Richard sat in his chair, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.
In his past life, he’d spent years lurking on folklore forums, so he was no stranger to tales of gods and ghosts.
The semi-authentic fieldwork reports, the detailed records of various Witchcraft traditions, the verbatim transcripts of Shamans speaking while in a trance...
He had browsed hundreds of posts, written several research papers, and argued with people in the comments about the similarities and differences between Black Magic and Voodooism.
Back then, his excitement had been predicated on one safe assumption: on his side of the screen was reality, and on the other side was fiction.
Because he knew that after turning off his computer, the world would still be the same.
But now that he had truly come to another world, that assumption had been shattered.
The Curtain was real, the Ether was real, and the things behind the Curtain were real, too.
The excitement was still there, but beneath it lay something else.
Something cold and heavy, pinning him to his chair, making him not want to get up.
This was the instinctive fear of the unknown.
It’s a completely different experience to actually stand at the edge of a deep pool and look down, versus lying on the sofa and flipping through a swimming tutorial.
He began to organize the information in his mind, forcing himself to detach from his emotions and enter a state of flow.
’First, Extraordinary Power exists. It has systems, lineages, and dangers.’
’Appendix C’s description was restrained, but the warnings between the lines were thick.’
’Second, advancing in Breathing requires an Extraordinary Breathing Technique, and there are at least three official paths.’
’The Golden Path is the safest, the Path of Burning Blood is too radical, and the Abyss Path is a forbidden zone.’
’Given my current physical condition, the Golden Path is practically my only choice.’
’Third, Mr. Hutton.’
’The old gentleman gave me the note, pointed out the bookshelf’s location, right down to the specific row and shelf number.’
’All those borderline lectures in class—about the Road God, the Priest Class, the Temple’s information network, the redacted government reports—it was all just foreshadowing in retrospect.’
’How much does Mr. Hutton actually know?’
’Is he just a simple Scholar, or is he some figure within the system of extraordinary cultivation?’
’Why would he guide a student to come into contact with all this?’
’Fourth, my cousin Vincent.’
’Wearing that Copper Pendant for just a few days drained the life out of the original Richard.’
’Did Vincent know there was something wrong with it?’
’If not, then he was just a courier, and the real problem is the pendant’s origin.’
’If he did know...’ Richard set this line of thought aside for now. ’I won’t make a judgment without evidence, but I’ll mark it as high priority.’
Once the information was sorted in his head, he let out a long breath.
The panel glowed quietly at the edge of his vision.
[Scholarship Lv.1] Progress: 52%
Three consecutive days of high-intensity decoding work had made the Scholarship progress bar jump forward.
Every time he successfully restored a coded word, every time he found a key clue in the etymology manual, every time he pieced scattered sentence fragments back into their original form... the panel had faithfully recorded these inputs.
The decoding work itself was an extremely dense application of knowledge: Latin grammar, etymology, basic cryptography, and cross-referencing religious texts.
It was far more efficient than simply listening to lectures in class.
’Thinking about it now, Mr. Hutton’s selection process probably isn’t just about finding someone interested in Mysticism. Having sufficient academic ability must be one of the criteria too.’
’To put it bluntly, a slacker who couldn’t even grasp the classroom material would have no hope of accessing the world behind the Curtain.’
His Breathing was almost maxed out as well; he could probably reach Lv. 2 in another two or three days.
He stood up, his joints cracking twice. He’d been sitting for too long.
Just as he was tidying the papers on his desk, he heard the clatter of dishes from downstairs.
"Big brother!"
Evelyn shouted at the top of her lungs for him to come down for dinner.
But with a floor and a closed door between them, the sound was muffled.
His attention was completely absorbed by the notes spread across his desk. His index finger traced the lines of deduction on the page, and he silently mouthed something.
After a moment, a girl’s footsteps sounded on the stairs—light, yet with a hint of a pout.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Three knocks on the door.
"Big brother! Are you deaf? I said it’s time for dinner!"
Richard snapped back to his senses.
He glanced down at his desk.
The translation of Appendix C covered the entire desk, with the reference charts spread out beside it.
His notebook was filled with dense deductions, and that book lay open in the most conspicuous spot.
The doorknob was already turning.
