Chapter 302: Still Growing

The next day, Richard had barely taken his seat in the classroom when Catherine walked over.

She had been yawning through all her classes, and the dark circles under her eyes were even heavier than yesterday.

"Here."

She dropped a rolled-up bundle onto his desk.

It was a manuscript, folded neatly, the ink at the corners still slightly damp.

Richard unrolled it and took a look.

It was densely covered in branch-carved script. Beneath each cluster of runes, tiny Latin letters provided the transliteration and usage.

Flipping further back revealed several ancient Celtic incantations, complete with a full set of ritual steps.

Dualistic structures, the two-sided writing of true names, the exact sequence of turns in a sacrificial rite—seven clockwise, three counterclockwise, then one clockwise again...

With the weak points north of the frontline Highlands going dark one by one, this kind of knowledge was impossible to buy at any price.

"What's this for?" Richard looked up.

"Professor McPhee gave it to me yesterday," Catherine said, her words coming fast.

"Translations of the branch-carved script from the ancient battlefields, standing stones, and holy wells north of the Highlands... along with a few incantations and ritual case studies."

So that was why Professor McPhee had called her away from the Compilation Group yesterday.

The scroll in Catherine's hands... was likely from the professor's private collection.

Richard suddenly remembered the Q&A session in the auditorium during their orientation.

Professor McPhee had indeed said that Highlanders had a hard time away from home, and that they should come to him if they needed anything.

Looking at it now, that hadn't been polite talk.

Highlanders were a marginalized group within the Empire.

A girl managing to step into this top-tier academy purely on her own merits was rarer still.

Professor McPhee genuinely wanted to give Catherine a hand.

"Catherine." Richard pushed the parchment scroll back toward her.

"I can't take this."

"Why?" Catherine's face stiffened.

"The professor gave this to you," Richard said, watching her.

"Highland knowledge belongs with Highlanders. It's not right for me to take it."

Catherine's gaze lingered on the parchment for a long moment.

"...I didn't touch the original," she said softly.

"The original?"

"I kept the original the professor gave me," Catherine explained.

"I copied this scroll myself last night."

Richard understood then.

The department's photocopier was restricted to lecturers and above; students had to copy things by hand.

The red-haired girl's brows were slightly furrowed, as if she were wrestling with something.

"If you don't take it, I'll feel awful having this debt hanging over me."

The mask was gnawing at her.

Even owing someone a minor favor created an imbalance—an unsettled account that drove her to repay it.

Even if the exchange was awkward and unnecessary.

Richard slowly pulled the parchment back.

"...Thanks."

Catherine nodded, letting out a long breath.

She turned to leave.

"Catherine," Richard called out, stopping her.

The red-haired girl looked back.

Watching her, Richard wanted to say something.

But the words reached his lips and he swallowed them back.

Bring up the mask? Bring up that line—"You are being devoured by that name"?

There was no right way to say it.

Catherine looked at him too.

"...I don't want to be like this either," she added in a low voice.

"Don't buy me meat pies anymore," Richard said suddenly.

"Why?" Catherine froze.

"If you feel like you owe me, just treat me to one big meal and call it even."

Richard sighed. "If you keep paying me back one meat pie at a time, you'll be up all night balancing your ledgers."

Catherine stared at him for two seconds.

"...One meal doesn't cover what I owe you."

..................

When the second weekend of September ended, a new course appeared on the prep students' schedule: Inscriptiology: Alexandrian School Special Topics.

The lecturer listed was Isabella Ashford. His aunt was back.

Richard was planning to visit her, but he needed to ask her for too many favors.

Showing up empty-handed wouldn't look good.

Conveniently, Grey had mentioned something over the phone.

She said the most popular pastry shop in the Imperial Capital was the White Birch Dessert Workshop on Saint James Street.

But she had also noted that with the war going on, even pastry supplies were running short.

Before leaving, Richard made a call back to Briston.

He waited a good while before his mother's voice came through the line.

"Hello?" Margaret's voice was fuzzed by static. "Is that Richard?"

"It's me, Mom."

"Did something happen?" That was his mother's immediate first question.

"Nothing's wrong," Richard smiled.

