Although Alicia's father had given a favorable evaluation of Baston's performance, the quest did not measure a single pair of eyes.
It required respect.
Not from one man, not from the head alone but from the entire family.
When Baston opened the old book in the silence of his repaired room, the verdict appeared without hesitation.
The old book deemed his performance as bad.
The word did not glow. It did not tremble. It simply existed.
Baston stared at it longer than necessary. The letters seemed thinner than usual as if the book itself had judged him with mild disappointment rather than fury.
He exhaled slowly.
The sparring match had improved some impressions. That much was true. The elders had seen restraint. They had seen calculation. They had seen that he was not fighting to humiliate but to test.But the younger generation had seen something else.
It was defeat.
And defeat tasted bitter when swallowed in one's own courtyard.
In truth, Baston had not intended to win so cleanly. He had planned to drag the exchange longer. To create a narrow margin and to make it look uncertain but, Theodore had collapsed under pressure far too quickly. There had been no time to craft a believable struggle.
A performance must be measured.
Too strong and resentment grew but too weak and respect vanished.
He had miscalculated the balance.
The elders understood what had happened. The butler's eyes had sharpened midway through the match. The family head had leaned back, fingers tapping thoughtfully. They recognized that Baston had never drawn out his full capacity. To them, the bout resembled an examination rather than a victory.
But the youths did not possess such vision.
In their minds, something intolerable had occurred. A noble bloodline had been stepped on by a poor, round boy with unimpressive appearance. Their pride rejected reality and replaced it with a simpler explanation.
It was all tricks.
He must have cheated.
Otherwise, how could such a person defeat Theodore?
The hateful seed had been planted.
"At least, it's not the worst…" Baston murmured to himself.
The worst meant punishment while the bad only meant information.
Still, this information was unpredictable. Sometimes useless and sometimes catastrophic.
The old book did not explain itself. It never did.
It judged, it rewarded, and it punished. And then, it just watched.
Baston closed the book slowly but his fingers did not release it immediately. There was always something unsettling about receiving a bad evaluation. It meant he had not completely failed yet he had not understood something crucial either.
What exactly had he missed?
Respect was not merely admiration. It was alignment.
The elders respected strength when it was controlled. The youths respected strength when it was dominant. The two standards were not the same and he had only satisfied one side.
The book did not care about fairness.
It measured results.
Had he underestimated the emotional backlash of public defeat? Or had he failed to account for something deeper within this household consisted of old rivalries, fragile pride, and hidden insecurities?
A family was not a battlefield yet it was far more complex.
He replayed the sparring in his mind again, dissecting each motion. The moment Theodore's breathing faltered, the slight tremor in his wrist, and the instant Baston advanced instead of retreating.
That advance had ended it.
Perhaps, if he had stepped back instead.
Perhaps, if he had allowed one more exchange.
The problem with performance was that once displayed, it could not be withdrawn.
A seed had been planted but it was not of admiration yet full of doubt and doubt was dangerous.
Because doubt made people curious.
Curiosity led to investigation.
Investigation uncovered things that should remain buried.
Baston's eyes drifted toward the faint mana inscriptions along the ceiling. The estate was layered with defensive enchantments, detection grids, and silent alarms. This was not a place where secrets moved easily.
If someone truly began observing him carefully, would they notice inconsistencies?
The thought lingered.
The old book remained silent in his lap.
The result was bad and not worst.
He exhaled through his nose.
This meant he still had room to maneuver.
Respect could still be earned or manipulated.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the ceiling where faint mana lines traced the architecture of the estate. The door had been repaired earlier that afternoon. For the first time since arriving, he possessed something resembling privacy.
The looming silence.
It should have been peaceful.
Instead, his thoughts grew louder.
Could he recover the lost respect?
Perhaps not from the youths. Pride once wounded tended to fester but for the elders, they were different. Influence moved downward from the top. If the patriarch and senior members regarded him favorably, the younger generation would be forced to adjust.
Respect could be engineered.
He had just begun outlining possibilities when someone knocked the door.
"Knock… knock… knock…"
The rhythm was calm and deliberate.
"Yes? Is there something?" Baston called out.
"Of course…"
The door opened before he could grant permission.
Baston's gaze sharpened instantly.
Great Wizard Angus stepped inside as if the room belonged to him.
The timing was almost ironic.
Moments ago, Baston had been thinking about the first bad reward he had ever received. Now the man himself stood before him, smiling as though nothing in the world could possibly go wrong.
Unlike their first meeting, Angus carried no pressure in his posture. His eyes, however, were more observant than before.
"Long time no see, hmm?" Angus said casually, "May I?"
"As the lord of the house, I can't possibly refuse you."
A faint chuckle escaped the old wizard. He entered fully and with a casual flick of his fingers, a translucent barrier shimmered briefly around the room.
It was soundproof magic.
The air soon shifted.
Baston's spine straightened almost imperceptibly.
A wizard did not cast such spells without reason.
"There are many things I wish to discuss," Angus began, "But let us proceed step by step. Do you remember what you mentioned at Prius Academy?"
"About what?" Baston replied, though his mind was already searching for danger.
"About an infused mana potion. Combined with ice attributes."
"Ah…"
So it had returned.
"Yes," Baston said evenly, "What about it?"
Angus clasped his hands behind his back, "I mentioned the concept to an acquaintance. He is rather obsessed with research. Naturally, he attempted experimentation."
Baston's heartbeat did not change but his thoughts sharpened.
It was about the old book's bad reward.
Back then, he had considered it trivial. A mere piece of information tossed into the wind. He had not expected it to take root somewhere.
