I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Richard stayed home all weekend, engrossed in his books, and didn't go anywhere else.

Time quickly passed to the second week following the divination incident.

On Monday, the seating arrangement at Greenwood's restaurants shifted slightly.

To be precise, it was two more chairs next to a table.

This change was certainly not without reason.

That night, when Warren got home, he told his family about it as a joke.

As he was saying this, his younger brother even wanted to borrow the things to play with for a couple of days.

The mother, sitting across the table, had already put down her knife and fork.

"What did you say?!"

Before Warren could realize what was wrong, his mother waved for the servants to leave the dining room.

"You bought something of dubious origin from outside, brought it to school, lit candles, and performed a séance in the classroom?"

"It wasn't really a ceremony...it was just for fun..."

"The candle went out?"

"Yes, it destroyed itself."

I didn't finish my dinner.

The mother got up and went to the study to call the father, who hadn't come home from get off work yet.

Old Crowley is the vice chairman of the North District Coal Miners Association, and he is rarely seen at home.

But that night, he dropped everything and rushed back.

"Where did you put that thing?!"

Warren had never seen his father, who had always maintained a gentlemanly demeanor, speak so loudly.

"It's still in my schoolbag..."

"Take it out, don't touch it with your hands, use a cloth as a barrier."

He did so quickly.

The round wooden plate engraved with ancient characters was wrapped in a handkerchief and placed on the coffee table in the living room.

Old Crowley stared at the disc for a while, but didn't reach out to touch it:

"You said the candle went out by itself. Among the people present, was anyone's behavior different from the others?"

Warren thought for a moment: "Williams."

"Which Williams? If I go out into the street and shout 'Williams,' about half the people will turn around."

Richard Williams, my classmate who sat in the third row behind me.

He never approached the divination plate; he stood to the side the entire time, holding the cloth bag, and never took the plate out.

"and then?"

"Then he put the cloth bag on the table, and when I took out the plate, the candle went out and wouldn't light no matter what I did."

"What did he do after the candle went out?"

"He...gave us a whole lecture on science, about thoughts and the oxygen content in a confined space, making everyone think the whole thing was a hoax."

As Warren spoke, he noticed his father and mother exchanging a glance.

The following evening, Warren was summoned to his father's study, where someone was waiting for him.

The woman wore a long gray wool dress, her hair was tied up tightly, and she had a red mole on her cheekbone, which appeared to have been applied.

"This is Mrs. McNeil," the father said.

Warren knew the name.

Around the time of the annual exorcism, my mother would invite this lady to our home and have her stay in the living room for half a day with the door closed.

When the other party arrived, Warren and his brother were ordered to stay in their room and were not allowed to come out, and all the servants were sent away.

Mrs. McNeil had Warren sit in a chair, walked around him twice, and stopped once above his head and once at his shoulders.

She withdrew her hand and said to old Crowley, "It's clean, nothing's on it."

Old Crowley's shoulders relaxed: "Thank you, Madam. We'll increase your salary to..."

"No need, I didn't do anything."

Mrs. McNeil picked up her gloves from the table and slowly slipped them onto her fingers:

"But what about that child you mentioned..."

"Which one?"

"That Williams your son mentioned."

She put on her gloves and adjusted her wrists:

"The divination disc itself was never touched from beginning to end. It was kept in a cloth bag and only put down just before the ceremony began. The candles were then extinguished."

"If your son's account is accurate, then the séance disc was emptied before the ceremony began."

The study was quiet for a few seconds.

"What methods did he use?" old Crowley asked.

"I don't know." Mrs. McNeil wrapped the scarf around her neck.

"But those who can do this are either trained or born with... spirituality."

Either way, it's not a bad thing for your son to get along well with him at school.

She walked to the doorway, paused, and turned to the side:

"Of course, we can't rule out the possibility that it's just a coincidence."

But if not… Mr. Crowley, your family has a very large business in this city, and you don't need me to remind you of the importance of maintaining good relationships with people like us.”

The door closed.

This was reflected in Warren's extreme enthusiasm at the school's dining table.

Richard was so enthusiastic that he wondered if the guy was gay, given the British tradition.

