Richard sat in his chair, his mind racing.
Having spent years deep in folklore forums in his past life, he never lacked an imagination for tales of gods and spirits.
The half-true field investigations in those posts, the detailed records of regional witchcraft traditions, the oral accounts of shamans entering trances...
He had read hundreds of threads, written several research papers, and debated the differences between hexes and Voodoo in the comments.
Back then, his excitement was built entirely on the premise of safety: reality lived on his side of the screen, and stories lived on the other.
He knew that once he turned off the computer, the world would remain exactly as it was.
But now that he had crossed over to a different world, that premise had been torn down.
The veil was real. The ether was real. And the things behind the veil were real, too.
The excitement was still there, but buried beneath it was something else.
Cold and heavy, it kept him pinned to his chair, stripping away any desire to stand.It was a primal fear of the unknown.
Standing at the edge of a deep pool and peering down was entirely different from lying on a couch and flipping through a swimming manual.
He began organizing the information in his head, forcing himself to detach from his emotions and enter a state of flow.
First, extraordinary power existed. It had a system, a lineage, and it was dangerous.
Although the descriptions in Appendix C were restrained, the warnings between the lines were heavy.
Second, advancing his Breathing required an extraordinary breathing method, and there were at least three orthodox paths.
The Golden Path was the safest, the Path of Blood Ignition was too radical, and the Path of the Abyss was a forbidden zone.
Given his current physical condition, the Golden Path was practically his only choice.
Third, Mr. Hutton.
The old man had given him a note pointing out a specific bookshelf, down to the exact row and shelf.
All those borderline lectures in class—the road gods, the priestly class, the temple information networks, the redacted government reports—were clearly deliberate foreshadowing in hindsight.
Just how much did Mr. Hutton know?
Was he merely a scholar, or did he play some role within the extraordinary system?
Why would he guide a student into contact with all this?
Fourth, his cousin Vincent.
Wearing that Copper Pendant for just a few days had literally drained the original Richard to death.
Did Vincent know there was a problem with it?
If he didn't, then he was merely a messenger, and the real issue lay with the pendant's source.
If he did know... Richard temporarily shelved the thought. He wouldn't make a judgment without evidence, but he flagged it as a high priority.
With the information neatly arranged in his head, he let out a long breath.
The Panel glowed quietly at the edge of his vision.
[Learning] Lv.1 Experience: 102/200
After three consecutive days of high-intensity decoding, his Learning experience bar had jumped forward quite a bit.
Every time he successfully restored a code word, every time he found a crucial clue in the etymology handbook, every time he pieced shattered sentence fragments back into their original form... the Panel faithfully recorded these inputs.
The decoding work itself was an incredibly dense application of knowledge: Latin grammar, etymology, cryptography basics, and the cross-referencing of religious texts.
It was far more efficient than simply listening to a lecture in class.
Thinking about it now, Mr. Hutton's screening process probably didn't just look for an interest in the occult; possessing sufficient academic ability was likely another criterion.
Put plainly, a slacker who couldn't even grasp classroom knowledge had absolutely no way of touching the world behind the veil.
His Breathing was also close to maxing out. In another two or three days, it would probably reach Lv.2.
He stood up, his joints popping from sitting for too long.
Just as he was gathering the papers on his desk, the clatter of dishes drifted up from downstairs.
"Richard!"
Evelyn yelled at the top of her lungs, calling him down for dinner.
But muffled by the floorboards and his tightly closed door, her voice was faint.
His attention was entirely focused on the notes spread across his desk. His index finger traced down the deductive steps line by line while he silently muttered to himself.
A moment later, the girl's footsteps rang out on the stairs, brisk and carrying a hint of annoyance.
Three sharp raps hit the door.
"Richard! Are you deaf? I'm calling you for dinner!"
Richard abruptly snapped back to reality.
He glanced down at the desk.
Translation drafts of Appendix C covered the surface, with the comparison chart spread out next to them.
His notebook was crammed with dense derivations, and the book itself lay open in the center.
The door handle was already pressing down.
His body reacted faster than his brain. He snatched up all the papers on the desk, haphazardly shoving them and the book into a drawer.
