Chapter 38: Gift

That evening, Richard took inventory of his desk drawer.

The Cicero Cup would be held shortly after the family dinner, so he packed his materials to review.

He added a blank notebook; if he came across any useful information in the Imperial Capital, he could jot it down immediately.

Zipping up his satchel, he fished out the drained ancient Silver Coin and locked it in the drawer.

He kept the Ashcore Grass in his inner pocket for easy access.

He had mentally rehearsed the steps for the Fog Wall Spell dozens of times. Snap, crush, blow—all three actions in under a second.

He likely wouldn't need it, but traveling to an unfamiliar place with a life-saving measure beat going empty-handed.

Packing finished, he turned off the desk lamp. A low rumble of machinery drifted in from afar.

Tomorrow, they were heading to the Imperial Capital.

He lay in bed, closed his eyes, and performed a set of Fourfold Breathing.

Inside the Seat of the Sun, the copper-button-sized patch of warmth glowed steadily, rising and falling with his breath.

The Panel floated in the corner of his consciousness.

[Breathing] Lv.2 Experience: 281/500

[Learning] Lv.2 Experience: 83/500

After his breathing method broke through the first milestone, everyday breathing yielded almost no experience.

Now, noticeable gains came only from his daily breathing method practice.

His initial estimate of maxing out [Breathing] Lv.2 within two months had definitely been too optimistic.

Since his [Learning] skill reached Lv.2, the experience gained from self-study and tutoring had also plummeted.

He vaguely sensed that Lv.3 skills were a true threshold.

Perhaps this was the gap between the first Rank, Neophytus, and the second Rank, Practitioner.

But right now, he had zero mystical resources.

Making steady progress through his cost-free daily learning and breathing method practice left him with nothing to complain about.

...

Early the next morning, the whole family was bustling.

His father began tallying the expenses:

"From Briston to the Imperial Capital, a one-way third-class seat is two shillings for an adult, half-price for a child... No, wait, you're both over fourteen now. No more child tickets."

He recalculated. "Four adult third-class seats, one way... eight shillings. A round trip is..."

Sixteen shillings. He forced back a sigh in front of the children.

Sixteen shillings would cover the family's food for a month, or buy Evelyn several pairs of new shoes.

Blowing it all on four train tickets—just for a family dinner in the Imperial Capital where they couldn't even eat in peace—was a bitter pill.

"How much is a first-class seat?" his mother asked, coming down the stairs with an armful of freshly ironed clothes.

"First-class?" His father looked up, his expression a sight to behold. "Are you serious?"

"I was only asking."

"It's over a pound per person."

His mother said nothing else.

"A third-class seat is perfectly fine," Richard said, walking out of the kitchen with a teacup. "As long as we have seats, it doesn't matter. We're not going on vacation."

"Third-class is crowded," Evelyn muttered without looking up, crouching by the door to change her shoes.

Two pairs of shoes sat in front of her.

On the left were her everyday school loafers, their toes faded from wear but fairly clean.

On the right were her formal leather shoes. Having been worn only a handful of times, they were still quite new, but noticeably too small.

She shoved her feet in to test them. Her toes jammed against the tips, pushing visible bulges into the leather.

"Tight?" Richard asked, glancing down.

"They're fine." Evelyn wedged her feet further in and stood up to take two steps, though her grimace betrayed her.

Margaret crouched beside her and pinched the toe of the shoe. "They really are too small. Your toes are jammed right up to the front."

Richard fetched a spare pair of thin cotton socks from his room and handed them over.

"Wear these underneath. It'll help."

"Your feet are a size smaller than mine, so they'll work as a liner."

Evelyn stared at the socks, hesitated, and took them. She put them on and squeezed back into the leather shoes.

She stamped the floorboards and wriggled her toes. "...It's a little better."

As the four of them stood by the door putting on their shoes, Richard took a moment to inspect everyone's outfits.

His father's three-piece suit was respectable but tight, his mother's dress was elegant but faded, and his sister's shoes were beautiful but painfully cramped.

They were all playing their best cards for a battle none of them wanted to fight.

...

The train platform was crowded with suitcase-carrying businessmen, housewives cradling babies, uniformed postal workers, and a few sailors lugging canvas duffel bags.

His father bought four tickets at the window, meticulously counting his change before pocketing it.

The family took a seat on a bench to wait for their train.

The atmosphere felt heavy.

His father unfolded his newspaper, but his eyes hardly moved across the page. He just needed something to occupy his hands.

His mother sat bolt upright, hands folded in her lap, staring out at the empty tracks.

