Chapter 488: The Emissary Passes Unhindered

"Not allowed."

"Your Excellency."

Mercury smiled, showing absolutely no apology.

"You have already stated whose seat this is tonight, Your Excellency."

Minerva froze.

In that moment, Richard also understood.

She had personally declared Mercury the emissary of Rome. By using that title to force Richard out of his seat, she had inadvertently handed the ultimate right to interpret this seat over to Mercury.

Mercury spoke politely.

"Even if I smashed this emissary title, burned it, and threw it into the Tiber tonight, the veil could not stop me."

"Moreover, I am merely letting it change hands. That is my true profession."

He turned around to face Richard directly.

"Your Excellency Hermes."

"Mercury, the emissary of Rome. I entrust this name to you, Your Excellency."

As those words fell, every stone slab in the City of Seven Hills echoed simultaneously.

Minerva was completely helpless.

"...I said the wrong thing tonight."

Richard stood in the center of the city.

The Caduceus, the winged shoes, the gate of Ferrying... too much had returned, and too quickly.

"Crack."

A fine crack started from his brow bone, splitting down the left half of the mask all the way to his jaw.

In the instant it cracked open, he saw the inner layer through the gap.

The moment he noted it, the crack remained, but the inner layer was no longer visible.

Richard pushed that aside for now; this night was not over yet.

A line lit up on his panel.

[Inviolability of Emissaries—Upgraded]

[Emissary Passage (nemo prohibet): For the one who holds the staff but does not strike, any boundary that acknowledges this rule cannot deny them passage.]

This had transformed from 'no one can touch me' to 'no door can stop me.'

Out in the darkness at the end of the Tiber outside the city, Matthew was still waiting beyond the furrow.

Mercury walked over to a half-collapsed colonnade and sat down on a broken pillar.

"Your Excellency."

"Please speak, sir."

"I will give you a piece of advice free of charge."

He spun his hat halfway around on his knee.

"Divine names are not things that become more valuable the more you hoard them."

"You currently have two resting on you, Your Excellency: Hermes and Mercury."

"It sounds quite impressive. Two staffs, two pairs of shoes, two gates."

He raised his eyes.

"My greatest skill in this life is knowing when to let go."

"It was easy for you to accept it tonight, but it will not be so easy from now on."

Richard stood where he was, turning those words over in his mind.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

Mercury stood up from the pillar, put his wide-brimmed hat back on, and walked out of the city.

When he reached the edge of the furrow, he paused, turned around, and bowed deeply and formally toward the darkness outside the city walls.

Outside the walls, someone scratched his head.

"...This kid actually has some manners."

Mercury left.

That furrow lifted a bit for him, like a doorman holding up the curtain for a frequent guest.

Beneath the Seven Hills, Heracles hoisted his Great Club onto his shoulder and turned to look at Dionysus.

"He just left like that?"

"He left."

"He didn't even want his money?"

"His money is in his bag." Dionysus raised his empty Two-Handled Cup and waved it in that direction.

"He just came to unload his cargo tonight."

"Does that mean we won?"

"Look at your arm first."

The big guy glanced down at the stone debris that had not completely fallen off his right arm and shut his mouth.

At that same moment, the wheel of fortune began to spin again.

Fortuna's hand was on the rim, spinning it even faster than before.

She could not read anything now that the strings were broken.

Without reading, she could not extract the numbers. Without numbers, she was nothing.

So she began to siphon luck from the others.

A little from Venus, a little from the Goddess of the Hunt collapsed on the stone steps, and a little from the man kneeling on the slabs who could no longer stand.

The siphoned luck piled onto her own wheel, stacking up so heavily that the spokes groaned.

Catherine unwound the Whip from her forearm.

She had lashed out three times that night, and all three strikes had faded in midair. If the scales could not weigh an imbalance, the Whip would not fall.

Now there was an imbalance, and the left pan of the scales slammed to the bottom with a heavy thud.

"...Transgressor."

Her voice was so hoarse it barely held a tune.

"You must be punished."

The tip of the Whip extended into midair, and the wheel of fortune cracked right down the middle.