Warren and Mason offered to help him move a chair.

"Williams, come sit here... uh, Fenton, you come too."

Grey sat quietly beside her, eating her meal.

As Richard walked over with the tray, Hugh followed behind.

Mason turned to him: "Fenton, did you see Stanfield's goal yesterday?"

"I've looked at it," Hugh quickly replied.

"That ball's trajectory was so ridiculous, the goalkeeper couldn't even make a save."

The two quickly started chatting, but Richard noticed that Mason would occasionally glance cautiously at him while speaking.

He sipped his hot tea and glanced around the restaurant.

Barrett was still sitting in his usual spot in the corner by the window.

The peanut butter on the bread was still pitifully thin, and he chewed very slowly, never looking at the middle section.

Warren next to him was poking a piece of steak into his plate.

Greenwood offers two lunch options: the basic meal consists of bread, vegetable salad, thin soup, and hot tea, and is generally very inexpensive.

The deluxe meal features a variety of grilled meats, dairy products, soups, and desserts, priced à la carte, with prices similar to those at other restaurants.

In front of Warren was a plate of steak, cream soup, baked potatoes, a dish of butter, and a glass of milk.

Richard didn't have a good appetite today; there was only a little salad and bread on his plate, no soup, just a free cup of hot tea.

Warren seemed to realize something as well, and pushed the plate towards Richard:

"Want some? This steak is too big; I can't finish it by myself."

Richard glanced at it.

The steak was indeed large, but he had seen Warren's appetite before; that piece of meat would only fill him up to about 80% of his capacity.

"Need not."

"You're welcome."

"Really, you don't need to."

"Look how thin you are..." Warren started to say, but then realized he was wrong and quickly stopped.

The atmosphere froze briefly before Richard put down his teacup.

"Warren, you got stuck in two places on the third paragraph of Latin."

"...What?"

"In Mr. Holland's class yesterday, you paused when you got to 'quam diu' in the third section, and the stress on the 'eludet' was off."

Warren's attention was successfully diverted from the steak: "Do you remember where I got stuck?"

"Of course I remember. Your problem lies in the perfect tense ending of the second conjugation verb."

When memorizing, you rely on your intuition to guess; if you guess right, you pass; if you guess wrong, you get stuck.

"...That sounds quite plausible, a bit like Mr. Holland's style."

"I've actually been getting tutoring from him lately." Richard took a sip of his tea.

"If you don't mind, I can help you understand the logic of Latin conjugation."

Warren blinked.

He doesn't actually care that much about his grades.

But her father's advice was to "try to get along well with him," and now that the other party has offered to help with tutoring, it's exactly what she wanted.

"How should I thank you?"

"Just give me extra food every time I eat."

Warren was stunned for a moment. That's it?

This extra meal was nothing to him, barely a fraction of his allowance.

"Deal. I can cash it in today. Order whatever you want to eat."

"You said it yourself, so I won't stand on ceremony."

At the other end of the restaurant, Lillian Hayward sat alone.

The plate in front of her was the same as always—thin soup, bread, and no meat.

He stirred the soup in the bowl slowly, but his gaze was fixed on the center of the hall.

She saw Richard Williams sitting at Warren's table, with steak and fresh milk in front of him.

While eating, he was talking to Warren, who was listening quite attentively.

She took the spoon out of the bowl and placed it on the side of the plate.

Richard Williams.

Last week, I was sitting in the same corner by the window as her, with food on my plate just as meager as hers.

When I was called on in class, I stood up and stammered.

What now?

The classroom fell silent for several seconds after Mr. Hutton spoke in class.

In Mr. Holland's Latin class, Williams memorized the entire speech without missing a single word.

She has never fallen out of the top three in written tests, but no one has ever invited her to "sit here" at lunchtime.

Good grades may not be the only hard currency in Greenwood.

Social interaction requires something else—a sense of relaxation, a desire to express oneself, or just the right timing and courage.

She lacks everything.

Lillian thought so, and she turned her gaze away somewhat resentfully, then lowered her head to continue eating her thin soup bread.

The soup had gotten a little cold.