Keeping a Kept Man

Mother draped the dishcloth over her shoulder, walked over, and touched Richard's forehead.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet."

"I left some in the pot for you; the soup is warm, and the bread is on the rack."

"Thanks, Mom."

He went to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of soup and some bread, then sat at the dining table to eat.

Evelyn sat opposite him, elbows propped on the table, staring at him with the posture of someone interrogating a prisoner.

"So, who is that female classmate?"

"Gray, she's in my class."

"Gray? What Gray? What's her full name?"

"Irene Gray."

The girl searched her mind for a few seconds, her lips moving as if silently repeating some information.

"Gray... the Gray family from the South District?"

"Probably."

"Brother!" Evelyn's palm slapped the tabletop, causing the liquid in the soup bowl to ripple.

She leaned forward, carrying a sense of urgency as if something terrible had happened:

"You aren't being... kept by her, are you?"

The soup in Richard's mouth nearly sprayed out.

"What kind of extracurricular books do you usually read?"

"In the books I read, the plot of a poor boy being picked up by a rich young lady in a luxury carriage happens in eight out of ten!"

"And the other two?"

"The other two are about being picked up by a wealthy socialite."

"..."

Father folded his newspaper, placed it on the table, and stood up.

He walked to the kitchen to pour a glass of water, pausing as he passed the dining table.

"Get some rest after you finish eating," he said to Richard, his tone casual.

But after taking two steps, he stopped, and with his back to the siblings, added:

"Making friends is a good thing, but keep a sense of propriety in mind."

With that, he went upstairs.

Evelyn watched their father's retreating back, then turned her head and pursed her lips at Richard.

"Did you hear that? Even Dad said so."

"I heard it." Richard finished the soup and used the bread to wipe the bottom of the bowl clean:

"A classmate just gave me a ride, you two are being way too nervous."

He stood up to clear the dishes, and as he passed Evelyn, he pulled the paper parcel from his pocket and set it on the table.

"Scones from Gray, do you want to try one?"

Evelyn looked down at the parcel, hesitating for about half a second before her curiosity got the better of her.

After opening the parcel, a sweet aroma wafted out; the scones were baked to a golden, fluffy perfection, with ingredients several grades higher than what she made in her home economics class.

She took a bite, her expression becoming even more conflicted: "...It really is delicious."

"Not as good as what you make," Richard teased from the side.

"You don't need to tell me that!" Evelyn blushed and elbowed him.

That night, Richard waited until all the lights downstairs were extinguished before drawing the curtains and turning on his desk lamp.

Having learned his lesson from his sister bursting in last time, he faced the door this time, making it easy to listen for any movement outside.

He transcribed the two pages of handwritten content he had seen in the library from memory.

The memory enhancement from [Scholarship] made this task effortless; every Latin word was crystal clear.

After finishing the transcription, he compared it and performed a translation.

The steps for the Breathing Technique were not complex, with only three core elements: rhythm, visualization, and anchor.

The first step: find your own heartbeat.

Press your fingertips against the artery on the side of your neck or the inside of your wrist, counting your pulse silently until you can clearly perceive the rhythm of your heartbeat without touching your skin.

From then on, all counting was to be done in units of heartbeats rather than clock time; the text emphasized this point specifically:

"Clocks are external objects; the heartbeat is the self. The foundation of the Golden Path lies in seeking within; all rhythms must arise from oneself."

The second step is to enter "Quadruple Breathing."

Inhale for four beats, hold for four beats, exhale for four beats, then hold for four beats to complete a full cycle.

The four stages are equal in length and symmetrical, like the four sides of a square.

Neither rushed nor sluggish, neither biased nor partial, there is no distinction in weight between the four beats. Like the two sides of a scale, this is the reason it is called the "Golden Path."

In alchemy, gold does not refer to the metal itself, but to the state where all things reach equilibrium: Aurum Philosophicum, the Philosopher's Gold.

