Surrounded by Beautiful Girls

"It's not a note, it's study material," Richard corrected.

"Study material?" Mason picked up a piece of potato and popped it into his mouth. "How many sentences has she said to you? In total?"

"Before today, probably... less than ten sentences."

"Ten sentences of acquaintance and she's already hand-copying study material for you?"

"It just means she's helpful and kind."

Mason rolled his eyes and turned to look at Warren. "Do you believe him?"

Warren cut his steak into small pieces and said slowly, "I choose to believe Williams."

"You believe a—"

"But I also believe it's possible for a girl to have a crush on him," Warren said, forking the meat into his mouth. "Those two things aren't mutually exclusive."

Gray was eating quietly nearby, her fork scraping against her plate with a faint, sharp sound.

"What are you guys talking about?" Her tone was no different from usual.

"Talking about the miserable life of Williams, surrounded by beautiful girls," Mason chuckled.

"Oh," Gray replied coldly, the force with which she cut her steak increasing slightly.

Hugh sat on the other side of Richard, having remained silent throughout the discussion.

He stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth, brushed the crumbs off his clothes, and whispered:

"Richard, you really are a freak of nature."

"What's wrong?"

"A month ago you were a nobody in class, and now you're the center of every rumor. Did this script skip a few chapters?"

"You should be happy. I'm famous, so you're basking in my reflected glory."

"What glory? No beautiful girl is passing me notes."

"There will be."

"Don't try to comfort me." Hugh downed the hot tea in his cup in one gulp, with the bravado of someone who had given up on everything.

At the other end of the dining hall, Lillian sat in her usual spot by the window.

In front of her was the standard meal of thin soup and bread. She was eating with her head down, her gaze not drifting toward the center area.

But the girl's ears were pricked up.

Mason's comment about being "surrounded by beautiful girls" hadn't been delivered at a very controlled volume.

Lillian set her spoon against the edge of the bowl, her lips pressed tightly together.

The note she had given him was just study material; her intentions were purely innocent.

Mr. West's suggestion on the day of the trial lecture had been correct, and she had happened to find the corresponding reference passage, so she just thought she would pass it along to a classmate.

After all, Richard was going to participate in the Cicero Cup, so it was only right for her to offer some help.

That was all.

That was all it was.

She stirred the soup in her bowl vigorously; this time, the soup was still hot.

The days pushed forward, one by one.

Classes during the day, tutoring at lunch, and spending time in the library whenever there was an opening in the afternoon.

Evenings were spent doing homework and deciphering new books, followed by fifteen minutes of Breathing Technique practice before bed.

The numbers on the panel were the most faithful progress bar.

[Breathing] Lv.2 EXP: 40/500

[Scholarship] Lv.1 EXP: 199/200

Breathing was advancing steadily thanks to the practice bonuses, and Scholarship was also about to hit its ceiling.

On Friday morning during geography class, Richard sat in the classroom listening to the teacher explain the ocean current distribution along the east coast of the Albion Empire.

His brain was already capable of skillfully operating on two threads:

One followed the teacher's explanation, automatically mapping the names and directions of the currents onto the coastline map he had memorized earlier;

The other silently digested the content he had restored from another steganographic text the night before.

That book discussed the classification of mineral media, which had no direct connection to the Breathing Technique, but it was helpful for understanding the sealing mechanisms of transcendent items.

The circle-enclosing-a-triangle on the base of the Sphinx Oil Lamp, with short lines extending from the sides of the triangle, matched a standard sealing symbol described in the book perfectly.

Knowledge was building bridges in his mind, and the bridge deck was growing wider and wider.

The panel flickered.

[Scholarship] Lv.2 EXP: 0/500

The change arrived more quietly than when his Breathing Technique leveled up.

There was no rush of heat, no vibration in his chest.

But the moment Scholarship jumped to Lv.2, he felt as if someone had adjusted the contrast in his brain.

The names of ocean currents written by the teacher on the blackboard became sharper, and his information processing speed increased.

As a concept entered his mind, related old knowledge automatically lined up, and the connections between the new and the old were highlighted.

If Lv.1 had been upgrading a search engine from dial-up to broadband, Lv.2 was like replacing that broadband with fiber optics.

His absorption speed for basic knowledge across multiple languages and academic disciplines had improved once again.

There were improvements in depth as well; while it didn't quite match the effects of Reasoning, he at least wouldn't hit a wall so quickly when tackling difficult material.

