Chapter 239: Professor Rabbit is Going to the Capital

Rogers had been coming home later and later these days.

He didn't make it back to Slag Alley until ten at night, pedaling his old bicycle all the way from the west side.

Richard knew exactly why.

After household expenses, his father's monthly salary didn't leave much to save.

He wanted to scrape together the first year's tuition before his son started school in the fall.

Rogers came in and was slightly surprised to see his son standing in the kitchen.

"Not asleep yet?"

"Waiting for you." Richard brought the bowl of porridge to the table. "Mom said you haven't been eating well these past few days."

Rogers rubbed his freezing hands together and sat down at the table.

He fished out his Sheffield Tobacco Tin from his pocket first.

Richard watched him by the light of the stove.

His father's face was noticeably thinner than it had been a few months ago.

His eyes were sunken, and a three-day stubble shadowed his chin.

Richard sat across from him.

"Dad."

"I have something to discuss with you."

Rogers paused with his spoon in the porridge and looked up.

Richard took a neatly folded stack of twenty pounds from his pocket and placed it in the middle of the table.

The banknotes lay between them.

Rogers stared at the money for a long moment, then looked up at his son.

"Where did this come from?"

"I earned it."

"Tutoring fees from the Dawn Family, the rest of the prize money from the Cicero Cup, and stipends from going on research trips with my teacher. I saved it up bit by bit."

The kitchen fell silent for a while.

"It's good that you're saving money."

After a long pause, Rogers finally spoke.

"Keep it for yourself. When you go to the Imperial Capital in the fall, you'll need money everywhere."

Richard pushed the stack of money slightly toward his father.

"This twenty pounds is for the house."

Rogers frowned.

"I didn't ask you to start supporting the family yet."

"I know."

"Then what is this for?" Rogers pushed the money back.

"You're a student. If word gets out that you're bringing money home to subsidize the household, what would people think of me?"

Richard didn't touch the returned cash.

He looked at his father's thin, stubborn face and delivered the words he had prepared, one by one.

"Dad, I'll be eighteen next year."

Rogers didn't reply.

"I account for a share of this family's expenses.

"You and Mom both know how much I eat. My appetite has grown over the past six months; I eat even more than you do."

"Since I add to the expenses, I should contribute my share."

"I'm not trying to support the family for you. I'm just a part of it."

Rogers looked down at the stack of banknotes on the table and said nothing.

His son had saved this up bit by bit, from tutoring at three shillings an hour, writing essays for a pound a piece, and earning stipends from constant research trips.

Behind every banknote was the young man he had watched grow up.

Rogers reached out and pulled the money toward him.

"...It'll end up being spent on you later anyway," he muttered.

...

Greenwood issued the final confirmation forms for graduation paths.

Evelyn would be in her final year of secondary school next year, and this letter was for her.

Whether she took the preparatory track or the technical college track had to be settled in black and white now.

At dinner, Evelyn pinned the letter under the edge of her bowl. She took a few bites of her meal before finally speaking her mind.

"Dad, I've decided. I'm not taking the preparatory track."

Rogers's soup spoon paused in midair.

"I want to test into the baking department at the Imperial Capital Royal Culinary Academy."

The table fell silent for a moment.

Margaret's hand slowed as she ladled porridge for her son.

Richard stared at his porridge bowl without a word.

Rogers placed his spoon back in the bowl, holding back his temper.

He was the kind of man who would stubbornly fight with a load-bearing beam on a blueprint all day.

But when it came to his daughter, he always took a softer approach.

"I never said no to baking," he started.

It was true; he had picked out that heart-shaped mold himself for Christmas.

When he picked it out, he specifically asked for one with thicker copper that heated evenly.

His daughter loved to bake, and he didn't try to stop her.

"But this trade—can't you learn it right here in Briston?" he continued.

"Half the city comes to buy old Lambert's jam tarts over on North Street.

