"Probably."
"I drew De Amicitia, thank goodness."
He let out a long breath and slipped the card into his pocket. "What's your name?"
"Richard Williams, Greenwood School in Briston."
"Simon Haynes, King Edward School in Broom."
He held out his hand. His grip was not strong, but it was sincere. "I'm from out of town too. The train took two and a half hours."
"Mine took over three."
"Then you've got it worse." Simon asked tentatively, "What class?"
"Third class."
"Me too." Once he had confirmed it, he seemed to relax all at once.
"I just saw Montague's carriage. The carriage alone is probably worth more than my house."
"Very likely."
"The world is so unfair." After saying that, Simon quickly adjusted his attitude again.
"But fair or not, once we're onstage, we're all reciting the same thing."
He pulled out his card again. "I'll go over it twice more. Good luck."
"You too."
Richard did not look at his shorthand notebook again, nor did he close his eyes and recite silently.
He closed his eyes and adjusted his breathing rhythm.
Inhale for four beats, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four.
The mural seal suppressed the Aether field, but the rhythm of Quadruple Breathing itself did not rely on Aether.
It was rhythm, a framework, an anchor that could bring him back to his best state in any environment.
The first round began promptly at half past nine.
The host was a tall old man with white hair.
He wore the formal robes of the Classical Society, with a gold laurel brooch pinned to his chest.
Standing at the podium, the old man read out the rules: contestants would take the stage in order of their draw numbers, with five minutes each. Going over time would