"I had nearly forgotten about it," Angus continued, "But recently, he contacted me. He wishes to meet the one who provided such insightful direction."
"No…"
The refusal was immediate.
Angus blinked. He had anticipated reluctance but not toward this decisiveness.
"You refuse before hearing the benefits?" Angus asked, amused.
"Yes..."
Baston's tone did not waver.
Inside, however, calculations raced.
If questioned deeply, he would not be able to explain the theory. The knowledge had not come from study. It had been given by the book before reasoned by Joker. He could not risk exposure through ignorance.
More importantly, fame was visibility and toward this visibility was vulnerability.
"Well," Angus sighed lightly, though his eyes glinted with intrigue, "I did not expect you to reject recognition so completely."
"I prefer not to get famous," Baston replied.
Angus studied him for a long second before he smiled.
"In that case, there is an alternative. My acquaintance is willing to purchase the rights to the formulation. Three hundred thousand pounds was his initial offer. I persuaded him to increase it to four hundred and fifty thousand."
The number echoed in the room like a dropped coin in a well.
Even Baston's composure trembled for a fraction of a heartbeat.
Four hundred and fifty thousand.
Externally, he remained calm. But internally, a storm erupted.
Money meant leverage, resources, mobility, and options. He should not miss such chance.
"Alright," Baston said, "But I do not possess a bank card."
"That is easily solved. I shall accompany you to open an account."
There it was. The complication for opening the bank account.
Excitement dimmed slightly beneath cold logic.
If he opened an account, official records would update. His financial status would be reviewed. His classification as poor would change. His academy debt would be calculated and collected.
The kingdom was not charitable.
Subsidies given during childhood education were not gifts. They were investments. Once graduated, repayment was mandatory. Resources consumed after all this time would be reclaimed in money back.
If his account reflected wealth, the collection would be swift.
He would ascend from poor class to commoner.
His freedom would increase so would visibility. And debts would devour most of the funds.
Baston's fingers tapped lightly on the armrest.
Remaining poor had disadvantages which were restricted access and limited travel but it also provided invisibility. Cities did not fear poor boys and nobles did not monitor them closely.
"Clark..."
The name surfaced silently in his mind.
If he changed status abruptly, his movements would be recorded and the enemy would notice.
"No," Baston said at last, "I will accept the payment but I do not wish to open an account under my name."
Angus's brows rose slightly.
It took him only seconds to infer the reasoning.
So the boy still moves cautiously, still hiding from the so-called the clown. His mind indeed was wise.
In Angus's mind, a theory formed. Baston remained wary of Joker. Remaining poor meant obscurity and obscurity meant survival.
The great wizard did not press further.
"Very well," he said calmly, "We shall arrange a discrete transaction."
The tension in the room eased slightly.
After some additional discussion, Angus prepared to leave. Before he stepped through the door, Baston asked about the access to the estate library.
Angus waved the matter away, "Such trivial request, I will inform the butler."
The wizard departed and silence returned again.
But it felt different now.
He had secured wealth yet chosen shadows.
He had gained opportunity yet accepted limitation.
The quest still required respect and respect tonight would be tested.
*****
Evening descended gradually across the estate.
The butler returned to inform him of the invitation.
It was a dinner, a formal one. His clothing had also been prepared. The treatment had subtly improved.
Was it because of the sparring?
Or was it because of Angus's influence?
It did not matter. The most important thing was perception was shifting.
Baston dressed carefully. Not extravagantly and not humbly but balanced.
When he entered the dining hall, the structure of the seating immediately revealed hierarchy.
There were two tables, consisted of elders and youth.
Baston instinctively moved toward Alicia's side but the butler gently redirected him.
"To this table, sir."
"Sir?"
The word carried weight.
He sat at the same long table with Angus and Alicia's father. As soon as he took a seat, awkwardness coiled inside him.
He did not belong here or perhaps, he had been placed here deliberately.
Across the hall, Theodore's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Whispers traveled like thin threads of tension between the younger nobles.
How had this happened?
A sparring victory should not elevate a poor guest to the elder's table.
Unless, there was something they did not know.
Unbeknownst to Baston, Angus had spoken before dinner.
He had recounted the encounter with Joker.
The invisible contest, the calculated exchanges, and the restraint shown. The fact that Claire and Teres, the accomplished individuals, had been reduced to observers while Baston maneuvered against a dangerous opponent alone.
The elders had listened and reevaluated him again.
The fat boy's ordinary appearance now contrasted sharply with extraordinary composure.
He did not act like a reckless youth. He acted like someone who saw several steps ahead.
To elders who valued foresight, that was worth more than flashy strength.
*****
At the younger table, resentment brewed quietly.
They interpreted elevation as favoritism, as manipulation, and as trickery.
Theodore's disappointment burned inwardly. He replayed the sparring again and again, searching for hidden deception.
There must have been one. There had to be. Because if there wasn't, then the difference between them was real. And that was far more difficult to accept.
Meanwhile, at the elder's table, conversation flowed carefully.
Regarding politics, kingdom matters, and subtle inquiries about Baston's academy performance.
Each question was layered and each answer required balance.
Baston responded modestly. Never boasting and never shrinking. He redirected praise toward teamwork when possible. He minimized risk-taking.
Mystery was not loud.
It was controlled absence.
The more he spoke, the more the elders observed. He was thoroughly measured and evaluated.
Across the room, Alicia watched. Unlike the others, she did not allow emotion to cloud her judgment.
Her father's interest was too focused.
Angus's glances were too knowing.
The sparring alone could not justify this.
There was information she had not been given. Something had shifted beyond a mere courtyard duel. And she intended to uncover it.