Chapter 136: The Female Graduate Student

Arriving at school the next morning, Richard headed straight for the telephones.

He had copied his aunt's number from her business card onto the inside cover of his notebook.

He dialed Room 314 of the Petrie Building. The line rang several times.

When someone finally answered, the woman's voice on the other end sounded much younger than his aunt's.

"Room 314, Petrie Building. How can I help you?"

"Is Associate Professor Isabella there?" Richard asked tentatively.

"She's not," the clear voice replied, carrying a hint of a smile. "My mentor is away at the Royal Academy on business. She won't be back until this afternoon."

"And you are?"

"I'm her graduate student," she explained. "Just answering the phone for her."

Richard hesitated for half a second.

"I'm Richard Williams."

He decided to just give his name directly.

There was a distinct pause on the other end of the line.

"...Richard Williams?"

"Yes."

"The runner-up of this year's Cicero Cup?"

"Yes."

"Associate Professor Isabella's..."

"Nephew," Richard finished for her.

She let out a small gasp, her tone suddenly turning animated.

"Oh my gosh, my mentor was just talking about you the other day!"

Richard couldn't quite hold back a small smile. "What was she saying?"

"She said she had a nephew with excellent Latin who took second place in the Cicero Cup, and that his speech was every bit as good as the Montagu Family kid who took first."

"She actually praised me?" Richard was genuinely surprised.

"You didn't know?" Her tone grew even brighter. "She used your speech as a case study in class. All of her students know your name."

Richard was taken aback, but he kept it out of his voice.

"I didn't catch your name, by the way..."

"Just call me Sophia," she said. "Sophia Hardy."

"Alright, Senior Sophia."

"I competed in the Cicero Cup too, you know." Sophia was clearly pleased by the respectful title. "Six years ago. Time really flies."

"What place did you get, Senior?"

There was a rustling of paper on the other end. Sophia continued speaking as she flipped through something.

"Not as well as you did..." she mumbled. "I only got fourth."

"Fourth is still impressive."

"The associate professor doesn't usually share family matters with her students, does she?" Richard probed gently.

"It's true she rarely talks about that kind of thing," Sophia said. "But whenever she mentions you, her eyes light up."

The moment the words left her mouth, she seemed to realize she had been too blunt and quickly added a clarification to cover it up.

"I mean... she really admires you."

Richard chuckled.

The phone bill was ticking up penny by penny, but he was in no rush to hang up.

"Senior Sophia," he said, shifting the topic. "Are you on the Scholar path?"

The line went quiet for half a second.

"Why do you ask?"

Sophia's voice remained upbeat, but there was a new layer of caution to it.

That was all the confirmation Richard needed.

An ordinary graduate student's first reaction to that question would have been, "Of course, aren't all grad students scholars?"

But she hadn't answered like that. She was verifying exactly which kind of 'Scholar' he meant.

"We've been chatting for a bit," Richard said. "Your reactions to certain things reminded me of a specific circle."

"Which circle, exactly?"

"You know the one."

There was another brief silence on the line.

"...Did my mentor tell you?"

"She's mentioned a few things. My guide has told me a lot as well," Richard said, deliberately vague.

"Alright then," Sophia said, her tone relaxing. "I am."

"Rank?"

"I only became a Practitioner last year after starting grad school." Sophia was completely open now. "Your aunt is my guide."

Something stirred in Richard's mind.

"I hope we can talk in person sometime, Senior," Richard said. "But that isn't why I called today."

"What did you want to ask?"

"I have a diagram for an 'ether massage technique' on hand," Richard explained. "I wanted to ask the associate professor if this kind of method might help my mother's condition."

"Your mother..." Sophia asked delicately. "Has she been in poor health?"

"Yeah."

There was a momentary silence.

"So my junior is showing his filial piety?" Sophia's tone grew light once more.

"Of course. My sister and I divide up our duties," Richard joked. "She handles the eating and drinking, and I take care of everything else."

Sophia laughed at that. "What's your sister's name?"

"Evelyn."

"How old is she?"

"A year younger than me."

"Such a cute name," Sophia said. "Next time my mentor goes back to Briston, I'd like to tag along and visit."

"You want to come too, Senior?"

"My mentor has actually been planning an itinerary lately," Sophia noted.

"Anyway..." she steered the conversation back on track. "About this massage technique you mentioned, I'll tell my mentor about it the moment she gets back this afternoon."

"Normally, she returns to the office around five."

"As soon as she gets your message, she should call you right back."

"Sounds good."

"You're probably out of change, aren't you?" Sophia prompted. "I just heard the warning tone."

"Yeah."

"I'll let you go then."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Richard hung up the phone.

...

At twenty past five, Richard arrived home a few minutes early.