Evelyn sat next to Richard, the toes of her shoes touching the ground while her heels hovered.

After a long stretch of silence, Richard nudged his sister's elbow.

She turned to watch as he pulled a paper package from his satchel's side pocket.

Richard held it out to his mother.

"Mom."

Margaret pulled her gaze from the tracks, eyeing the package in confusion.

"A birthday present," Richard said. "A few days late, but I've been holding onto it for you."

Evelyn pulled another paper parcel from her shoulder bag, smaller and plumper than Richard's.

"Happy birthday, Mom."

She placed her parcel next to Richard's in their mother's hands.

Margaret looked down at the paper packages, her fingers pinching the twine knots.

Her birthday had indeed been a few days ago.

That night, her old ailment had flared up, leaving her chest terribly tight.

Fits of coughing had persisted on and off from midnight until dawn.

Evelyn had gotten up in the night to pour her water, pat her back, and prop up her pillows, staying awake for most of it.

Richard had tried to help, but his sister shooed him back to his room. Listening through the wall, he hadn't slept much either.

Their father hadn't come home at all; the factory had a batch of urgent orders.

He had worked three consecutive night shifts, eating and sleeping in the temporary dormitory next to the workshop.

On her birthday, no one had brought it up. The day had simply slipped by.

"Hurry and open them," Evelyn urged.

Margaret rubbed her daughter's head and opened Evelyn's first.

Beneath the layers of kraft paper was a pair of dark brown wool gloves.

They were the exact pair from the display window of the Grafton Street department store. Three shillings.

"Try them on," Evelyn said, lifting the gloves and giving them a shake.

Margaret slipped off her old gloves and pulled on the new ones. The fit was perfect.

She slowly clenched her fists. The fleece lining pressed comfortably against her palms, warm and snug.

"Do they fit?" Richard asked.

"Perfectly," his mother replied, her voice slightly tight.

She opened Richard's present next.

Inside was a pale gray woolen scarf, finely knitted and soft to the touch.

The scarf had cost him one shilling and five pence, found while wandering the flea market with Hugh.

The woman selling it said she knitted it herself, using quality yarn culled from a woolen mill's overstock.

Richard had haggled it down from two shillings using his rehearsed student bargaining tactics.

Margaret wiped her eyes and pulled both children into a hug. "Thank you both."

Beside them, his father lowered his newspaper and suddenly made a completely unrelated remark:

"Save those paper wrappers. We can use them to hold things later."

Margaret burst out laughing. "You completely ruined the mood."

"I'm no good at that."

"We all know that." Evelyn leaned against her mother. "Dad, how did you even manage to court Mom back in the day?"

"She practically threw herself at me."

"...Rogers, what nonsense is that?" Margaret's expression darkened slightly.

But Rogers didn't stop. "The first time I met your grandfather, I thought I didn't stand a chance."

"They had an old dog by the door, and it loved biting strangers."

"And then?" Evelyn leaned forward.

"And then Margaret just stood there, watching me face off with that dog for ten solid minutes."

Margaret took off the gloves, folded them, and put them back in the paper wrap. She was reluctant to wear them out so soon.

"Your grandfather looked at your father like he was an absolute idiot."

"But I actually found his stubborn streak quite charming," she continued.

"Oh?" Evelyn looked back and forth between her parents.

Her father stood up awkwardly and adjusted his coat collar. "Let's go, or we'll miss the train."

The four of them gathered their luggage and walked down the platform toward their carriage.

Stepping into the third-class carriage, they found the aisle cluttered with luggage and the overhead racks jammed tight with woven sacks and battered leather suitcases.

The train soon pulled out.

An elderly couple sat opposite them, traveling with a caged chicken.

After kicking wildly in its cage for half an hour, the bird finally settled down, falling into a deep slumber somewhere between Briston and the Imperial Capital.

Richard pushed the window open a crack. The wind blew in the smell of coal smoke, but it beat the smell of chicken droppings.

The wheels clacked over the track joints, jolting the carriage slightly.

The distant clusters of smokestacks shrank as the industrial zone's silhouette gave way to rolling hills.

Mines, iron furnaces, and dense row houses yielded to pasture fences, haystacks, and the occasional orchard.

The train blew past a small station without stopping. The platform was deserted, save for a lone dog sitting on a bench to watch them go by.

Richard took out his Cicero speeches, turning to pages frayed from constant reading.

He didn't read aloud. As his eyes tracked across the sentences, his mind automatically supplied the rhythm and pauses for each paragraph.

About half an hour later, someone in the opposite seat got off the train, leaving a newspaper behind.

Richard's attention was drawn to the newspaper.