Richard was being targeted.
The ones targeting him were a group of his subject teachers, led by Mr. Holland.
Mr. Holland was the first to make a move.
On the Tuesday after Easter, before the bell for the last class of the afternoon had even finished ringing, Mr. Holland was already waiting at the classroom door.
He was holding a stack of books, the one on top being Suetonius’s Lives of the Twelve Caesars. Its spine was covered in colorful paper tabs.
"Williams," he beckoned to Richard. "East wing, lecture hall. Let’s go."
In previous years, Mr. Holland had tutored Richard privately once a week on Tuesdays, a routine established back when he was preparing for the Cicero Cup.
Now, the routine had changed.
Mr. Holland had increased the private tutoring sessions from once a week to three times a week.
Tuesdays were for history, where they would dissect and analyze Suetonius and Tacitus;
Thursdays were for going over Ancient Greek Language grammar and conjugations;
And on Friday mornings, they worked on past exam papers for the Imperial University preparatory program entrance exam.
"For the summer program assessment, classical languages are the main component."
Mr. Holland slammed the stack of books onto the lectern.
"Your foundation in Latin is solid enough. You even took second place in the Cicero Cup."
"Ancient Greek is your weak point. We need to catch you up."
He opened a book of past exams to a page marked with a paper tab.
"Look at this question, from last year. It asks you to translate a passage from Thucydides into the Albion Language and then back into the Ancient Greek Language."
"Thucydides’ sentences are long and convoluted, with clauses nested within clauses. A single sentence can drag on for half a page. That kind of style is the ultimate test of your grasp on conjugation and cases."
Richard leaned in to look at the question.
Mr. Holland’s fountain pen had already filled the margins next to the question with notes, even marking out the irregular verb conjugations of extremely obscure words in red ink.
"I’ve been teaching for many years."
Mr. Holland put down his pen.
"You’re the first student I’ve ever had who makes preparing for class more exhausting than teaching it."
"Why is that?"
"Because with other students, I explain something once, and I’m thankful if they absorb seventy or eighty percent of it."
Mr. Holland closed the book of past exams.
"You listen once and manage to ask about the twenty or thirty percent I didn’t even cover."
"If I don’t overprepare, you’ll stump me with a question next time."
Richard just smiled.
Mr. Holland wasn’t the only one.
It was as if he had started a trend; other subject teachers gradually began to take action as well.
Lady Gran was originally only in charge of rhetoric.
Now, she was taking two lunch breaks a week to call Richard to her office and go over the prose of Athenian writers.
Even Mr. West, who hadn’t made a proper appearance in a long time, uncharacteristically summoned Richard on one occasion.
He tossed Richard an excerpt from the historical summaries of Velleius Paterculus and had him interpret it on the spot.
After Richard finished, Mr. West snorted through his nose.
"Passable."
After his evaluation, he pulled a handwritten list of difficult vocabulary from his drawer and shoved it at Richard.
"Take this and memorize it. If you mess up on the exam because of these words, don’t you dare say I taught you."
Eventually, the teachers even started to subtly compete over Richard’s schedule.
Mr. Holland claimed Friday mornings for past exams, so Lady Gran booked Wednesday lunch breaks in advance;
Mr. West, complaining they were taking up too much time, threatened that starting next week, he would also carve out the hour after school on Fridays to discuss syntax in historical rhetoric.
Richard was being shared among the teachers throughout the week, to the point where he even had to watch the clock while Eating.
Such a spectacle, naturally, did not escape the notice of the other students who had stayed behind to prepare for exams.
Percy once muttered in front of everyone that the teachers were showing favoritism.
The words had barely left his mouth when a girl studying nearby retorted.
"Favoritism?" The girl put down her pen. "What did you score on the last Latin quiz?"
Percy went silent.
"Williams took second in the Cicero Cup. All the elite schools in the Imperial Capital sent competitors, and he came in second."
The girl counted on her fingers.
"His essay was the headline feature in the Northern Literature Review, and Principal Fletcher himself said he’s Greenwood’s most promising student in twenty years."
"If the teachers don’t give him special tutoring, who should they give it to?"