"I'm going to see Aunt Isabella, and I wanted to bring her something to eat.

But I didn't know what flavors she likes, so I thought I'd ask you."

Hearing this, Margaret let out a low laugh.

"Your aunt... she likes other things well enough, but her absolute favorite is cloyingly sweet toffee."

"Toffee?"

"Iris brand toffee," his mother said with certainty. "When she was little, she would get scolded by your grandfather over it."

Richard's interest was piqued. "What did Grandpa say?"

"She was only eleven or twelve back then..."

His mother's voice carried the warmth of old times.

"She'd secretly save her allowance to buy Iris toffee, hoarding a whole tin under her pillow and eating them one by one to make them last.

One time, your grandfather found them. A completely full tin.

Father asked her where she got it, and she just stiffened her neck and stubbornly claimed she didn't know.

She still had one in her mouth at the time. Her cheek was bulging, and candy bits were stuck to her front teeth."

Richard chuckled.

"If you buy it for her, she'll definitely be happy," his mother added.

"But she won't let you off the hook verbally. She'll complain that you're wasting money.

That's just how she is. She never admits when she likes something."

"I know."

"Have you been busy lately?" his mother asked gently.

"Busy," Richard replied just as softly. "Lots going on in the department."

His mother didn't press further.

"Tell her for me... the weather's getting cold. Tell her to remember to eat on time, and not to push herself just because she's still young."

"I will."

After hanging up, Richard took the bus to the shop on Saint James Street. There was already a long line out the door.

He took his place at the back, slowly shuffling forward.

The queue was mostly ladies and misses, with a few elderly gentlemen mixed in.

A woman near the front was haggling with the salesgirl.

"These almond crisps were only seven pence last time. How did they jump to a shilling?"

"Ma'am, the price of sugar has gone up," the salesgirl explained with an apologetic smile.

"White sugar is sold by the ounce now, and we only get a limited supply each day."

"For this batch, we already had to substitute half of it with beet sugar."

The woman grumbled a bit but bought them anyway.

Listening in, Richard knew that shipping routes were tightening. Cane sugar couldn't make it through, so sugar prices changed by the day.

Pastries that no one thought twice about before had become luxury goods.

By the time it was his turn, the display cases under the glass covers were mostly empty.

"Do you have any Iris brand toffee left?"

The salesgirl's eyes lit up.

"You have a good eye, sir." She pulled a gilded iron tin from beneath the counter.

"These are the last two tins. Imported sugar cores—these have been out of stock everywhere else for a long time."

"I'll take both," Richard said.

He picked out a few other items to go with them, and the salesgirl wrapped them up one by one.

Richard paid the bill.

Two tins of toffee and a few fresh pastries surprisingly cost him three shillings.

Before the war, that much money would have bought a large pile of sweets with far more variety.

Carrying the paper bag, he walked out of the shop.

Right at the door, he bumped into an acquaintance.

It was a girl dressed in simple, clean clothes, holding a paper bag of her own.

"...Student Williams?"

Richard recognized her.

"Student Edith, you're here to buy pastries too?"

"Yeah." Edith lifted her paper bag slightly.

"I'm going to mail these back to my hometown for my family to try."

She explained in a soft voice.

"My younger brothers and sisters have never had pastries from the Imperial Capital."

"I saved up some money to buy a box and send it back, just to give them something new to try."

Richard nodded.

A light drizzle began to fall, and the two quickly stepped under the eaves for shelter.

"You've been busy lately, haven't you?" Edith asked.

"It's been alright."

"I heard... you joined that Compilation Group."

"Yeah."

An indescribable emotion surfaced in Edith's quiet eyes.

"It sounds like that project is led by a full professor. Anyone who gets into that room has to be a top student."

Richard didn't say much:

"We students are just doing odd jobs—helping unseal diagrams, copying, categorizing."

"Even odd jobs are good." Edith lowered her head.

"Right now, I spend my free time verifying the most basic rubbings for people. The boring work that no one else wants to do gets pushed onto us."

"What's that book you're reading?" Richard asked, changing the subject.

Edith held up the book in her arms: Botanical Guide of the Albion Islands.