Fortuna was lashed right off the top of the hill. The luck she had siphoned spilled all along the way, drifting back to its original owners piece by piece.

Catherine paused for a moment as she reeled in the Whip.

In the instant she lashed out, the scales had weighed the entire City of Seven Hills.

She looked up, glancing toward the center of the ring.

The red-haired girl pulled out her notebook, flipped it open, and closed it again.

Some accounts were not meant to be settled tonight.

Hecate walked over; she had held that torch up all night.

"You can't open it."

Richard did not turn his head.

"I know."

His ether had hit rock bottom. The Spiritual Capacity bar was empty. Within the Seat of the Sun, the leaves of the inverted tree of light folded flat against the trunk, one by one.

He now had to lean on his staff just to stay standing.

The emissary passage was a rule. The rule was recognized, but someone still had to push the door.

"I have a key here," Hecate said.

She raised her right hand.

The bronze key was slightly longer than a palm, its bit worn shiny.

Richard steadied the Caduceus and thrust it forward.

The furrow lifted up slightly.

Out in the darkness beyond the city, someone sighed.

"...Finally."

Matthew walked forward with both hands in his pockets, assessing the city as he went.

"It's built quite nicely, just too few roads."

The entity in the furrow made no sound.

Matthew walked to the center of the clearing beneath the Seven Hills and looked around.

The Goddess of the Hunt was sitting against a pillar, the spear still sticking out of her body.

The goddess of the hearth was guarding that small basin of fire, the flames now only a finger tall.

Mars knelt on the stone slabs, leaning on his bent spear. Venus leaned against a colonnade, a trail of blood tracing from the corner of her lips down her chin and onto her lapel.

Minerva sat on the steps of the highest hill, her hands folded over her knees.

Matthew suddenly spoke up.

"When outsiders hear I walk the labyrinth tradition, they always assume it's about making people lose their way."

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and drew a large circle in the air.

"A labyrinth has only one path from beginning to end."

"No matter which entrance you take, whether you turn left or turn right, you ultimately have to walk to the middle."

He lowered his hand.

"Where you're standing tonight is the middle."

"...Then what are you going to do?"

Mars looked up, his eyes terrifyingly red behind the iron mask. "Kill us all?"

"Kill you?" Matthew shot back.

He looked up, glanced deeper into the veil, and spread his hands.

"I'm not someone who likes to stir up trouble."

Heracles mumbled from the side, "That slap you threw coming in cracked someone's face open."

"That's not stirring up trouble," Matthew said righteously. "That's teaching them manners."

He took two steps forward.

"Alright, all of you head back to where you belong."

Several new paths appeared on the thoroughly overturned clearing beneath the Seven Hills.

The first was paved right to Mars's feet.

He landed in a room with three generations of amassed possessions hanging on the wall: his grandfather's short sword, his father's bracer, and the bronze badge he had brought back from his very first field mission at sixteen.

An empty box sat in the center of the room.

A person stood next to the box, holding a list—sent there to collect his belongings.

The second path was laid out for Venus.

She stood up, leaning against the colonnade. The path was lit, lined on both sides with rows and rows of seats all facing her.

When she stepped onto it, the light followed.

Wherever she walked, it lit up.

Only after walking about twenty steps did she realize that the people in every row of seats had their backs turned to her.

She spoke, and those people laughed.

She walked a bit further, and applause swelled up, carrying her forward on the sound.

The applause was for someone else.

She reached up to touch her own face and felt that crack.

The third path was laden with the smell of hearth ash.

The goddess of the hearth hugged her clay basin, the fire inside only a finger tall.

At the end of the road, a fire blazed fiercely in a stove, roasting her face even through the door.

She crouched down and tried to add her tiny pinch of fire, but the flames rejected it.

Inside the room sat two sets of knives and forks, but no one returned to eat by dawn.

There were hoof prints on the fourth path.

Diana pulled out the spear that had pierced her and stood up, clutching her ribs.

The prints were fresh, the dirt not yet dry; a deer had passed by not long ago.

She followed them for half the night. When dawn was just breaking, she looked down and clearly saw the tracks.

Hooves in front, hooves in back, lined up all the way to where she was standing.