"You? Can you even get into Imperial University’s preparatory program?"
Percy’s face flushed red from the rebuke, but finally, he managed to choke out a sentence.
"...Alright, fine. He really is smarter than me."
This group of students who stayed behind were genuinely worried, but they still had some magnanimity.
Anyone could see that Richard was not in the same league as them.
An hour of his studying was worth three of theirs.
For the same passage of Ancient Greek Text, they had to gnaw on it word by word, clinging to grammar tables, while Richard could grasp the entire sentence structure with just a glance or two.
With such a gap right in front of them, they might feel jealous, but no one dared to be unconvinced of his superiority.
In this year’s class at Greenwood, the only one who could even reach for the top tier of universities was Richard.
Mr. Holland was especially invested during that time.
One time, while they were working on past exams until noon, Richard’s stomach growled.
Mr. Holland put down his pen and left the room without a word.
A quarter of an hour later, he returned carrying two servings of roasted chicken legs from the cafeteria. He shoved one at Richard and started gnawing on the other himself.
"Back when we were prepping for the Cicero Cup, we ate chicken legs too."
The bald, middle-aged man spoke indistinctly while chewing on a chicken leg:
"If you get into the preparatory program, this chicken leg money will have been well spent."
"I haven’t gotten in yet."
"You will soon." Mr. Holland picked the chicken bone clean. "I’ve taught my whole life. I still have an eye for talent."
"You, kid, are someone who’s going to climb out of this well that is Brighton."
...
One evening in early May, Mr. Hutton sent someone to summon Richard to the third floor.
The old stove in the office was unlit; the chill of spring had completely dissipated.
Mr. Hutton sat in his armchair, Richard’s sixteen-page application for the summer program spread across his lap.
Richard stood by the desk, waiting.
Mr. Hutton flipped to the "Social Experience" section, stopped, and read it from beginning to end.
"Well written." He closed the application form. "You didn’t hide anything. You wrote down everything you should have."
The old gentleman placed the application back on the desk, picked up a glass of warm water, and took a sip.
"There’s something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
Mr. Hutton put down his glass. "Professor Mortimer has agreed to write you a letter of recommendation."
Richard’s eyes lit up.
"The professor is willing to write it?"
"He is." Mr. Hutton looked at him. "I had to pester the old man for several days over this."
"He wasn’t willing at first." Mr. Hutton chuckled at the memory.
"The professor has written so few letters of recommendation in his life, you could count them on two hands."
"Then how did he finally relent?"
"He’s on a business trip through several cities in the North, and he’s currently in Manchester City."
"During your Easter break, I went to the place he was staying every single day, three times a day, and each time I made him a cup of tea so weak it was practically tasteless."
Mr. Hutton took a sip of water.
"On the fourth day, the old man couldn’t take it anymore. He said, ’If you keep bothering me like this, you’re going to grind these old bones of mine to dust,’ and then he agreed."
A warmth spread through Richard’s heart. He stood up and bowed to his Guide.
"Thank you, sir!"
Professor Mortimer, a Master Scholar and a tenured professor at Imperial University.
With a recommendation letter from someone like that on the chief examiner’s desk, his chances felt even more secure.
The joy on Richard’s face was impossible to hide.
Mr. Hutton watched him, then picked up his glass of water and slowly poured cold water on that joy.
"Don’t get too carried away."
"Hm?"
"You think one letter of recommendation from the professor means you’re all set?"
Mr. Hutton set down his glass. "All of this... this is just the baseline."
"The baseline?"
"Let me give you an example. You remember Montague, don’t you?"
Richard thought of the blond boy from the Cicero Cup.
He still vividly remembered the line, "To spare the conquered and conquer the proud."
"That boy, Montague—do you know what his family background is?" Mr. Hutton asked.
Richard shook his head.
"His family has an Expert, one who remains actively involved in the family’s affairs."
An Expert, and one who gets involved.
In the Unyielding Pit, Major Aud was only able to get that Expert of the Gale Tradition to act by leveraging his official status.
That, and the fact that the Expert was born in a nearby village, was barely enough to persuade him.
And yet, the Montague family has an Expert like that paying attention at all times.
