I have a Synthesizer

The next day.

"Klein, Katie asked me to ask how your preparations are going. We're leaving this afternoon."

Mira knocked on the door "dong, dong, dong," interrupting Klein's thoughts.

"Stop it, you're going to break the door. Are you even a woman? Are you crazy?"

Klein said loudly.

"Tch, you better hurry up and don't make us wait for you."

After Mira finished speaking, Klein heard footsteps going downstairs.

"It's time. I'm feeling a bit nervous, haha."

Klein straightened his clothes, placing all the manuscripts written with the Inspiration Pen these past few days into a bag.

There were already more than 100 of them. Besides ghost stories, there were also adventure, hero, and detective novels, covering various genres.

There was no other way; people in this world really liked this kind of stuff.

Submitting them to a local publisher should get him a lot of money. Even if they maliciously lowballed the price, he could take the manuscripts to the capital and sell them there.

But ideally, he should take care of everything in Lotham City.

The capital represented the unknown. He didn't want to be like some other transmigrators, leveling up through map after map. He was still very weak.

Therefore, while the capital was the most prosperous place, it was also where the most transcendents were.

More transcendents could only mean more danger and more accidents.

So, before going to the capital, he needed to accumulate more resources and be fully prepared.

Quickly going downstairs, ready to leave, Mira stopped him again.

"Hey, what are you doing? We're leaving this afternoon, and you're going out now?"

She felt that Klein's personality had changed a lot since the Fireblade Sect attack. In 20 days, it was as if it had completely changed a person's past 20 years.

......

The city's curfew had ended a few days ago, and Lotham City had finally returned to peace.

Some civilians could already be seen strolling on the streets. In the end, these attacks only harmed a small number of people.

Klein jogged all the way to a newspaper office in the city.

In addition to publishing local newspapers, they also published various novels and periodicals, and naturally, they also purchased various manuscripts.

After selection, these manuscripts would be categorized, printed, and distributed.

The outdoors was too dangerous, so there were very few outdoor activities and entertainment facilities in Tairila. But the population was large, and there were always some entertainment needs.

Then newspapers, books, and the like were excellent ways to pass the time.

They were affordable and could consume a lot of time. Neighbors could also borrow them from each other, making them a very popular form of entertainment.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

The receptionist at the newspaper office was not a beautiful young lady, but a burly old man with a thick beard.

Although he was dressed neatly, his expression still looked a bit fierce.

The receptionist was very fat, and his belly was already pressing against the front desk when he stood up.

Klein was stared at by him for a moment of awkwardness, then pointed to the bag in his hand and said.

"Um, I'm here to submit a novel. Excuse me, where is the manuscript receiving office?"

"Oh, you're not here to cause trouble? Then go up. The submission office is on the second floor, first room."

The old man waved his hand impatiently.

Klein shook his head. This kind of receptionist was really strange.

Without thinking too much, there wasn't much time left. He needed to quickly get rid of these manuscripts.

Arriving at the manuscript submission office on the second floor, he knocked on the door, and a voice came from inside.

"Please come in."

Pushing the door open, sitting there was a middle-aged man wearing glasses. His gray suit made him look refined.

"Hello, sir. I'm here to submit a manuscript."

"Mm, bring the manuscript over and let me take a look."

The middle-aged man didn't stop his work, nor did he look at Klein at the door. He just said casually.

"Okay."

Klein took out a thick stack of manuscripts from the bag and placed them on the middle-aged man's desk.

"This? What do you mean by this?"

Looking at the thick stack of manuscripts, the middle-aged man stopped his work, took off his glasses, and looked at Klein with some surprise.

"Sir, these are all manuscripts I wrote."

The middle-aged man blinked, seemingly unable to believe it.

"These are all?"

"Yes, sir."

"Young man, one needs to be down-to-earth. Filling the ranks with unqualified people is not a good habit."

The middle-aged man's face darkened, and he said somewhat sternly.

"That's not it, sir. You can look at my manuscripts. You can pick randomly. I've been saving these manuscripts for a long time."

Klein started to talk nonsense. These manuscripts were all written by the Inspiration Pen in the past few days, but for money, nonsense was nonsense.

He didn't plan to take these manuscripts to the capital. Getting rid of them here was the best choice.

"Really all written by you?"

The middle-aged man suspiciously pulled out a manuscript from the middle, put on his glasses, and began to read.

《The Deep Well》

This was a story about tracking down a murderer, telling how a man used a deep well to kill three people in a row, and then maneuvered with the Security Department, but was finally caught by the military's expert.

The overall plot was tightly knit, and although the writing style seemed still very green, the subject matter was novel, and the middle-aged man enjoyed reading it.

Even after reading the entire manuscript, the middle-aged man still had a feeling of unfinished business.

He picked up another one from the middle, 《Headless》, and read it from beginning to end as well.

After reading several sheets in a row, Klein really couldn't wait any longer, so he spoke up to interrupt.

"Sir, have you finished reading? I have something to do this afternoon. Do you accept these story manuscripts?"

"Ah? Accept, accept, of course, we accept them. Did you really write all of these?"

The middle-aged man had read countless articles, and of course, he couldn't miss this kind of attractive article.

"Of course, sir, I wrote all of these."

Klein naturally didn't blush or skip a beat when telling lies.

"Very good. I am Puxiu Te, the publication editor of Lotham Newspaper. What is your name?"

"Klein Alex."

"Alright then, Mr. Alex, are you really prepared to sell all of these manuscripts?"

Klein understood what Puxiu Te meant. Selling all of them meant selling all ownership of these manuscripts at once.

Including authorship, copyright, and the future income that these manuscripts might bring.

But this was exactly what Klein wanted. The Inspiration Pen was not without its drawbacks.

Continuous writing had already caused some repetitive short stories to appear in those manuscripts.

There was no way around it; the Inspiration Pen's knowledge base was connected to him.

He only had so much stuff in his belly. Writing too much, it was inevitable that there would be repetition, so he had to take what he could get now.

In his vision, the Inspiration Pen would have a greater role. He would have to wait until the capital to continue to expand and develop it.

Now, these manuscripts, converted into cash, were what he needed most.

"Yes, Mr. Puxiu Te, 131 articles, selling all ownership. I wonder what kind of price you can give me."

Puxiu Te was silent for a while, lit a hand-rolled cigarette for himself, and fell into thought.