Dogs were barking behind her, barking frantically and joyously.

It was the very pack she had raised since they were pups. She could recognize their barks with her eyes closed.

She opened her mouth to announce her name, but what came out of her throat was a deer's cry.

The fifth path was very short. Fortuna had not been able to get up after being struck down by that Whip; the wheel of fortune had cracked down the middle, its spokes scattered all over the ground.

The path was paved right in front of her, and at the end of the road there was only a table. She landed in front of the table, where two dice were set out.

She sat down, picked up the dice, and rolled them once: a one.

She rolled again: a one.

She propped both hands on the table, leaned there for a long time, and rolled again: a one.

She was the auditor for the Naples Lottery Bureau, the referee for the largest lottery in the nation.

Her favorite thing in this life was sitting in the back row of the drawing hall, watching those people tremble as they gripped their number slips.

When she rolled for the seventeenth time, she squeezed the two dice tight in her palms; when she opened her hands, they were still ones.

The final path was paved to the foot of the steps of the first hill.

Minerva stood up by herself, dusted the ash off her skirt, and leaned the Gorgon shield against the wall, refusing to let anyone support her from start to finish.

"I know the way."

She landed in the dome of the Turin Observatory, where the cabinets held all the old star catalogs of the entire peninsula.

She was the observatory director and the youngest full professor, and all the star catalogs on the peninsula fell under her jurisdiction.

She walked up to the control console, habitually reaching out to turn the crank, wanting to open the dome and look at the night sky.

The crank turned halfway, the dome opened, and the night sky was displayed in full view.

On her shoulder, however, the owl's eyes would never open again.

...

Richard sat down on a flipped-up stone slab.

Sitting down was easy, but standing up was difficult.

He tried once, but his knees refused to obey.

"Should I carry you?" the big guy leaned in.

"...No need."

"You still have stone debris in your arm." Richard leaned on his staff.

"If you carry me out of here, I'll have to visit an orthopedist tomorrow."

Heracles thought for a moment and nodded very sincerely. "That's true."

Demeter crouched by the furrow that was shedding dirt, plunged her hands into the newly turned soil, and rubbed it between her fingers.

"This soil is turned so well," she said with quite some regret.

"It's a pity it's someone else's land."

A scraping noise came from the fifth hill.

Everyone looked up to see Dionysus crouching next to the discarded clay basin, scraping the bottom over and over with the rim of his cup.

"What are you doing?"

"Collecting the bottom ash. Do you all know how much the hearth ash of Rome goes for on the market?"

"You just said yesterday you lost the money for two cups of wine."

"So I have to make up for it now."

Prometheus's puppet was kneeling on one knee nearby, its left arm drooping completely, and a gash split the right arm from the elbow down.

He stood beside the puppet, staring at it for a long time, and let out a long sigh.

"When my master sees this arm..."

"What will happen?"

"He'll make me work for free for another three years."

Hecate leaned the torch, which now had only a sliver of flame, against the stone slabs.

She had held it up all night; only now was she slowly lowering her hand.

"Everyone, stop picking things up."

"Why?" Dionysus looked up.

"Because you still have to walk out on your own two legs in a bit. Whoever picks up too much carries it themselves."

Dionysus looked down at the tiny pile of ash in his cup and very reluctantly scraped it twice more before standing up.

The voice from the furrow finally spoke up at this moment.

"...Kid."

Matthew turned around. "Senior."

"You sent them on their way."

"I sent them. Don't worry, none of them are dead."

Mars was still carrying a debt to this figure, and Minerva also knew a couple of Virtuosos; he could not be bothered to truly make things difficult for these people.

The furrow also gradually disappeared. Richard felt as if something had just walked right over him.

An old craftsman crouched down and glanced at him.

The layer of water from Perception reflected exactly what was meant to be reflected: an ordinary university student with mediocre aptitude. Nothing more.

The entity in the furrow finished reading.

"Child, you..."

"What did you read?" Richard asked.

"What I read doesn't match what I saw tonight."

The old craftsman tried to reach out and touch him again, but a path cut horizontally across.

