Chapter 321 - 252: Sweet Aftertaste

"Alright," Croft said, picking up his cup.

"The seminar is about to have its final assessment. How you proceed from here... you all need to think about that for yourselves."

Grier was the first to stand.

The bearded man picked up his jacket.

"Old Ke, next time you make tea, use half the leaves. I might actually be able to drink it then."

"If you want weak tea, go to a teahouse outside," Croft said with a wave.

"In my office, there’s only one strength."

Grier laughed, nodded at the students, and strode out.

The moment he left, the room instantly felt twice as spacious.

Isabella stood up as well, screwed the lid on her thermos, and pushed the door open to leave.

Edith was the last to stand. She gave Croft a slight bow before turning and walking out the door.

Only Richard and Croft were left in the room.

Croft poured himself another cup of bitter tea.

"Sit. Finish your tea before you go."

Richard sat back down.

The two faced each other, neither speaking first.

Outside the window, the old sycamore trees rustled in the twilight.

Croft took a sip of tea.

"Let me tell you something, so you don’t think I’m deliberately targeting you."

Richard looked up.

"My family ran a general store in a small town up North. You could say we were small-time merchants, barely."

Croft spoke slowly.

"My family supported me all the way through university on the capital my father saved up his whole life."

"The year I was accepted into Imperial University, that capital was pretty much all gone."

Richard listened without a word.

"Things were very difficult for me after that."

Croft smiled.

"My father wanted me to study law. He thought it was the most promising field.

But then I was tested and found to have a circuit, so I changed my mind and transferred to the Classics Department."

"Because of that, my father didn’t speak to me for three whole years."

Richard glanced at him.

"During my graduate studies, I had two mentors."

Croft continued.

"The first was an old-school historian. I stuck with him until I got my doctorate.

The second was a Minor Master of Epigraphy. By then, I had already crossed the Practitioner’s threshold, and I studied under him because I wanted to advance further."

"I was stuck before the threshold of Minor Mastery for seven years."

"Seven years?"

"Seven years." Croft took another sip of the bitter tea.

"I failed my first Oath Ceremony. I only passed on the second attempt."

Richard looked at the man’s graying hair.

’Failing the first Oath... according to what my aunt told me later, a part of your spirit is wasted from your signature Marvel. That’s a devastating blow to one’s core vitality.’

"By all rights, I shouldn’t have been able to advance any further."

Croft steadied his teacup. "After that first failure, I couldn’t even get out of bed for two whole years."

"My Mentor covered for me."

"Covered for you how?" Richard asked quickly, his thoughts turning to his Mother’s situation.

"He used his own surplus to patch up my half-crippled signature."

"Only then was I able to make a second attempt."

"...And that Mentor?"

"He passed away," Croft said, his voice flat.

"He took on the remaining debt from that time for me. He never recovered after that, and didn’t live to see me become an associate professor."

A few footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the classroom, then faded into the distance.

Richard gripped the cup of bitter tea, still unfinished, and said nothing.

"I had no one to lift me up."

Croft stared at Richard.

"After my Mentor passed away, I endured on my own, clawing my way up to associate professor in the Classics Department.

The doors to anything higher are forever closed to me."

"Folklore, as a field, is the least respected in the academy."

He glanced out the window at the sycamore trees.

"I teach folklore because no other department would let me teach."

Hearing this, Richard understood why Croft had taught all the classes himself during the first week.

"I’ve been teaching for over a decade," Croft said, shaking his head.

"Every year I lead seminars, every year I teach preparatory courses.

Quite a few students have passed through my hands, and about half of them were children of noble families who were recommended in."

"I have little interest in those young masters and misses."

He took a sip of tea.

"Because whether they do well or poorly, they’ll always have someone to bail them out."

"If they study well, someone will pave the way for them.

If they study poorly, someone will still pave the way for them."

"But when I see some who work hard on their own, and who also have potential..." Croft stared at him. "I will use my own methods to help them."

’So that’s why he was finding fault with me in the first week, and why he called Edith and me here for this private session.’

"Williams." Croft set his teacup down.

"Your ability and your effort—I’ve seen it all these past few days.

You truly deserve the position you’re in, and you’ve done right by the person who has been lifting you up from behind."

"Keep striving forward. Perhaps your starting point is my ceiling."

Richard nodded and finished the rest of the bitter tea in his cup.

It was certainly bitter.

But beneath the bitterness, a faint, sweet aftertaste began to rise.