Coleman unbuckled the chinstrap of his helmet.
The two of them placed their protective gear back on the long bench.
He finally voiced the question he’d been holding back.
"Coleman, I have a question."
"Go on."
"If, one day, they could cure the congenital defect in your circuit, would you still walk the path of a Hunter?"
Coleman set down his water flask.
About ten seconds passed before he spoke.
"...I don’t know."
"You don’t want to?"
"I do."
"..."
"But then again, Hunter training is exhausting."
The young man lowered his head.
"During my two years at the military academy, I’d wake up before dawn every morning to run for miles, do weight training, practice holding my breath, and work on my pain tolerance."
"I was the hardest worker in my group because my parents were always behind me, cracking the whip."
"They were waiting for me to graduate and be the one to keep the family afloat."
"Every night when I lay down in bed, there wasn’t a single part of my body that didn’t ache."
"But for all the pain, I always had something to strive for."
Coleman picked up his flask and took another sip.
"But from the moment I walked out of my instructor’s office, that sense of purpose vanished."
"If you’re asking whether I want to walk that path again, I think about it every single day."
"That couple..."
Coleman jutted his chin toward the living room:
"They knew you were coming today, so they brought out all the valuable stuff in the house.
Those business cards were also intentionally left there for you to see. They belong to the few respectable people left in our family."
Richard nodded, stood up, and went to the base of the wall to get his satchel.
"I won’t be staying for dinner."
"Alright, I’ll go convince my mom."
Coleman patted his shoulder. "Don’t skip next week, or they’ll be sighing and groaning at me."
Richard laughed out loud.
"Alright, I’ll be here."
Coleman pulled open the heavy wooden door.
Richard walked out of the backyard.
He passed through the kitchen and hallway, returning to the living room.
In the living room, Old Coleman and Mrs. Coleman were waiting by the fireplace.
"Richard," Mrs. Coleman stood up immediately. "Dinner is almost ready."
"Mrs. Coleman, I have something to attend to at home, so I can’t stay today."
"...Why the sudden rush?"
"Look at all this dust on me." Richard pointed to his dirt-stained pant cuffs. "I need to go back and change."
"Then let the coachman take you home."
"No need, I can just take the public bus."
"You must take our family’s carriage back."
Mrs. Coleman’s tone left no room for refusal:
"You got covered in dust here, at our house."
... ...
「At two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, Richard arrived at the third floor of the Branch Office as usual.」
Before he even stepped inside, he could hear a familiar woman’s voice scolding someone in the office.
When he pulled the door open, he almost couldn’t hold back a laugh.
Old Big was standing stiffly by the desk like a schoolboy being punished by his teacher, a tracing pen clutched in his hand, his face covered in sweat.
On the other side of the desk sat Mrs. MacNeil.
Spread out before her were a Copper Disc and several Inscription Patterns. She held a red pen, which she was using to circle a spot on the Inscription Old Big had just drawn.
"Bigelow, this turning point... you’ve traced it three times and it’s still crooked."
Mrs. MacNeil put down her red pen. "How many years have you been studying this?"
"Senior Sister..." Old Big’s voice held a pleading tone. "This set has always been tricky..."
"Tricky?" Mrs. MacNeil looked up.
"When you’re out in the field and you run into one, are you going to tell the Evil Being, ’This one’s a bit tricky,’ and ask it to wait while you draw it again?"
Old Big fell silent.
Richard stood at the doorway, unsure whether to enter or retreat.
Old Big looked up and saw Richard at the door, and his whole face lit up.
"Richard! You’re here!" He practically rushed over. "Perfect timing, perfect timing! Senior Sister is here, let me introduce you..."
"I’ve met him," Mrs. MacNeil said without looking up. "Whitcomb."
"Right, right, Whitcomb."
Old Big nodded repeatedly, taking the opportunity to shuffle two steps to the side and surreptitiously push the Inscription Pattern, now covered in red circles, toward the corner of the desk.
"Bigelow." Mrs. MacNeil snatched the pattern back and placed it in front of him again. "I didn’t tell you to stop."
Old Big’s shoulders, which had just begun to relax, slumped once more.
"Alright, alright. Look at the state of you."
Mrs. MacNeil set her pen down. "Go back and revise it again. Give it to me next week."
"Next week?"
"I’ll still be in Brighton next week."
"Yes, ma’am."
Old Big clutched his draft and scurried to the side.
Only then did Mrs. MacNeil turn to look at Richard.
"You’re here?"
"Yes, ma’am."
"Come sit."
Richard stood up from the long bench and moved a round stool over.
"These past two months, how far has Old Big gotten with you?"
Richard answered honestly, "With Spiritual Vision, I can hold a Fixed Gaze for over twenty seconds. In Divination, we’ve covered the Stone Reading Technique."
"Mm," Mrs. MacNeil nodded. "That’s as far as he can teach you."
"..."
At the other desk, Old Big didn’t dare make a sound.
"Don’t stand over there pretending you don’t notice me," Mrs. MacNeil said without turning her head.
"Get over here."
Old Big shuffled over.
"In what you’ve taught Richard these past two months, there are a few things that need correcting. I’ll speak with you about them privately later."
"For now, go back over there."
Old Big scurried back, dejected.
"And you can stop smiling at him."
Mrs. MacNeil’s gaze returned to Richard.
"Your problem with having ’no cover for your Spiritual Vision’ is even more severe than his."
Richard straightened his back.
"I have a general understanding of your studies over the past two months."
"Old Big’s part is over. What I’ll be teaching you next starts with Tarot Card Divination."
"...Tarot Cards?"
"The night at Whitcomb, I used Tarot Cards once."

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