned on the computer to check Dean's case report application, then adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke in a kind tone, "Dean, it's been almost two weeks since you joined the Fourth Squad, hasn't it?"
Dean nodded.
It was quite miraculous. He had arrived in this world around mid-October, and now it was November 5th—only about twenty days had passed. In that time, he had already closed five cases and stained his hands with the blood of nearly fifteen people, far more thrilling than his previous life. He didn't know if the United States was just too free, or if he was just too lucky.
