I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

On his first night back in Brighton, Richard locked himself in his bedroom.

The notebook from the Imperial University Library was spread open on the left side of his desk, with the Gargoyle placed in the right corner, serving as a paperweight.

The curtains were drawn tight. A desk lamp cast a circle of warm, yellow light on the tabletop.

Downstairs in the living room, his father was flipping through the newspaper, and Evelyn was whispering something to their mother. The muffled sounds drifted up through the floorboards.

He had already gone over the raw material from the notebook again and again in his mind on the train, right until he fell asleep.

Back in his room, the first thing he did was carefully organize everything he had crammed into his head and write it down in the notebook.

No matter how resilient his long-term memory was, it was ultimately less reliable than what was written on paper.

He worked past one in the morning. Evelyn’s light had long since gone out. Only then did he put down his pencil, rub his eyes, and get ready for bed.

...

When Richard returned to Greenwood on Thursday morning, he thought he’d walked into the wrong school.

He had just stepped through the main entrance of the academic building when two boys walking toward him in the hallway stopped in their tracks.

"Williams!" one of them yelled, waving at him with a wide grin.

Richard didn’t know them, but he gave a polite nod.

He hadn’t taken twenty steps toward his classroom before he was stopped again.

This time it was a girl from the class next door. She came out of a side entrance clutching her textbooks and nearly ran right into him.

"I’m sorry... Oh, you’re Williams, right? The one from the Cicero Cup?"

"Yes."

"That’s amazing!"

The girl ran off as soon as she said it, leaving the scent of soap lingering in the air.

Richard frowned and quickened his pace toward his classroom.

He had a good idea of what was happening, but experiencing it firsthand was far more clamorous than he had anticipated.

When he pushed open the classroom door, dozens of pairs of eyes turned toward him in unison.

After a moment of silence, applause started from the back row and quickly spread throughout the entire classroom.

Warren was standing next to his seat, clapping louder than anyone else.

Mason joined in the ruckus, pumping a fist over his head.

Hugh was huddled in a corner, but he was clapping hard too, his hands turning red from the effort.

Richard put his bag on his desk and nodded to everyone in acknowledgment.

Just as the applause began to die down, the front door of the classroom opened again.

The headmaster himself walked in.

The headmaster, Dr. Fletcher, was a gentleman in his early sixties. His hair was parted down the middle and slicked with a thin layer of wax.

He rarely came to the classrooms in person, usually only making an appearance at the opening ceremony each semester.

The noise in the classroom died down completely the moment he appeared.

Fletcher stopped in front of the lectern, his gaze sweeping over the students’ faces before finally landing on Richard.

"I’ve come today to make an announcement."

He took a letter from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and began to read in the formal tone one would use for a speech in an auditorium:

"In this year’s Imperial Capital Cicero Cup Latin Speech Competition, our very own student, Richard Williams, has won second place in the entire Imperial nation."

The classroom erupted in applause once more.

This time it was much louder than before, because the headmaster was also clapping.

"This is one of the best results in Greenwood’s history." The headmaster folded the letter and put it back in his pocket.

"The last time a student placed in the top three in a nationwide competition was twenty years ago."

He went on for another two minutes with words of encouragement—the usual platitudes about "studying hard," "bringing honor to the school," and "the power of a role model."

After he finished speaking, he gave Richard a slight nod and turned to leave the classroom.

After the applause died down, the gazes of the classmates who previously couldn’t even remember his full name became somewhat complicated.

It was hard to say if it was respect or curiosity; it was probably a bit of both.

Richard took his textbook out of his bag, turned to the Chapter for today’s lesson, and waited calmly for the bell to ring.

At lunchtime, as Richard carried his tray toward Warren’s table, at least four people greeted him along the way, three of whom he couldn’t name.

Warren was already seated, his plate more extravagant than usual:

two steaks, a bowl of cream soup, a large glass of fresh milk, and a side of baked pudding.

"Eating extra today?" Richard asked as he sat down beside him.

"It’s for you." Warren pushed the second steak over. "A little celebration."

"Does your family own the cafeteria?"

"My dad said," Warren mumbled, chewing on a piece of bread,

"His exact words were, ’You need to get deeper into that Williams kid’s social circle. All expenses will be covered. If you get a chance, you can even invite him over to the house.’"

He swallowed the bread and pointed at the steak with his fork.

"So, strictly speaking, my dad is treating you to this steak. I’m just the delivery boy."

"Please thank Mr. Crawley for me."

Richard was genuinely hungry. He had only gnawed on a few pieces of dry bread on the way back from the Imperial Capital yesterday, and he hadn’t eaten much this morning either.

He cut a piece of steak and put it in his mouth. The enhancement from his [Eating] Skill made the sensation of the meat juices in his mouth a bit more vivid than before.

He glanced at his panel while chewing.

The progress bar was rising faster than he had expected, which was probably related to the quality of the food.

High-protein, nutrient-dense food provided more effective input to his body with each bite, so the panel recorded more progress.

The steak sponsored by Warren wasn’t just "saving him lunch money" anymore; it was directly boosting his Skill growth.

Across from them, Mason was gnawing on a chicken leg, his mouth glistening with grease.

"What was your speech even about? You beat all those rich kids from the Imperial Capital."

"I didn’t beat them all. I was second. First place went to someone from the Montague Clan."

"The Montague Clan? Well, what else is there to say... Second place is still awesome, okay? When has Greenwood ever produced a second-place winner in the entire Imperial nation?"

"Didn’t the headmaster just say? Twenty years ago."

"Doesn’t that make you a once-in-twenty-years genius?"

"Not a genius. The topic was just a lucky coincidence. It happened to be something I had already prepared for."

That was half-true, half-false.

The topic for the impromptu section had indeed fallen within a field he had studied exhaustively, but winning second place was by no means just a matter of luck.

During his lunch break, Richard borrowed the phone in the school’s administration building and dialed the number Warren had given him.

It rang six times before someone picked up.

"Clement Antiques," a dry, old man’s voice said through the receiver.

"Mr. Clement, this is Richard Williams. I’m the student who came by to see the Sphinx Oil Lamp."

There were two seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

"Oh... it’s you." The old man sounded like he vaguely remembered. "The lamp is still here. No one’s claimed it yet."

"Two pounds, right?"

"Two pounds. I told you I’d hold it for two months at most. That time is almost up."

"I’ll come get it this weekend if I have time."

"Fine. Remember to bring cash."

The call ended.

...

That evening, the family finished dinner.

His father was in the living room, flipping through the newspaper, while Evelyn was at the dining table doing her homework.

Their mother was in a good mood today, even humming a little tune as she cleared the dishes in the kitchen.

"I’m heading up."

"Finished your homework?" Evelyn asked without looking up.

"Almost."

"Going to lock your door again?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Alright then... Get some rest." His sister sighed.