The Classical Society’s tea party was scheduled for the afternoon of the first Sunday in June.
Isabella brought Richard with her.
Before they left, his aunt sat Richard down in her office and explained the ins and outs of the event.
"Don’t mistake today’s tea party for a typical social gathering."
Isabella explained, smoothing out her clothes.
"It’s the prelude to the summer workshop."
"The workshop officially starts next Friday.
There’s just under a week between now and then.
It’s a long-standing tradition for the Classical Society to host a tea party on the Sunday before the workshop begins, to bring the more important attendees together in one place."
"So we can meet each other beforehand," Richard said, nodding.
"Exactly. It’s so you can all meet ahead of time."
Richard thought of a few familiar faces.
"The ones from the Cicero Cup will all be here today."
Isabella seemed to read his mind.
"Montague, Blackwood, and that Philips fellow from Harrow School all signed up for the workshop this year.
You’ll most likely run into them today."
Now Richard knew what to expect.
The same people he had competed against in Saint Augustine’s Chapel... after more than half a year, they were all about to cross paths again.
Next, his aunt laid out the "unspoken rules" of the tea party for him.
"Oh, and there’s something I need to make clear to you."
"First, about Professor Mortimer’s recommendation letter."
Richard tensed.
"That letter is the biggest card you hold."
Isabella’s voice was slow and deliberate,
"If someone brings it up today, you can acknowledge it. But under no circumstances are you to bring it up first."
Richard thought he understood:
’So the idea is that every time the card is played, it loses some of its value. The more I flaunt it, the more insecure and boastful I seem.’
Isabella smiled, pleased. "Good. You’re as perceptive as ever."
She added one last piece of advice.
"You might run into some unfriendly people today.
Remember, no matter who they are, you have the Ashford Family, me, and Professor Mortimer backing you. You are no one’s inferior."
"...Yes."
The tea party was held in a garden villa at the Classical Society’s headquarters in the Imperial Capital.
When Richard followed his aunt inside, the place was already bustling with people.
The Ether concentrations among the people in the room varied greatly.
There were a few people from whom Richard sensed danger without even extending his Inspiration Line—beings whose Tiers were far above his own.
Isabella led him through the crowd.
People nodded to her in greeting as they passed.
"Associate Professor Ashford."
"Lady Isabella."
After they had taken a few steps, a middle-aged man in gold-rimmed glasses approached them.
"Lady Isabella, long time no see. And this is..."
"My nephew, Richard Williams. He’s here in the Imperial Capital for the summer workshop."
"Oh..." The middle-aged man sized Richard up. "The one who came in second at the Cicero Cup?"
"The very same."
"Truly impressive. So young and promising."
After a few more pleasantries, the man departed.
Richard followed behind his aunt, observing the crowd.
Scholars and professors, heirs of noble families, and official representatives all mingled in the same room, laughing and chatting as glasses clinked.
Beneath the smiling faces in this room was an invisible web of connections.
The academic and aristocratic worlds were intricately intertwined.
Halfway through the tea party, the activity around Richard began to pick up.
First, an old Scholar ambled over, teacup in hand.
"Young man, I heard Old Mo wrote you a recommendation letter?"
’Here it is,’ Richard thought.
He remembered his aunt’s advice: acknowledge it, but never bring it up first.
"Professor Mortimer was very kind. I feel I hardly deserve it."
"Oh?" The old man’s interest was piqued.
"Old Mo has incredibly high standards. He doesn’t give just anyone the time of day.
I’ve known him for decades. The line of people asking him for a recommendation letter would stretch from here to the city gates, yet he’s never agreed to write one.
But you’re an exception. How did you catch his eye?"
"I’m not sure myself. My Guide requested it on my behalf."
"A Guide?"
"Mr. Hutton, a history teacher at Brighton Greenwood."
Upon hearing Mr. Hutton’s name, the old man suddenly lost interest. He made a bit more small talk and then excused himself.
Once he was gone, a few more people started glancing Richard’s way.
Some approached him directly, striking up a conversation, their words laced with attempts to win him over.
"Mr. Williams, if you end up at Imperial University in the future, you must come visit us often."
"A young man with such an opportunity... your future is boundless."
Others simply gave him a cold glance from afar.
Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw two young men in dark formal wear whispering in a corner.
Their gazes were unfriendly.
He roughly sorted the room’s reactions into two categories.
Those who approached him saw him as a ’rare commodity to be courted’;
those who watched coldly felt he was ’unworthy of his station’.
Richard knew one thing for certain: Professor Mortimer’s recommendation letter was a powerful card to hold.
With this card on the table, some would offer praise, while others would try to tear him down.
The praisers wanted to gain something from him; the detractors were simply jealous of his good fortune.
But whether they praised or reviled him, it all proved one thing: the card had power.
As he was chatting with one of the guests, someone in the crowd suddenly waved at him.
"Richard!"
Richard looked toward the voice.
A young man, holding a teapot in one hand and a book tucked under his arm, was grinning and squeezing his way towards him.
It was Philips, from Harrow, the guy who could "always get his hands on some tea."

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