I Loaded the Mysticism Panel
Chapter 36: Fortune Favors the Bold

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Fortune Favors the Bold

Grey sat to Richard’s left, eating a roasted chicken drumstick with salad.

She didn’t join the discussion at all, just ate quietly.

She had seen what happened during gym class. In fact, almost everyone on the girls’ side of the field had seen it.

From her angle, she had an even clearer view of the steps Richard took to intercept the ball.

It was clean and decisive, without a moment’s hesitation. His timing was so precise it was as if he’d calculated it in advance.

A month ago, no one had even noticed Richard Williams.

’I was the first. It started that afternoon with the Divination Disc, when Richard explained the scientific principles behind it to us.’

It’s hard to describe this feeling of noticing someone.

’To say my heart skipped a beat would be an exaggeration; we’ve barely exchanged a few words.’

’It’s more like... finding a stone of a slightly different color in a pile of dull, gray pebbles.’

’When you pick it up and hold it to the light, you can see something faintly glittering inside.’

’In that moment, it belongs only to you, because no one else has discovered it.’

Then, slowly, more and more people began to notice the stone’s radiance.

Mr. Hutton praised him in class, Mr. Holland recommended him for the Cicero Cup, and Warren began to actively court his friendship.

With every new person who noticed him, her possessive feeling of ’I saw him first’ was diluted a little more.

Grey knew this feeling wasn’t exactly noble.

’He isn’t mine, so what difference does it make whether I noticed him first or not?’

’But knowing that is one thing; emotions don’t listen to reason.’

What happened in gym class today pushed that feeling one step further.

The entire dining hall was buzzing. Everyone was talking about Richard. Even the younger girls were asking, "Which Williams is that?"

’The gem that had been hers was now on full display for all to see. Everyone could see him shine.’

Grey popped the last piece of chicken into her mouth and dabbed the corners of her lips with a napkin.

She stood up and carried her tray to the return station.

As she passed behind Richard, the girl seemed to ask casually:

"Do you want any more of those scones? I can bake some extra this time, enough to take home and share with your family."

Richard looked into the girl’s blue eyes and decided to accept her kind offer. "Okay... Thanks, Grey."

"Mhm."

And she was gone.

Warren watched Grey’s back disappear at the tray return window, then turned and pointed his fork at Richard.

"You really have a knack for making headlines without even trying."

"What headlines?"

"The hero saving the damsel in distress, of course. Though, to be fair, you just intercepted a ball for her," Mason said with a grin.

"It was a turnover from the other team. What’s that got to do with saving a damsel in distress?"

"But you ran onto the girls’ side of the field. The entire grade was watching."

"That’s because the ball rolled over there, and I went to get it."

"Right, right." Mason put on a look of deep understanding. "Anyway, by the time the rumor makes its rounds, it’ll be ’Richard charged onto the girls’ field for Lillian’."

Richard picked up his teacup, realizing it was pointless to argue the details with these guys.

Once a rumor starts to spread, the truth gets pushed to the side.

Hugh dragged a chair over from the next table. He was still limping slightly on his left leg, and his knee was wrapped in a bandage.

He set his tray on the corner of the table and picked up a piece of bread.

"What are you all talking about?"

"Richard’s little soccer stunt."

"Oh, that." Hugh took a bite of bread, chewed twice, and swallowed.

"I saw the whole thing from the sidelines. To be honest... it was pretty cool."

He turned to Richard, his expression a mixture of admiration and bitterness.

"When exactly did you get to be... like this? Weren’t we supposed to be the guys who stuck to the corners together?"

"Actually, the way you were rubbing your knee was pretty cool, too," Richard offered as consolation.

"Thanks. I don’t feel comforted in the slightest."

In a corner of the dining hall, by a window.

Lillian had already finished her lunch. She held a notebook down with her left hand, a pencil in her right, writing something.

The tip of the pencil moved slowly across the page, pausing occasionally before continuing.

After a few lines, she lifted the pencil from the paper.

She gently tapped her lower lip with the end of the pencil, her gaze fixed on a spot in the notebook, as if scrutinizing the words she had just written.

A few seconds later, she tore the page from the notebook.

She folded the paper once, then again, before crumpling it into a ball in her hand.

The wad of paper was stuffed into the right pocket of her school uniform.

Lillian closed her notebook, picked up her teacup, and took a sip of tea.

When she set the cup down, ripples still gently danced on the surface of the tea.

Her gaze traveled across half the dining hall, flitting through the gaps between the heads of the other students.

She glanced at a certain someone for just a moment before pulling her gaze back, lowering her head to continue drinking her tea.

......

After that day, Lillian Hayward started appearing on the second floor of the library more frequently.

Previously, she had only ever gone to the third floor.

She had spent countless afternoons crouched before that row of special bookshelves, likely turning more pages than she had spoken words to her classmates.

The second floor was another world entirely.

It was well-lit, with neat tables and chairs, and always crowded with students during lunch break and after school.

Lillian had rarely lingered there in the past, finding it too noisy.

But recently, she had started spending time at a window seat in the second-floor study area.

Her seat was angled toward the top of the staircase, giving her a perfect view of anyone coming up or going down.

Richard also did his homework on the second floor from time to time.

His copy of *From the Sanctuary to the Pulpit* was too thick to carry around conveniently, so he simply kept it in a library locker, coming by to read a few pages whenever he had a spare moment.

There was no real conversation between them.

When they saw each other, they would just meet eyes and nod.

Richard would go back to his book, and Lillian would go back to her notes.

Occasionally, their eyes would land on each other at the exact same moment. When that happened, they would both look away, much like strangers making accidental eye contact on the train.

On Thursday afternoon, only five or six people remained in the second-floor study area.

Richard sat at the second table from the window, leafing through the reference book and jotting down etymologies in a notebook with his right hand.

He wrote for about twenty minutes until his hand grew sore. He set his pen down and flexed his fingers.

When he looked up, he saw that Lillian was gone from her seat across the way.

Her chair was pushed in, and her spot on the table had been wiped clean.

But on the top-left corner of his own desk lay a small note, folded twice. He had no idea when it had been placed there.

The note was a piece of ordinary notebook paper with a neatly torn edge.

On it was a single line of Latin. The handwriting was small and compact, with each letter perfectly formed in its proper place:

"Qui audet adipiscitur. (He who dares, wins.)"

It was a famous proverb. While it seemed like a message of encouragement for the competition, Richard thought of something else as he held the note.

That row of bookshelves on the library’s third floor—both he and Lillian took books from there.

The two of them had never exchanged a single word about it.

But their encounter on the staircase landing, the heavily worn old book she had been holding, Mr. Hutton’s refusal to reveal any information about her...

When he put all these clues together, "Qui audet adipiscitur" took on another layer of meaning.

’Only those who dare to approach the edge of the Curtain can obtain what lies behind it.’

’Was she talking about the competition, or something else entirely?’

Richard tucked the note into his notebook and went back to his work.

’Sometimes, just receiving the signal is enough. A reply would be redundant.’