His body reacted faster than his mind. He snatched up all the papers on the desk, along with the book, and haphazardly stuffed them into a drawer.
There was no time to put the notebook away, so he flipped it to a blank page and placed it facedown on the desk.
The door opened.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, with half a cucumber stick dangling from her mouth—something she’d probably grabbed from the kitchen.
She opened her mouth to say something, but the scene inside the room left her momentarily stunned.
The young man was standing beside the desk, his posture stiff, as if he were hiding something.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, the tip of his nose, and even behind his ears. His breathing was a little ragged, and his chest rose and fell more noticeably than usual.
The desk lamp was still on, but the curtains were drawn tight, making the room stuffy and hot.
Evelyn forgot to chew the cucumber stick in her mouth.
"You..."
"Doing homework," Richard lied without batting an eye.
"You work up a sweat doing homework?"
"It’s a little stuffy in here."
"Then open a window."
"I forgot."
Evelyn took the cucumber stick out of her mouth and squinted at him.
The closed door, the drawn curtains, the stuffy room, the sweat-drenched boy, scrambling to hide something after a knock on the door.
And most suspicious of all—that locked drawer.
It wasn’t like she was completely naive.
Vaguely worded topics sometimes made the rounds in her circle of friends, and her Mother had also told her about certain "changes that happen when boys grow up."
Her Mother’s exact words at the time were:
"Your brother is at an age where he might... engage in certain behaviors... You don’t need to worry about it, and don’t disturb his private space."
At the time, Evelyn had nodded, only half-understanding, feeling like it was something far removed from her own life.
But now, with all the pieces put together, the girl’s face began to blush, starting from her ears.
"You... y-y-you..." She took half a step back, nearly dropping the cucumber stick.
"I really am doing homework," Richard repeated, his tone firm and sincere.
"What kind of homework requires you to lock the door, draw the curtains, and break out in a full-body sweat!"
Evelyn’s voice rose, but she quickly lowered it, afraid their parents downstairs would hear.
Her face was completely flushed, burning from her neck to her hairline. Even the tips of her ears felt hot.
"Latin homework," Richard said, enunciating each syllable.
"Liar!"
"It really is Latin."
"Latin can do *that* to you?!"
’From a certain point of view, Latin really did do this to me,’ Richard thought with a wry smile.
Decoding three pages of coded language was enough to make anyone break a sweat.
But he also realized what his sister was thinking.
This sudden misunderstanding was too huge, and all the superficial evidence supported her conclusion.
The more he tried to explain, the more she’d think he was just making excuses.
Evelyn took a deep breath and averted her gaze.
She stared at the corner of the wall for a moment, as if she’d rehearsed it in her head several times, but the words still came out haltingly:
"Um... Big brother."
"Hmm?"
"I know you’re... you know... at that age. Mom told me about it. It’s normal."
Richard’s composure began to crumble.
"But!" Evelyn’s voice grew a notch louder.
"Your health is already poor, have you forgotten you almost didn’t wake up before?
The doctor said you need to take good care of yourself, but here you are..."
Saying this much had nearly suffocated her with embarrassment.
Her face was so red it looked like it might bleed, and her voice dwindled until it was as quiet as a mosquito’s buzzing.
"...Y-you have to be a little more... temperate."
Having said her piece, Evelyn turned and fled as if her brother were some kind of monster.
Her footsteps clattered down the stairs; she even stumbled against the handrail midway.
Richard stood there, looking down at his sweat-soaked shirt.
’True, anyone else would have thought the same thing.’
He wiped the sweat from his face, finding the situation somewhat amusing.
Compared to the awkwardness he was about to face at the dinner table, the unknown behind the Curtain suddenly seemed less frightening.
In the dining room, his father was already seated, his newspaper folded and set aside.
His Mother brought the soup tureen to the table and glanced back at him.
"Did you wash your hands?"
"I did."
Richard sat down and ladled some soup for himself.
"The soup is good today," his father commented.
"I added pepper," his Mother replied.
Evelyn kept her head down, slurping her soup, the back of her ears still red.
Richard drank from his own bowl beside her, not saying a word.
Some things only grew more complicated with explanation. Once Evelyn forgot about this in a few days, everything would return to normal.
In any case, dinner still had to be eaten.

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