I loaded the Mysticism panel.

The changes after the eating skills are enhanced can be felt during the very first meal.

Not only do they eat more, but the feeling of fullness lasts longer after eating the same plate of food.

In the past, I would feel weak two hours after eating, but now I still have energy until noon.

More subtle changes appeared on the third day; he noticed that his nails were growing faster.

Faster nail growth indicates increased keratin synthesis efficiency, which means that protein intake efficiency is indeed increasing.

A large portion of the nutrients in food are originally wasted, but now the body begins to convert as much of what it can eat into its own energy.

The improvements brought about by sleep skills are more intuitive.

On the first night, he fell asleep in less than three minutes after lying down.

It used to take me at least ten to fifteen minutes to fall asleep, with all sorts of thoughts swirling in my mind, and I would try to settle down in bed in seven or eight different positions.

The process of falling asleep is now so smooth it's almost unbelievable. As soon as my head touches the pillow, my breathing rhythm automatically switches to a slow wave mode, and my consciousness is gently enveloped.

His sleep depth also improved, and for three consecutive nights, he slept soundly until dawn.

When he woke up on the morning of the fourth day, he saw a face in the mirror that was somewhat unfamiliar to him.

Their eyes lit up.

Although it wasn't as exaggerated as being dazzlingly bright, the whites of his eyes were whiter and his pupils were clearer.

The three "body" skills work together in tandem, and the effect is indeed exponentially compounded.

Breathing optimizes oxygen supply, eating optimizes nutrient intake, and sleeping optimizes nighttime repair.

The food we eat during the day is absorbed efficiently and utilized efficiently while we sleep at night, all thanks to continuously optimized breathing throughout the process.

The broken pot is being repaired little by little.

He sat back down at his desk and reopened Cicero's book.

He has an abundance of energy that's almost extravagant, and his mind works incredibly fast.

The progress bar on the panel is also steadily advancing.

[Breathing Lv.2] Progress: 46%

[Knowledge Lv.2] Progress: 26%

[Sleeping Lv.1] Progress: 3%

[Eating Lv.1] Progress: 2%

Four lines are running simultaneously, each moving at a constant speed toward its respective goal.

………………

On the day of the Cicero Cup match, the capital city was unusually sunny.

The Ashford family sent a carriage to take him there, and the driver stopped the carriage yard on the west side of the chapel.

"Young master, I will be waiting for you in St. Augustine Square after the match."

"Okay." Richard picked up his schoolbag and jumped off the carriage.

He quickly found Greenwood's group in the crowd.

Holland stood under a stone pillar next to the side door of the chapel, clutching a folded piece of paper in his hand, probably a program or schedule.

When Richard walked over, the bald middle-aged man looked him up and down.

Have you gained weight recently?

"Perhaps the food in the capital is better."

Mr. Holland patted him on the shoulder, then pinched it:

"Wait, you do seem to have gotten a bit bulkier. What did you eat every day at Ashford's?"

"Fried eggs, bacon, milk... there's plenty of it."

"I knew it! You need to be well-fed to have a sharp mind."

Mr. Holland shook the paper in his hand and unfolded it, revealing today's game schedule.

Have you been staying up late to study lately? Are you feeling energetic enough?

"Enough."

"That's good." He folded the paper back up, but his shirt pocket wasn't deep enough, and one corner of the paper stuck out.

Mr. West stood beside him, his hands in his coat pockets, with the Greenwood school badge pinned to his chest.

Unlike his scrutinizing expression at the small exhibition last time, today he nodded to Richard.

"Ready?"

"Ready, sir."

Mr. West grunted in response and turned his gaze back to the crowd in the square.

A female teacher stood beside the two teachers.

She had dark curly hair and wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on her nose.

She was also in the lecture hall at the last small exhibition. Richard remembered her face, but he didn't have a chance to meet her then.

"This is Ms. Grant," Mr. Holland introduced, "from the Rhetoric Department."

Ms. Grant nodded slightly to him: "I heard your trial lecture last time, and I look forward to your official performance today."

"Thanks."

Are you nervous?

"fine."

"It's okay, I'm just a little nervous."

Ms. Grant pushed up her glasses: "A moderate level of tension is a good thing; it shows you take this seriously."

Richard looked to the other side, where two older students were squatting next to a stone pillar.

One was rummaging through something with his backpack; the other had his hands in his pockets and was looking up at the dome of the chapel.

Upon seeing Richard arrive, the one who was flipping through the book looked up.

"Williams".

Hello.

"My name is Palmer, and this is Hutchinson." He pointed to the side.

Hutchinson turned his gaze away from the dome and nodded to Richard:

"You're the oratory genius Mr. Holland was talking about?"

"They're either geniuses or competitive athletes."

"We're just here to go through the motions," Palmer said frankly, patting the textbook in his hand.

"I've looked at this stuff three times and still can't memorize it. I still can't tell whether the perfect tense of the first conjugation verb is 'i' or 'isti'."

Hutchinson chimed in, "Stop making excuses, I didn't translate it at all."

Palmer looked at him: "Then what are you doing here?"

"Mr. West said it could earn one social practice credit."

"...You came all the way to the capital for just one credit?"

"Train ticket reimbursement." Hutchinson said, then thought for a moment:

"You can also take a stroll around the capital. Do you know that pie shop next to King's Cross Station? My cousin says their kidney pie is the best in the whole empire."

"Do they serve mustard?" Palmer asked, intrigued.

"Of course there is. It's said that they made it themselves, putting in a whole horseradish."

Mr. West couldn't help but interrupt their conversation:

"You two, don't get it wrong when you get on stage..."

Palmer waved his hand: "Don't worry, I plan to pretend my throat hurts when I get to the third paragraph."

Hutchinson glanced at him: "Have you no shame?"

"As long as you get the credits, what's the point of having any shame?"

The two looked at each other and smiled simultaneously.

Richard smiled too.

He was initially worried that the older students might have some objections to a younger student representing the school in a competition.

In hindsight, it was all unnecessary worry.

These two have their own rhythm and plans: one is here for academic credits, and the other is here for the financial reward.

Greenwood's task for them was simply to be there, and they did.

As for the results, that's Richard's business.

Mr. Holland's gaze swept across the crowd in the square.

"Eton's team has arrived."

He pointed to a group of people on the east side of the square.

Several smartly dressed young men got off two horse-drawn carriages.

The boy at the front had blond hair and a tall, slender build; every crease in his school uniform looked exactly the same as if it had been measured with a ruler.

He was talking to the teacher next to him, occasionally turning his head to smile at his companions, his smile relaxed.

That relaxation wasn't something he deliberately displayed; it came from a certainty that he knew he would win from birth.

You won't find any hostility in this kind of person, because hostility is something only those who lack resources need.