Richard’s breathing slowed.
Mr. Hutton continued.
"The Grand Masters who come and go from their house are no different from ordinary houseguests."
"They have tea with the Old Count, chat, and leave after a meal."
"Just imagine what kind of family that is."
Richard stood by the desk, silent.
Mr. Hutton looked at him.
"Your grandfather is a Grand Master Hunter, your aunt is a Minor Mastery associate professor, and I managed to wear down a professor for a recommendation letter for you."
"Lay all that out, and in Brighton, it’s the absolute pinnacle."
"But if you put all that in front of a family like the Montagues..."
The joy on Richard’s face completely vanished.
The office was silent for a moment.
Outside the window, the sky was gradually darkening. In the distance, factory smokestacks spewed black smoke, staining the evening sky a sickly yellow.
Mr. Hutton looked at Richard’s now-sober face and revealed a hint of satisfaction.
"Being able to suppress your own complacency is a good thing."
"Those who get carried away by success don’t go far."
"Now, let’s talk business."
Richard stood up straight.
"Your aunt sent word," Mr. Hutton said. "She wants you to go to the Imperial Capital at the end of May."
"The end of May?" Richard did a quick calculation. "Doesn’t the summer program start in June?"
"It does start in June," Mr. Hutton replied. "But your aunt said if you go early, she can find time to give you some extra tutoring."
"The first three weeks are an intensive instruction and assessment period. The pass rate is twenty percent."
The old man enunciated the number heavily. "Out of one hundred people, only twenty will remain in the end."
"Your aunt wants you to have a firm footing among those twenty."
Richard mentally tallied his recent activities.
Leaving for the Imperial Capital at the end of May.
Mr. Holland’s three special tutoring sessions a week, the vocabulary list Mr. West copied for him, Lady Gran’s Athenian prose during lunch breaks;
His grandfather’s referral letter, his aunt’s materials and tutoring, the professor’s recommendation letter that took four days of pestering to obtain;
And at home, his father was so busy working overtime to save up for his tuition that he didn’t even sleep at home;
The "Professor Rabbit" with the little top hat that Evelyn baked...
So many people, so much effort, all of it resting on his shoulders.
No one said it out loud, but the same words were hidden in everyone’s eyes.
’...You have to get in.’
This was the heavy weight of expectation.
Success or death.
Mr. Hutton watched him, then picked up the glass of warm water again.
"You should head back now."
Richard opened the door and headed downstairs.
...
By the time he got home, it was completely dark.
Evelyn, wearing her plaid apron, was muttering something at the oven.
"Brother! You’re finally back." She didn’t turn around. "Quick, be my taste-tester. Professor Rabbit has a quiz question for you."
"A gingerbread rabbit can give a quiz?"
"Of course it can."
Evelyn pulled out the baking sheet. On it was a row of gingerbread rabbits wearing little top hats.
"Professor Rabbit is going to Imperial University, so he has to take an exam, right?"
"He does."
"What subject is he being tested on?"
Richard looked at the tray of crooked-eyed rabbits and thought seriously for a moment.
"Classical languages, I suppose. Latin and Ancient Greek, that sort of thing."
"So can he pass?"
"Doubtful." Richard picked up the one in the middle with the top hat.
"With looks like these, the examiner would take one glance and probably suspect his brain is full of frosting."
"*You’re* the one with a brain full of frosting!"
Evelyn smacked the back of his hand. "This is Professor Rabbit, the smartest one!"
His mother, Margaret, walked in from the living room.
"Did Mr. Hutton tell you about going to the Imperial Capital at the end of May?"
"He did," Richard answered. "My aunt wants me to go early for some extra tutoring."
Margaret was sorting through the leftover vegetables from lunch.
"I’ll handle the packing. You just focus on your books."
"Okay."
"And one more thing."
His mother stopped sorting the vegetables.
"When you get to the Imperial Capital, whether you’re staying at your grandfather’s house or in a hostel, remember to write or call home every week."
"I know, Mom."
His mother carried the sorted vegetables to the stove.
"Dinner is oatmeal."
"Oatmeal again?"

Comments

Loading...