He worked on his homework in the living room while Evelyn helped their mother dice onions in the kitchen. Their father hadn't worked overtime today and was in the study reading the newspaper.

The phone rang right on the dot at 5:35 PM.

Their mother immediately stepped out of the kitchen.

"I'll get it." Richard stepped up to the phone before her. "It's probably Aunt Isabella."

"Isabella again?" his mother asked, a little confused.

Richard picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Richard."

Isabella sounded slightly rushed, clearly having called him the moment she got back to her office.

"Sophia called me this morning and told me what you asked."

"Yeah."

"Where did you get this massage technique?"

Richard already had a cover story prepared.

"A Practitioner outside the academy traded it to me for some Spell Formula materials."

"What tradition does he belong to?"

"He didn't specify." Richard sounded completely unruffled. "And according to the rules of exchange, I didn't ask."

Isabella paused briefly.

"You managed to get your hands on Spell Formula materials to trade with an outside Practitioner?"

"Auntie..." Richard sighed. "Are you trying to ask where I got those materials, or are you trying to ask if I've been doing things I shouldn't be doing?"

A very soft laugh drifted through the receiver.

"You know exactly what I'm thinking."

"I haven't done anything I shouldn't," Richard said.

"It was a fair, above-board trade. I exchanged a Spell Formula I decrypted myself."

"I see," Isabella continued. "This diagram for the massage technique—can you describe a few of the key steps?"

Richard read out three steps directly from his notebook.

Step One: The Practitioner gathers ether in their palms to form a moderate-temperature ether membrane, covering the corresponding position of the Seat of the Sun on the recipient's back.

Step Two: Using a four-beat breathing rhythm as a cycle, the palms slowly push and press along the direction of the main meridians.

Step Three: At the end of each round of pressing, the ether flows back into the Practitioner without leaving any residue behind.

Isabella didn't respond immediately after hearing this.

For a moment, the only sound on the line was the rustling of paper.

"You can try this method. I actually did something similar back in the day."

"Does it actually work?"

"At most, it will make the recipient feel 'comfortable.'" Isabella's wording was almost identical to Prometheus's.

"It's a thousand miles away from a 'cure.'"

"But if you keep at it, it can slow the degradation of her circuits and ease her daily discomfort."

"You did this for my mom too?" Richard asked.

"I did," Isabella said, a trace of emotion entering her voice.

"During the first few years after your mother moved back to Briston, I used to go once a month and do it for her."

"And then?"

"Then you were born, and I had to start my doctorate," Isabella said.

"Your mother got busy, I got busy, and the two of us lived in different cities."

"I never did it for her again after that."

Richard could hear the faint regret in her words.

"Then I'll start doing it for her next week," Richard said.

"...Alright."

Isabella added a warning.

"Make sure you practice the technique thoroughly yourself first. Just looking at the diagram isn't enough; the pushing and pressing direction in the second step is the easiest part to get wrong."

"I'll let you know when I have it down."

"Mm."

"I'll be visiting Briston in the spring. I'll bring gifts for you and Evelyn."

"What kind of gifts?"

"Take a guess."

"..."

"Look forward to it."

There was a lilt in her tone that Richard had never heard before.

"I'll be waiting for you in Briston."

"Alright."

The call disconnected.

Richard placed the receiver back onto the hook. When he turned around, he found his mother standing in the living room doorway.

She was still gripping a corner of her apron in her hands.

"What were you and Isabella talking about for so long?"

"A massage technique."

"A massage technique?"

"Yeah," Richard said. "For you."

His mother froze.

Evelyn poked her head out of the kitchen, her hands covered in minced onion. "A massage for Mom? I want to do it too!"

"You haven't learned how," Richard pointed out.

Evelyn puffed out her cheeks. "If I haven't learned, you can just teach me!"

Their mother looked at her son, then at her daughter, but said nothing.

She lowered her head and turned back into the kitchen.

Evelyn still hadn't finished chopping all the onions, and their mother coughed twice from inside the kitchen.

Richard walked over to the kitchen doorway.

"Mom, do you need any help?"

"No need." His mother kept her back to him, her voice muffled. "Go sit down and wait for dinner."

"Okay."

Richard sat back down at the dining table and flipped through the massage diagrams once more.

The rain outside had lightened a little, and the evening breeze fluttered the corner of the curtains.

He glanced out the window.

The gas lamp at the end of Slag Alley had already been lit.

Its light cast a small, glowing circle over the wet cobblestone street.

"Time to eat!"

Evelyn called out from the kitchen doorway.

"Coming."

Richard stood up.

The aroma drifted out from the kitchen.

Mashed potatoes, onions, pan-fried fish, and freshly baked bread.