I loaded the Mysticism panel.

From the week he met Mrs. Mary until today, Richard still has one thing on his mind.

It's related to Lillian Hayward.

Lillian was a quiet person by nature. If you occasionally bumped into her in the corridor or on the second floor of the library, she would at most nod.

But in the past two weeks, she has appeared in his sight more often than usual.

He went to the third floor of the library, where Lillian was also on the third floor;

He exited the school through the side gate, and Lillian happened to be on the road leading to that gate;

Twice he looked up and met the girl's gaze.

That look was like... searching for something, but not finding it.

This change occurred after the silver ring was kissed by the black cat.

Richard initially thought it was a misperception.

Until last week, he was stopped by a girl at the door of the private reading room on the third floor.

Lillian stood in front of him, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her clothes.

Those clear, large eyes swept over him and then over him.

She finally spoke, her voice very soft.

"Have you...been in some kind of trouble lately?"

Richard felt uneasy under her gaze.

"no."

"oh."

She responded with a sound of agreement, her expression showing some worry.

"……That's good."

After saying this, the girl realized she had asked too many questions.

She quickly stepped aside and practically fled into the stairwell.

Richard stood there, recalling what Mr. Hutton had said.

Lillian has a solid foundation and plenty of inspiration.

Over the past six months, the fact that her etheric microcirculation had been growing thicker day by day was probably no secret to her.

He kept walking forward.

Lillian watched Richard walk forward the whole time.

Until I put on that silver ring.

In her mind, the "kind" she had been silently watching for more than half a year suddenly went out overnight.

Logically speaking, Richard doesn't owe anyone an explanation.

Especially the origin of this ring—not a single word can be revealed.

But the question, "Did something happen?" made him feel that he really should explain a little.

According to Gray's intelligence, Lillian is unreachable for two or three afternoons every week.

On the attendance sheet for the minor course, her entry was marked with a question mark;

I can't find anyone on the second and third floors of the library;

But she didn't go home either; she wasn't on the bus after school.

Students who consistently rank in the top five in their class often skip one or two minor courses, and their teachers usually turn a blind eye.

She skipped class, but she didn't go anywhere.

Or rather, she went to a place that no one else knew about.

Richard was initially unwilling to think about it in detail.

But after that night, he began to be suspicious of these things.

He went to the phone booth and started making a call to Mr. Hutton.

The phone rang seven or eight times before it was answered.

"It's me, Richard."

"Hmm." Mr. Hutton got straight to the point: "What's the matter with you calling me?"

Richard briefly recounted Lillian's recent unusual behavior, the time he was stopped and questioned on the third floor, and the few afternoons she skipped each week.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"gentlemen?"

A very soft laugh came from the other end of the receiver.

"Richard, you're not the same student you were last year who insisted on having your teacher make decisions for you."

"……yes."

"Let me make this clear from the start," Mr. Hutton said, returning to the main point:

"Lillian, I mentioned this to you once last year. Do you remember what I said then?"

"You said that friends can say more things than teachers can."

Richard certainly remembered.

"Yes, I want to say that again now."

"What the teacher can ask is about her classroom performance, her family situation, and what books she's been reading lately."

What the teacher can do is persuade her to leave certain seats, or simply prevent her from going to certain seats altogether.

"But whether someone falls into a pit on their own and can't get out... teachers can't ask them about this, nor can they persuade them."

The old gentleman gave a few more instructions:

"Lillian's situation is indeed complicated, but it doesn't involve anything truly dangerous, otherwise she wouldn't still be studying at Grindelwald."

"Go ahead and investigate, but be mindful of your limits and give the young woman some face."

"...I understand," Richard replied.

"Hang up."

The call ended with a click.

………………

On the second day of art class, the still life display featured a chipped apple model and half a loaf of bread, and the pencil had only made three strokes on the drawing paper.

Richard held the pencil, his knuckles pressing against the drawing paper.

These past few days, he has occasionally thought of that person who had been hollowed out.

I wonder, when he was alive, from which point did he begin to feel "this is how it should be"?

Hugh was focused on drawing his imagined "Bristol pigeon roasted in a charcoal oven" next to him;

Warren was fiddling with his draft in the back right, and he had drawn an apple as a gourd.

Grey was sitting at a desk diagonally behind him. She would occasionally glance up at him, then look down again.