Matthew had shifted half a step at some point, standing between the entity and Richard. He looked completely relaxed, much like standing at his own door to block a dog trying to sneak into the neighbor's vegetable garden.

"Senior, have you seen enough?"

The Virtuoso in the furrow paused. The ether field of the entire City of Seven Hills tensed, and Heracles subconsciously gripped his Great Club tighter.

The old craftsman snorted.

"...Stingy."

"I've always been stingy," Matthew said righteously.

"I came all this way from the New Continent; I can't just hand the guy over."

The entity in the furrow stopped measuring further and switched tactics.

"You have frost on you."

Richard's fingers brushed the outside of his inner pocket.

The antler rested against his ribs; he was almost getting used to it himself.

"Frozen earth, horse sweat." The voice chuckled, seemingly gratified to have finally figured something out.

"And green grass trampled to mush by tens of thousands of hooves. The one from the north gave it to you, didn't he."

Richard did not deny it.

"He rarely gives people things." The Virtuoso in the furrow also knew the lord of the hunt's miserly nature.

"Don't let the huge army he leads fool you; he calculates the cost of even a single horsehair.

For him to be willing to break off a piece of antler from his mount and give it to you, that means he thinks very highly of you."

The broken sections of the city walls began to fade, and a layer of crushed reeds floated up to the surface of the Tiber River.

"Child, you bypassed my furrow tonight. Well done."

Richard bowed slightly.

The Virtuoso extended an invitation.

"The weak points beneath the Apennine Peninsula are far older than those ruins in your Empire."

"If you ever want to see the real deal, there's no need to bring a letter of recommendation."

"Just stand at the city gates and declare: I have come to see the tablets."

"Any place that recognizes this old man will throw its doors wide open for you."

Richard stood on the fading stone path and bowed deeply and formally.

"Thank you, Senior."

"Don't thank me." The voice was already fading away. "I lost a bout tonight, I'm just trying to claw back a bit of face."

"...Senior." Matthew chimed in leisurely from the side.

"Your way of making up for it makes you seem more like a businessman than Mercury did just now."

"Shut up, kid."

The furrow leveled out.

As the final stone slab of the City of Seven Hills faded away completely, Richard felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.

The sea of stars closed in again; seven stone chairs surrounded the round table.

The moment Richard sat down, he didn't really want to get up again.

The Two-Handled Cup in Dionysus's hand now had a crack on its rim.

He poured a little wine into it, took a sip, and knitted his brows.

"...Bitter."

He poured again, but it was still bitter. He held the cup up against the light for a long time and finally sighed.

"Fine, bitter has its own flavor too. Bitter first, sweet later."

"It suits you," Demeter remarked from the side.

She sat in her chair, her sickle resting across her lap.

"How is the field?" Hecate asked.

"There won't be a harvest this year; the soil needs to be turned completely from scratch."

She spread her hands over her knees; her hands were shaking.

Nemesis made no sound; her uncle lay in front of her.

One of the man's hands hung at his side; the other hand had been pried open at some point, his palm completely filled with stone debris.

Richard braced himself against the back of his chair, stood up, walked over, and spread Still Water over the man.

After reflecting on the results, he said nothing.

"He..." Catherine looked up.

Richard shook his head.

The red-haired girl lowered her head.

She opened her mouth.

The two syllables rolled in her throat for a long time before tumbling out, hoarse and soft.

"...Don't die."

After she spoke, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and began to cough.

What she coughed up landed on the back of her hand—a small patch of dark red.

Richard crouched beside her.

"When we get back, I have a way to make him feel a bit better."

Catherine looked up and glanced at him.

"I'll remember this!" She wrote it down, tore the page out, and shoved it into his hand. It was a familiar IOU.

Hecate sat in the head seat, tucking her left hand into her sleeve.

"Let's divide the spoils."

"The Roman table is scattered; what fell from it will be split according to contribution."

"Mars's share of the Moon-Hunting inheritance goes to Nemesis."

The red-haired girl did not look up.

"The hearth fire remnants left by Vesta go to Prometheus."

"I will keep Minerva's entire set of observation results from tonight for myself."

The Golden Mask tilted over.