There was no time to hide the notebook, so he flipped to a blank page and slapped it face-down on the desk.
The door opened.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip and half a cucumber stick dangling from her mouth, probably grabbed from the kitchen on her way up.
She opened her mouth to say something, but froze at the sight of the room.
He stood by the desk, his posture stiff, looking as though he had just hidden something.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, the tip of his nose, and even behind his ears. His breathing was a little ragged, his chest heaving noticeably harder than usual.
The desk lamp was still on, and the curtains were drawn tight, leaving the room stuffy and hot.
Evelyn forgot to chew her cucumber.
"You..."
"Doing homework," Richard lied with a straight face.
"Doing homework makes you sweat this much?"
"It's a little stuffy in here."
"Then open a window."
"Forgot."
Evelyn took the cucumber out of her mouth and squinted at him.
A closed door, drawn curtains, a sweltering room, profuse sweating, and a frantic scramble to hide something the second she knocked.
And most suspicious of all—the locked drawer.
It wasn't like she was completely clueless.
The girls at school occasionally whispered about certain taboo topics, and their mother had even talked to her about the "changes boys go through when they grow up."
Her mother's exact words had been:
"Your brother is at an age where he might... do certain things... You don't need to worry about it, and don't disturb his privacy."
At the time, Evelyn had nodded in half-understanding, feeling like that sort of thing had nothing to do with her.
But now that all the puzzle pieces clicked together, the girl's face instantly turned beet red, right down to the roots of her ears.
"Y-You, you, you..." She took a half-step back, nearly dropping her cucumber.
"I really was doing homework," Richard repeated, his tone firm and sincere.
"What kind of homework requires you to lock the door, draw the curtains, and sweat buckets?!"
Evelyn's voice spiked, but she quickly hushed herself, afraid their parents would hear from downstairs.
Her face was completely flushed, burning from her neck all the way to her hairline. Even the tips of her ears felt hot.
"Latin homework," Richard enunciated.
"Liar!"
"It really is Latin."
"Doing Latin makes you look like that?!"
From a certain perspective, Latin really had made him look like this, Richard thought with a wry smile.
Decoding three pages of cipher text was enough to leave anyone dripping with sweat.
But he also realized exactly what his sister was thinking.
This sudden misunderstanding was simply too huge, and all the superficial evidence supported her conclusion.
The more he tried to explain, the more it would sound like an excuse.
Evelyn took a deep breath and turned away.
She stared at the corner of the room for a moment, seemingly rehearsing her words, but she still stammered when she finally spoke:
"Um... Richard."
"Yeah?"
"I know you're... you know... at that age. Mom told me. It's totally normal."
Richard's control over his expression slipped.
"But!" Evelyn's volume jumped up a notch.
"You're already in poor health! Have you forgotten that you almost didn't wake up last time?
The doctor said you need to rest and take care of your body, and here you are..."
She was nearly suffocating from embarrassment by the time she got this far.
Her whole face was red enough to bleed. Her voice grew quieter and quieter until it was barely a whisper:
"...you need to, to show some moderation."
As soon as she finished, Evelyn turned and bolted, as if her brother were some terrifying monster.
Her footsteps clattered wildly down the stairs, and she even tripped against the handrail halfway down.
Richard stood frozen in place, looking down at his sweat-soaked shirt.
Truth be told, anyone looking at him right now would jump to that exact conclusion.
He wiped the sweat from his face, finding the whole thing a bit funny.
Compared to the awkwardness waiting for him at the dinner table, the unknown behind the veil suddenly didn't seem quite so scary.
In the dining room, his father was already seated, his newspaper folded and set aside.
His mother brought the soup tureen to the table and cast a glance at him.
"Did you wash your hands?"
"I did."
Richard sat down and served himself a bowl of soup.
"The soup is good today," his father commented.
"I added some pepper," his mother replied.
Evelyn buried her face in her soup bowl, the tips of her ears still tinged red.
Beside her, Richard quietly drank his own soup, not saying a word.
Some things only became muddier the more you tried to explain them. Once his sister forgot about this in a few days, everything would go back to normal.
He still had to eat his dinner properly, after all.