The quiet, sloppy, half-asleep afternoon atmosphere in the classroom slowly pulled him back from the autopsy table.

Richard put down the pencil, letting the panel float to the surface.

He lingered a little longer on the "Perception" section.

Level 2, progress 38%.

On the morning he set off from the western suburban mining area, he glanced at the control panel.

[Perception] At level 2, it was stuck at around 27%.

With regular divination and psychic practice, plus Mrs. McNeil's hands-on divination instruction over the past two weeks, I've practiced quite a bit.

A 10% increase in a month is already considered good.

Skills like [Perception], which are related to intelligence, are not like [Eating] or [Sleeping], which improve as you live; they require active training to hone.

11% was what he got that night he shouldn't have been in that pit.

The thing outside the well wall that called his name through other people's voices;

After flipping it over, the sea of ​​stars reflected above your head;

The gaze that Lieutenant Colonel Ode cast when he borrowed the power of the expert;

And the "eyes" that were activated by divination during the autopsy...

It's not surprising that [perception] has been stimulated to this extent.

In fact, throughout the entire battle at the bottom of the pit, the leader's gaze never once lingered in his direction.

[Perception] The next advancement condition: "Actively observe hostile targets beyond your own rank from behind a curtain for 15 minutes without being detected."

Richard hadn't expected to encounter this condition anytime soon.

Newcomers are tasked with "actively observing" a hostile target that is beyond their own rank.

Even if you do encounter one, expecting the other person to not notice you watching them for a full fifteen minutes is asking too much of yourself.

But that day, they shouldn't have been at the bottom of the pit; the entire battle lasted about twenty minutes.

Protected by the innermost light lock, he used his [Perception] lv.2 and [Concealed Vision] skills—the technique of peeping along the wall—to observe the respondent from beginning to end.

Look at how he walks, the black medium in his hand, the rhythm of his chanting, and the preparatory movements for each silencing spell.

He wasn't even glanced at by the other person the entire time.

Twenty minutes, which is five minutes longer than a quarter of an hour.

Richard checked the panel.

After that line of preview conditions, a new line of small text has appeared: "Conditions met."

Looking back now, I realize that the person in charge never took me seriously from beginning to end that day.

Besides being disregarded due to his low rank, the silver ring also played a crucial role.

He initially only considered this as a basic barrier.

It blocked the glances from those of lower and middle ranks, as well as the gaze from the "Shadow-Eating Mother" in the distance, which extended along Whitcomb's passage.

But now it seems that the ring is far more useful than he originally thought.

The day before yesterday evening, the messenger deer was waiting at the school gate.

It waited at the school gate, but didn't appear in the third-floor storage room or on the bus.

The fact that Lu Hou was at the school gate, but didn't come directly to his side or his home, indicates that even the spirit messenger couldn't pinpoint his location precisely because of the silver ring.

The deer can only stay within his general range of activity and wait for him to come out on his own.

Richard blinked, his gaze returning to the drawing paper.

The increased progress and the concealment effect of the silver ring made his upcoming investigation much easier.

Before the art class was even halfway through, Lillian once again asked for leave early.

She left the teaching building, but instead of heading towards the main entrance, she went around to the back of the main building.

Behind the Greenwood main building is an old garden, which was once a place where a school board member grew roses.

The school board member died more than ten years ago, the rose bushes were abandoned, and the school did not fill the position of gardener after he retired, so the garden became more and more desolate year by year.

Now all that remains is a sparse, insignificant boxwood hedge and a few drooping holly bushes, and the gravel path is half-covered by fallen leaves.

At the far end of the garden is a horticultural greenhouse, and next to the greenhouse is an even smaller shed piled with half-broken tools and old experimental equipment.

Nobody comes to this kind of place in winter; even the students on duty are too lazy to walk this far.

Lillian's figure was at the end of the gravel path, heading towards the cabin.

Richard stopped at the garden entrance.

The smell of coal smoke wafted over from the direction of the factory in the distance, mixed with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

He withdrew his spiritual vision and slowly walked deeper into the gravel path.

He stopped when he reached the greenhouse.

The greenhouse's glass roof was broken in several places and covered with oil paper; there were no plants inside long ago.

But under the wooden door of the small house next door, there was a very thin beam of light.

A metallic clanging sound came from inside the room.

The sound of the tweezers touching the mouth of the glass bottle was very soft and brief, followed by the sound of the girl's breathing.