With the four stages of breathing divided evenly, the practitioner's body and spirit tend toward harmony within the rhythm, and Aether naturally deposits within this harmony without the need for forced extraction.

The third step is to incorporate visualization during each hold.

During the first hold, focus your attention on the area directly behind the sternum, between the two lungs.

The text refers to this as the "Seat of the Sun," written in Latin as Sedes Solis.

That is where the "inner sun" of the Hermes tradition resides, and it is also the place where Aether is most easily captured.

The text specifically reminds the reader that visualization does not require seeing anything; there is no need for actual sensations of light or heat.

As time accumulates, the invisible will become visible.

He put away the translated manuscript and sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed.

Air entered through his nasal cavity, passed through the tracheal bifurcation, and filled both lung lobes.

The bonus from [Breathing Lv.2] made this process smoother than it was for an average person; airway resistance was low, and the alveoli expanded more fully.

Hold. He sank his attention completely behind his sternum; this was the hardest part.

"Focusing attention on a position that cannot be seen or touched" sounds simple, but it is extremely easy to get distracted while doing it.

Various stray thoughts popped into his head: tomorrow's class, the Cicero Cup, Gray's car, Evelyn's outrageous speculations... He pushed the distractions down and re-anchored himself.

Hold, one and a half seconds passed.

Exhale... one, two, the breath was pushed out of his lungs at a steady speed, controlled so it wouldn't be too rushed.

The first complete cycle ended, and he felt nothing.

He continued with the second, third, and fourth.

By the fifth cycle, there was an extremely faint warmth deep in his chest.

It was even fainter than the time his breathing leveled up, so faint that he could barely distinguish whether it was a real sensation or a psychological suggestion.

But the panel flickered.

[Breathing] EXP: +2 (Practice Bonus)

The experience points jumped by two, rising from the single digits they were at before.

He made a comparison in his mind.

During normal breathing, the experience gained each time was almost negligible, requiring tens of thousands of breaths to accumulate.

Breathing in a state of practice gained two points in just a few cycles; the difference in efficiency was not even on the same order of magnitude.

If he persisted with the Breathing Technique practice every day, the arrival of Lv.3 would be significantly accelerated.

He controlled his inner excitement and finished the day's practice.

The numbers on the panel glowed quietly.

[Breathing] Lv.2 EXP: 21/500

A single session of practice had gained nearly ten points, even more than he had estimated.

At this rate, it was possible to reach Lv.3 in about two months.

Lv.3 Breathing: Healing would bring another qualitative change, leading to an all-around improvement.

He turned off the desk lamp and lay down on the bed.

Cold air poured in through the window gap, causing the edges of the curtains to flutter slightly.

He didn't close the window; the air tonight seemed exceptionally sweet.

The rhythm of his subsequent campus life was much the same as before, but his interpersonal relationships had undergone some subtle shifts.

First was Gray.

After that "ride home" on Wednesday night, her seat during lunch tutoring moved from beside Warren to beside Richard.

The distance closed by several spots, and her notebook moved from her lap to the table.

Then there was Lillian.

In the morning, Lillian stopped when she brushed past Richard in the hallway.

"Williams."

"Hm?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

After a silence of about two seconds, she pulled a sheet of paper from under the textbook in her hand and handed it over.

"That suggestion Mr. West gave you last week.

I found an original passage from Cicero's In Defense of Murena that has a structure similar to the one you used, so you can use it as a reference."

The paper was inscribed with a paragraph of Latin, with stress marks and pauses noted in the margins; the notes were meticulous.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Lillian hugged her textbook tighter, turned, and walked away with quick steps, her braids swaying behind her shoulders.

Richard looked down at the paper; the handwriting was completely different from the ornate script Gray had been trained in since childhood:

Lillian's writing was small and dense, like it had been typed out, with every letter sitting neatly within the lines.

This incident was seen by people in the class.

By lunchtime, the news had already completed a round of circulation: Lillian had passed a little note to Richard.