"For what's left, Hermes gets first pick."

Not a single person in the temple voiced any objection.

Heracles pushed his own share into the center of the table.

"I don't want it."

"You don't want it?" Dionysus's eyes went wide.

"If he hadn't given me that name tonight, I would have been skewered by that spear ages ago."

The big lummox spoke righteously, "This share goes to him."

He turned his head to look at Richard, thumping his chest so hard it echoed, then bared his teeth in pain right after.

"Call me if you ever need anything from now on; I'll be there whenever you call."

Prometheus also stepped forward.

"Starting today, Hermes's orders will hold top priority at my workshop."

Demeter said nothing.

She pulled a very small Cloth Bag from her robes and pushed it across the table.

Richard untied the bag and glanced inside; it held seeds, every single one plump and full.

"The only ones in the field this year that didn't get tainted," she said.

"I can't accept this."

"Take them." She withdrew her hand. "I still have to plow the soil; they'll just sit unused if left with me."

Hecate spoke up at this moment.

"Hermes."

Richard looked up.

"Starting tonight, I wish to establish a vice-seat at this table."

The temple fell silent.

"The vice-seat is on my right. From now on, when I am absent, you have the final say on matters at this table."

Richard pretended to think for a moment.

"Thank you, Chief, but there is no need for the time being."

"I am just a Practitioner. Although I made a small contribution tonight, I haven't reached that Rank after all."

He put away the Caduceus. "I'll just sit in my own chair."

Hecate focused on this young man.

After everything tonight, she was certainly pleased. This table was strong, far stronger than she had anticipated.

Beyond pleasure, however, came surprise and hesitation. Her probing just now had been born of that hesitation.

"...Alright."

Hermes wasn't taking the vice-seat tonight—perhaps because he felt it was useless to him—but where did he want to sit in the future?

But what was done was done. After tonight, the cohesion at this table would be elevated to an unprecedented level.

If she spoke even half a word to ruin the harmony now, not only would the atmosphere be destroyed, she wouldn't gain any benefit from it either.

So she said nothing, hooking the bronze key—now missing a tooth—back onto her waist.

Matthew's path hadn't closed yet, stretching from the sea of stars to the doors of the temple.

"Alright then." Matthew stood on the path.

"It's time for me to go, too."

Heracles stood up immediately, then doubled over in pain as soon as he rose.

"Senior!"

"What."

"Could you..."

"No," Matthew blocked him preemptively.

"I don't take disciples, and I don't mentor juniors. I'm someone who similarly only deals in transactions."

He jerked his chin toward Richard.

"I'm satisfied with the price this kid paid."

"What did he give you?" Dionysus couldn't help asking.

Matthew thought for a moment.

"A novel."

The entire table froze in disbelief.

"...What?"

"A novel," Matthew said casually.

"Plus an urban legend digest every two months, and a Christmas postcard."

Heracles's jaw dropped, and he couldn't close it for a long time.

"Just that?"

"Just that."

The big guy turned his head, looking at Richard with entirely new eyes.

"...Is this how you Scholars negotiate prices?"

Richard didn't take the bait.

Matthew turned to leave, only to discover something walking toward him from the other end of his path.

It didn't walk quickly, and its paws made absolutely no sound against the path.

It was a pitch-black cat, gleaming all over, wearing a red ribbon around its neck, with eyes like molten gold.

Hecate stood up, completely paralyzed.

The black cat didn't look at her; it walked all the way to Matthew's feet.

"...Come home for dinner."

That woman's smoky voice came out of the cat's mouth and landed squarely in everyone's hearts.

Matthew didn't move, but the carefree smile on his face slowly faded.

"...Teacher."

"The soup is getting cold."

"I'll head back right now."

Only then did the black cat turn its head and glance toward the head seat.

Hecate stood there, hands shrunk into her sleeves, unable to utter a single word.

A figure was standing in the shadows along the outermost edge of the temple, entirely unnoticed by anyone.

That person had been standing there ever since the gathering broke up, having not said a single word.

The black cat walked in that direction.

"Hey, hand over what you tossed out tonight."

Richard saw it in his own reflection of Still Water.