The most direct benefit was this: his speed at deciphering steganographic text would increase once more.

The workload that previously took three days to complete could now be finished in a single night.

When the bell rang for the end of class, Richard closed his textbook, his plan for the evening already set in his mind.

That night, after the whole family had gone to sleep, Richard clicked on his desk lamp and began to work.

The window remained cracked open as usual, and the cold wind snaked through the gap, causing the corners of the papers on his desk to curl slightly.

Spread out before him was another book he had retrieved from the third-floor bookshelf.

This was the third candidate he had selected, which he hadn't had enough time to examine closely before.

With From Temple to Podium, gifted by Mr. Holland, serving as a reference tool, combined with the experience gained from the previous two deciphering sessions and the boost from Scholarship Lv.2, his progress was much faster this time.

He had already mastered the substitution patterns for religious terminology, and the paths for tracing etymologies were becoming shorter.

Obscure roots that previously required flipping through an etymology manual for half a day could now be retrieved directly from his mind.

Two hours later, the encrypted passages in the new book's appendix were fully restored.

The content was supplementary information for the Breathing Technique, including answers to several common questions and precautions for advanced practice.

One point caught his attention:

"When a practitioner is able to stably perceive warmth in their chest while holding their breath, and that warmth persists longer than the duration of the breath-hold itself (i.e., it remains during exhalation), it indicates that Aether retention has begun to form a stable micro-circulation. This is the first milestone of the introductory Breathing Technique."

He recalled his own practice sensations from the past few days.

The warmth in his chest had indeed become more pronounced with each session, but it had not yet extended into the exhalation phase.

He was still some distance from the first milestone, but he was heading in the right direction.

Richard folded the translated manuscript, locked it in his drawer, and turned off the desk lamp.

He lay in bed for a while and performed his final set of Breathing Technique exercises, causing the numbers to jump a notch.

[Breathing] Lv.2 EXP: 49/500

Lv.3 was getting closer and closer.

On Saturday morning, Richard went out alone.

His reason was the same as last time: taking a walk, looking around.

Evelyn did not come along this time; she had to stay home to help her mother with chores.

Before he left, she specifically cautioned him at the top of the stairs: "Don't go touching people's old lamps!"

"Got it."

"And don't go sitting in people's cars again!"

"...Got it."

At the alleyway around the corner of Grafton Street, the wooden sign for Clement Antiques was still hanging in its original spot.

There was a fresh bird dropping on the copper kettle emblem, likely the work of a nearby pigeon.

As he entered, the brass bell gave a ding, and the old man looked up from behind the counter.

Seeing it was Richard, he let out an "Oh" and lowered his head again.

"The lamp is still here."

"I know, I'm just here to take a look."

"Looking is fine, just don't go touching things."

Richard headed straight for the Sphinx Oil Lamp.

The lamp was still on the shelf, its position unchanged, and the patina on its surface remained the same.

He reached out, took the lamp down, and sat on the chair nearby.

The panel flickered.

[Available Points: 0.11]

He began to cover the lamp body with both hands, waiting for the numbers to grow.

0.12... 0.13... The speed was even slower than last time.

Last time it was about 0.01 per minute; now, three minutes had passed and it had only gone up by 0.01.

Richard changed his posture, resting the lamp body on his knees and covering the wing section with his palms, which was the area where the dark red rust was most concentrated.

0.14... Another long wait.

Five minutes passed before the number crawled to 0.15.

At this rate, he wouldn't even absorb 0.5 if he sat here for an entire day.

What was worse, this antique shop was not his living room.

The old man poked his head out from behind the counter again.

He watched Richard sitting in the corner clutching the lamp, his hands covering it tightly as if he were performing CPR on a copper cat.

"Young man."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Feeling the inscriptions." Richard spouted nonsense without changing his expression.

"You don't need to cover it with your hands to feel the inscriptions." The old man was getting a bit impatient:

"Your palms will sweat, and sweat contacting the copper surface will accelerate the corrosion. The rust on the wings of this lamp is already unstable."

"Sorry."

Richard placed the lamp back on the shelf.

0.15, he had only absorbed 0.15.

He did the math in his head.

To absorb everything inside the lamp at the current speed, he would need to come to the shop over a dozen times, staying for several hours each visit.

...Just handling it that much would probably polish the lamp into a patina.

Not to mention whether the old man would kick him out, the time investment alone wasn't worth it.

He decided to change his approach:

"Mr. Clement, does the shop have any other items from the Eastern Continent?"