"If you want to learn, I'll talk to him and have him take you on as an apprentice. Hands-on teaching is just as good as any academy."

"Lambert sells breakfast."

Evelyn immediately grew defensive.

"The Imperial Capital Royal Culinary Academy is the best baking school in all of Albion. You graduate with a diploma, you can get into the kitchens of the Royal Grand Hotel, or open your own shop..."

"The Royal Grand Hotel is in the Imperial Capital," Rogers interrupted. "And that academy you mentioned is also in the Imperial Capital."

He stressed the words "Imperial Capital" heavily.

"Hundreds of miles away, a girl living on campus, never seen all year."

He scooped another spoonful of soup, brought it to his lips, and then put it down again. "You're only sixteen."

Evelyn's temper instantly flared up.

"Richard is only seventeen!" Her voice rose an octave.

"He's going to the Imperial Capital to study, and you work overtime every day to save up for his tuition, not even coming home to sleep.

"But when it's my turn to go to the Imperial Capital, suddenly it's 'a girl never seen all year'?"

This retort left Rogers speechless.

Richard discreetly kicked his sister under the table.

When she got worked up, she'd drag anyone into the line of fire.

Evelyn glared back at him, but she didn't dare push any further.

Rogers's face darkened, and he didn't respond.

He picked up his soup and drank it slowly.

Richard understood perfectly.

From start to finish, the issue was never "baking."

That heart-shaped mold at Christmas had long since proven that.

What really stuck in his throat was that Evelyn also wanted to go to the Imperial Capital.

...

After dinner, Evelyn lingered in Richard's room, refusing to leave.

She sat on her brother's bed, hugging her knees and looking wronged.

"Be fair, Richard," she said.

She opened her notebook and showed it to him. "I've been putting this together for two years."

Richard took the notebook and flipped through it.

The colored pencil drawing of a cake on the cover had faded.

Inside, page after page was densely packed with recipes, oven temperature charts, and records of failed bakes.

The newest pages contained iterative notes on her gingerbread rabbit series.

From Mr. Rabbit collapsing in the oven, to cutting the sugar by half a spoonful, to the exact amount of cinnamon—every adjustment was carefully documented.

On the very last page, Evelyn had drawn a rabbit wearing a graduation cap.

Next to it was a line of text: "This is Professor Rabbit. Majoring in baking, minoring in stealing bites."

Richard smiled at the caption.

"Don't laugh." Evelyn snatched the notebook back. "I'm serious."

"I know you're serious." Richard reined in his smile. "Let me ask you something."

"What?"

"Do you want to study baking in the Imperial Capital because you genuinely love it, or is it because..."

Richard looked at his sister. "...you want to come with me?"

Evelyn flushed.

She buried her face in her knees and stayed quiet for a long while before looking up.

"It's both." Her voice dropped to a murmur. "I really do love baking, you know that."

"But... but you're leaving. Mom said you'll be studying and taking exams in the Imperial Capital.

"You might end up teaching there like Auntie, barely coming back a few times a year."

"If I stay and work in Briston... with you in the Imperial Capital and me here, we'd only see each other for those few days around Christmas."

Evelyn hugged the notebook to her chest.

"Going to the Imperial Capital for baking—first, I get to do what I really love, and second..."

She thought about her brother entering Imperial Capital University while she attended the culinary academy there.

Being in the same city, they could still see each other on their days off.

When he got tired of writing papers, she could always go over and look after him.

This was Evelyn's real plan.

Richard's heart softened.

His sister was stubborn and loved to argue, but her intentions were so simple it brought an ache to his chest.

"Alright, I'll help you with this."

"Really?" Evelyn's eyes lit up.

"Really," Richard answered.

"But you'll have to handle Dad yourself first. I'll help put in a good word when I can."

"Dad..." Evelyn deflated. "He definitely won't agree."

He just couldn't bear for her to leave too, Richard thought with a sigh, though he didn't say it aloud.