When the City of Seven Hills dispersed, the eye that the other party had deliberately tossed out to tempt him hadn't dispersed with it.

"No."

This heavily bundled person spoke up for the first time. The voice did not sound human, layered with heavy echoes.

"What falls to the ground belongs to the one who picks it up."

"It didn't fall to the ground." The cat's fur bristled immediately. "It was plucked right off someone's forehead."

"Since it was plucked, it's mine."

"It looked at someone tonight."

That Major Adept of the Abyss Tradition made no move.

"So what?"

"Someone won't be able to sleep soundly at night."

Richard realized then: Madam Marie wasn't here tonight to watch her student; she was purely here to collect items.

Heracles scooted backward. Dionysus hugged his cracked cup to his chest, and Prometheus's mass of red gold flame shrank into a single dot.

Hecate stood completely still in front of the head seat.

"...Come." The black cat took a step forward.

The exchange between the two was very brief. As that figure stood there, the mirror of Madam Marie only reflected a well.

The well surged upwards, struck the mirror's surface, and was bounced right back just as it was, and the other party retreated.

The movements of these two were incredibly practiced, so practiced that it reminded Richard of sparring with Montagu in the training room.

With the two of them, whoever raised a hand and in which direction the other needed to yield—they knew it with their eyes closed.

It was just that he and Montagu had trained together for six months.

As for how many years these two had sparred, he couldn't even imagine.

Matthew stood on the path, watching in silence.

After that fleeting clash, the heavily bundled figure sighed and began to dissipate.

Before completely dispersing, she pointed at Richard, then pointed at herself.

"What does that mean?" Heracles asked, gripping the table.

"It means, 'I've remembered you.'" The black cat picked up the eye in its jaws.

The moment it was picked up, Richard felt the entire sea of stars become clean.

The black cat walked over to Matthew, carrying the eyeball.

"Let's go."

"Coming, coming."

Matthew followed along.

"We're dispersing, too."

After Hecate said this, the sea of stars began to retract upwards.

Richard closed his eyes and began to count.

One, before him was the furrow that had been lifted an inch.

Two, was Mars kneeling before the empty box.

Three, the owl whose eyes closed and never opened again.

Four, five... a cup of bitter wine, and a sickle that had severed its own field.

Six, the IOU the girl shoved into his hand.

Seven... Richard was jolted awake by the sound of his own breathing.

A sliver of space remained between the curtains; the sky had not yet brightened.

[Spiritual Capacity 0/20.]

Richard raised his hand. The Reed Pen was still in his palm, its shaft completely cold.

...

Richard pushed the door open and went in; Mortimer was sitting in his old armchair.

A bronze basin rested on his lap, but the water's surface was entirely blank.

The chipped teacup sat there, the tea dregs dried to the bottom.

"Professor."

Richard took two steps closer and finally noticed the dark circles under those half-open, half-closed eyes.

"...You're back," the old professor said.

"I'm back."

"Where is the pen?"

Richard pulled out the Reed Pen and handed it over with both hands.

Mortimer took it, looked at it for a while, and only then nodded and put it away.

The old professor asked nothing, merely placing the wrapped pen into a drawer and locking it.

"Give me a hand."

Richard walked over and offered his arm, and the two of them carefully made their way downstairs step by step.

Reaching the landing on the second floor, he paused to catch his breath.

"Professor, did your reflection show anything last night?" Richard asked in passing.

"Hmm. Last night I saw some kid haul a seven-pound bass out of the canal."

The two reached the ground floor; a carriage was waiting on the sycamore-lined avenue.

Richard pulled the carriage door open and helped him inside.

The old professor settled into his seat.

"You don't need to come copy books today."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow either."

The old professor pulled his hat down further.

"You don't have to take makeup exams, kid. Get some good rest over the summer break; you won't have this much free time next semester."

"Are you going to assign me tasks?"

"Heh... go ask your aunt."

The curtains dropped, and the carriage left.

After seeing the professor off, Richard walked to his aunt's dorm with a bit of confusion and fished out his key.

The key had been given to him last autumn. Richard hadn't used it since, and he figured his aunt had probably forgotten about it herself.