Richard recognized it; Lillian used to carry an almost identical copy.

"Natural history." A rare spark of life appeared on Edith's face.

"Back in my hometown, I recognize every single plant that grows on the mountain."

"But since coming to the Imperial Capital, the vegetation feels different."

The two chatted casually for a bit longer.

Edith had calculated the cost of mailing that small box of pastries down to the penny, unwilling to waste a single one.

Richard listened without saying much.

When they parted ways, Edith shielded her paper bag against her chest to keep it dry.

"Good luck. There aren't many in our year who can make the professors remember their names."

She waved at Richard and quickly blended into the crowd on the street.

..................

It was already dusk by the time Richard arrived at Room 314 with the pastries, and the lights inside were on.

When he knocked and walked in, all three occupants were there.

His aunt was sitting behind the desk. Sophia was crouched on the floor packing a large duffel bag, while Clara quietly handed her items from the side.

As soon as Richard walked in, the room looked even messier than when he had visited during the summer.

A massive new map had been tacked to the wall.

The map was densely pinned with red lines, marking the positions along the western front.

Mons, that canal, the line retreating southward... Every single location was circled in red pen.

As Clara was tidying up a drawer, Richard's gaze inadvertently swept over it.

A stack of documents lay tucked inside.

The letterhead read "Department of Internal Affairs" and "Compilation of Frontline Anomaly Reports."

"You're here," his aunt looked up.

"Yeah." Richard set the pastry boxes on the desk.

"I brought these for you."

His aunt's eyes fell on the gilded iron tin on top, which bore a golden painted iris.

"Wasting money." She set her red pen down.

"As a student, if you have money, save it for books and materials. Don't go buying useless things like this."

"It didn't cost much."

"Since when is Iris brand cheap?" Isabella scoffed, reaching out to push the tin away.

"Take it back."

Richard popped the lid open.

Inside, the items were neatly arranged in compartments: lemon tarts, marzipan birds, and layered puff pastries.

And in the center compartment, packed to the brim, was the toffee.

Isabella's gaze halted on that toffee compartment.

She lowered her head, picking her red pen back up to draw a line on her manuscript.

"...My sister told you?"

"Yeah." Richard nodded honestly. "Mom said you used to get scolded by Grandpa over these when you were little."

At those words, the two senior girls nearby covered their mouths and giggled.

Isabella slapped her red pen down on the desk with a sharp smack.

"Why is she always telling you such useless things?" Isabella looked flustered and annoyed.

"It was just one tin of candy. Your grandfather was making a mountain out of a molehill."

Isabella shot her two students a glare. Dropping the pretense altogether, she unwrapped a piece of candy and popped it into her mouth.

"What's wrong with a tin of candy? I was still growing back then."

"Don't buy them anymore."

"Okay."

"...I'll keep this box, then."

She pulled the tin to the far inner corner of the desk.

She placed it as close to herself as possible, and as far away from everyone else.

His mother had been completely right.

"Mentor, you're doing it again," Sophia looked up from the floor, her eyes curving.

"Complaining about him wasting money, yet snatching it up faster than anyone else."

"...Sophia." His aunt's face darkened.

"Are your bags packed yet?"

"Almost, almost!" Sophia hurriedly ducked her head back down to pack.

Only then did Richard clearly see the other item sitting on the desk.

A tin box, with a big fat cat drawn on the lid in marker.

That was the gift Sophia had given his aunt.

And now his aunt had taken it out and filled it to the brim with dry rations.

"This is for your senior to eat on the road," his aunt said, patting the food tin.

"The food on the train isn't clean."

The still water projected by Richard's [Silent Observation] quietly rippled outward.

Sophia still looked perfectly carefree.

But the wisps of Ether clinging to her were drawn tight.

Her hidden nervousness couldn't fool Richard.

With the candy in her mouth, Isabella's cold expression softened in spite of herself.

Realizing it, she quickly stiffened her face again.

"Sit." She lifted her chin toward the chair opposite her.

"Speak. What do you need my help with this time?"

Hearing this, Clara tactfully gestured for Sophia to follow her into the outer room.

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