...

On Saturday, Rogers had a rare full day off.

That afternoon, he sat on the living room sofa, reading an outdated issue of Engineers Weekly.

Richard placed his sister's cake notebook onto his father's lap.

Rogers set the newspaper aside and looked down at the faded cover.

"What is this?"

"Evelyn's." Richard sat down across from him. "Take a look, Dad."

Rogers opened the notebook.

He flipped through it very slowly.

He turned page after page, moving from the earliest crookedly written recipes to the increasingly neat temperature charts near the back.

When he reached the final page and saw Professor Rabbit in a graduation cap, he stopped.

"Majoring in baking, minoring in stealing bites."

He grunted; it was hard to tell whether it was a laugh or a sigh.

"Dad," Richard started.

"I asked someone to look into the Imperial Capital Royal Culinary Academy."

It was true; he had asked Sophia to look into it.

"It's a proper school. You graduate with a diploma, and being a pastry chef is a respectable profession in the Imperial Capital."

"If Evelyn really learns this trade in the Imperial Capital and opens her own shop in the future, she'll make much more money than a clerk."

The living room was quiet for a moment.

Rogers set the notebook aside.

He didn't look at his son again. His gaze fell on the living room window facing the alley.

Outside, several neighborhood children were running around.

"You're leaving in the fall."

Rogers said abruptly.

"Yeah."

"Going to Imperial Capital University, entering your grandfather's circle."

Rogers's voice was very low. "That... world your mother won't let me ask about."

Richard's heart skipped a beat.

In the end, his father had finally torn away a corner of their unspoken secret.

Rogers, an ordinary engineer, had lived by the belief that "we rely on ourselves" for over a decade.

He didn't ask about his wife's past, nor did he touch that unseen world.

He simply stayed in his own lane, drafting blueprints, supporting his family, and living a grounded life.

But he wasn't stupid.

He had watched his son change over the past six months.

The midnight outings, the incomprehensible "research stipends" of unknown origin, and the suddenly attentive attitude of Ashford House...

He hadn't asked a single thing, but he had seen it all.

Rogers stared at the playing children for a long time.

A light rain began to fall outside, and the children scattered.

He pulled his gaze back and looked at the cake notebook on his lap.

"You're leaving, and I can't stop you."

"Now your sister is leaving too."

"One is entering the university, the other entering the culinary academy. Both of you, heading for the Imperial Capital one after another."

"This house... next year, it'll just be me and your mother."

...

At the dinner table, the confirmation form was filled out.

Rogers had filled it out himself.

In the intent column, he had written: "Technical College, Imperial Capital Royal Culinary Academy, Baking Department."

He set the pen down and pushed the form over to his daughter.

"You'll take the exam next year. If you don't get in, you come back to Briston. That's my bottom line."

"I'll get in!" Evelyn snatched up the form.

"I'll place first on the exam, just wait and see!"

"Ambition alone isn't enough," Rogers said, scooping a spoonful of soup. "You still use too much of that cinnamon."

"I'll use half a spoonful less next time!"

"You said you'd use half a spoonful less last time, too."

"This time I really will!"

Margaret sat to the side, prepping vegetables for the next day, staying out of their bickering.

Her hands moved a little slower than usual.

Richard held his porridge bowl, watching everyone at the table.

His father criticized his daughter's cinnamon, but he scooped his soup exceptionally slowly.

His mother prepped the greens, occasionally sneaking glances at Evelyn's face, which hovered between tears and laughter.

His sister hugged the confirmation letter to her chest, guarding it as closely as she guarded her notebook.

This time next year, there would be two empty seats at this table.

But for now, it was completely full.

"Richard."

Evelyn suddenly pushed the newly baked gingerbread rabbit in front of him.

Richard picked up the rabbit.

"What is this one?"

"Professor Rabbit, of course," Evelyn beamed triumphantly. "He's going to the Imperial Capital with both of us."