He inserted the key and turned it halfway; when the door opened, the lights inside were still on.

Someone was slumped over the desk.

Isabella had one arm pressed against a stack of test papers, while her other hand still rested on the edge of a small bronze plate.

A red pen had slipped from between her fingers and rolled to the edge of the desk, hanging there without dropping.

A glass sat on the corner of the desk. When Richard stepped closer, he caught a whiff of it—it was actually wine.

"The mentor refused to go back to bed."

A familiar, cool female voice echoed through the room.

Richard turned around to see Clara sitting in the chair by the window, an open book resting in her lap.

"Senior..."

"Shh!"

Clara stood up and gently placed her book on the windowsill.

"She hasn't moved from that chair since yesterday afternoon."

"When I came over at seven, she had already finished grading the exams, so the mentor pulled out a stack from last year to grade all over again."

"Why grade last year's?"

"Looking for something to do."

Clara walked over to the desk and nudged the wine glass aside a bit.

"I urged her to go to sleep at ten o'clock, but she said she wasn't tired."

"I urged her again at midnight, but she said she was waiting for you to come back."

Richard stood there, not knowing what to say.

"Give me a hand, let's help her to bed," Clara said.

They took one side each; Richard supported her shoulders while Clara lifted their mentor's legs.

His aunt was even lighter than Richard had thought. As they lifted her, the hair clinging to her face slipped down.

Isabella groggily opened her eyes, first seeing the familiar ceiling.

Then she turned her head and saw her nephew.

Her eyes settled on his face, shifting from surprise back to that soft, alcohol-induced exhaustion.

Isabella didn't struggle; she even rested her head more heavily against Richard's arm.

"...You're back."

"Yeah."

She closed her eyes and mumbled again.

"...Third declension... ablative singular... that batch ending in 'i'..."

"We know," Clara sighed helplessly.

"Don't think I'm asleep... I am very awake," his aunt kept rambling.

The two of them hauled her onto the bed. Clara took off her shoes and socks for her, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.

Richard switched off the desk lamp, leaving the room illuminated only by the faint light from the window.

He walked over to the desk, picked up the wine glass, and examined it.

"That's the bottle I sent back from my field mission earlier this year," Clara glanced at him. "She hadn't opened it until last night."

It was seven-forty. Richard and Clara came out of the dining hall, each carrying a tray.

Four bowls of oatmeal, four portions of bread, a small dish of pickles, and a jug of fresh milk.

When they entered the faculty dormitory building, they ran right into a girl jogging over from the other end of the corridor.

She had long light blonde hair and was clutching a paper bag to her chest, her two braids bouncing behind her as she ran.

"Richard! Clara!"

"Keep your voice down," Clara said.

Sophia instantly lowered her voice.

"...Is the mentor still asleep?"

"Still asleep."

"Last night she..."

"Was slumped over her desk until two."

Sophia gasped softly and hitched the paper bag up in her arms.

"I bought new candy for the mentor today."

She tore off a corner of the bag to show them: a whole tin of toffee and a small bag of hard candies, with irises printed on the wrappers.

"From that shop in the West District of the Imperial Capital. I waited in line for twenty minutes."

"You can still buy these this year?" Richard was a little surprised.

"They seem to have improved the recipe. I heard it's not as sweet as it used to be."

The three of them walked down the hall, opened the dorm door a crack, and peeked inside carefully; the person in bed was still sleeping.

Clara placed her tray on the desk and set the bowls out one by one.

Sophia placed the tin of candy on the most conspicuous corner of the desk. After placing it, she nudged it left so it would be right within reach the moment their mentor sat in the chair.

The three of them just sat there in silence, looking at each other, waiting on empty stomachs.

At exactly eight o'clock, a soft groan came from the bed.

Isabella lay perfectly still for about ten seconds before suddenly shooting up to a sitting position.

Her head buzzed as she sat up, and she leaned against the edge of the bed to recover for a long while.

She looked down at herself... she was in the same clothes as yesterday. Her shoes were neatly arranged by the bed, with the tips of both shoes pointing outward.

She would never arrange them with the tips pointing outward herself.

She looked up; the three people sitting at the desk were all staring at her.

"..."

Isabella's face slowly flushed red.

"Morning, mentor," Sophia said.

"...You guys."

"The oatmeal is still hot," Clara said.

"...When did you get here?"

"I got here at seven." Sophia blinked. "Clara has been here since last night."

Isabella noticed the cup sitting washed and upside-down on the windowsill.

"I didn't drink that much!"

"You only had a tiny sip."

"...Right, a tiny sip!"

"The rest of that sip is in your stomach," Clara said.

Sophia let out a snort of laughter, covering her mouth halfway through.

Isabella turned to glare at her.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I wasn't laughing."

"You laughed."

"I was thinking about something."

The other two very properly lowered their heads to eat their oatmeal.

After washing up, Isabella picked up her bowl of oatmeal, took a spoonful, and stealthily appraised her nephew while she ate.

Richard knew what his aunt was looking for.

"Everything is taken care of," he volunteered.

"Is it clean?"

"It is."

Isabella took another bite of oatmeal.

"Then continue to Room 314 this afternoon."

"To do what?"

"To do problems. You still owe me two questions from last month's assignment."

"...Auntie."

"If you dare to say you're tired..."

"I'll do them."

"That's more like it."

Sophia was gloating from the sidelines, right up until she was called out mid-laugh.

"Sophia."

"...Here."

"Go fetch the summer fieldwork list from the department office."

"Why?"

"I'm crossing your name off it."

"Mentor!"

The quiet laughter inside spilled out, washing into the corridor.

Halfway through her meal, Isabella suddenly remembered something.

She put down her bowl, pulled a document from her desk, and pushed it across to him.

Richard opened it.

'Notice of Academic Review Results for the First Year of Preparatory Studies'.

He scanned the column below: general courses, specialized courses, additional topics, and Associate Professor Croft's folklore class that no one wanted to take.

The bottommost line read:

'Upon review by the department council, the student has earned all required credits for the preparatory stage with outstanding academic performance. The student is approved to apply for early completion and will advance directly to the undergraduate program for the autumn semester.'

Richard looked up.

"It came down last week," Isabella said.

"I sat on it for a week because I knew you were busy with other things these past few days."

She picked up her bowl again.

"Now you aren't busy."

Sophia practically sprang up from her chair.

"Early completion?!"

"Sit down."

"Mentor, this is... the first one in years, right?"

"There was one the year before last," Clara said.

"That one transferred to the School of Theology, so it doesn't count." Sophia insisted firmly, "This is the very first one."

She turned her head to look at Richard, her eyes terrifyingly bright.

"So this autumn, you'll be taking classes directly with the undergrads?"

"...I suppose so."

"Then you're doomed." Sophia gleefully resumed her gloating.

"In the first undergraduate year, you have to write empirical drafts for Inscriptiology, and you have to memorize the entire annotated textbook for Ritual Language.

Then there's Associate Professor Greer's Industry and Weak Points—a third of the class failed it last year."

"I know."

"You do not," Isabella said.

Richard looked up.

"It is far harder than preparatory studies, and you still have to keep taking Croft's class."

"...Why?"

"Because last week, he was talking to people in the department office about your booklet."

Isabella took a bite of oatmeal.

"I told him. Weren't you looking for co-signers for that booklet recently?

"Several of us associate professors signing our names together should help you share some of the heat."

Richard folded the document back up, slipped it into his inner pocket, picked up his bowl, and finished his remaining half portion of oatmeal.

"We'll sign next Monday," Isabella said.

"I've already informed the academic affairs office."

"Okay."

"Once you sign it, we'll go home."

Richard looked up.

"My sister has been waiting for you to go back all week."

After saying this, she reached out and pulled the tin of candy closer.

She opened it, shook one out, peeled off the wrapper, and popped it into her mouth.

"...The taste has changed a bit, but it's not bad."

"Mentor," Sophia said.

"What is it?"

"You haven't finished your breakfast yet."

"I know."

"Then why are you eating candy first?"

Isabella pulled out another one and popped it into her mouth.

"Because I'm happy today."