Chapter 2 The Qualities of an Academic Prodigy

It didn't seem like there was any danger, only his brain felt as though it was grappling with something deep, draining a portion of his energy.

*Sean steadied his thoughts and observed, his eyes fixed warily on the faintly flickering membrane of light in front of him—a strangely familiar feeling.*

This must be a projected screen.

The light screen was searching for and adapting to something, and after one or two minutes, the shifting screen settled into his view. His head instantly felt lighter.

"This..."

Looking at the object so close to him, Sean couldn't help but recall a widely circulated phrase: "My son has the potential of a Great Emperor." Or rather, "Screw that, it's *me* who has the prowess of an academic prodigy."

"Stay humble, stay humble!"

He murmured quietly, forcing himself to calm down.

[Apothecary Skill: lv0 (1/10)]

Just one simple line of text, utterly devoid of any other information.

Clearer than ever.

It's just like those game panels, isn't it?

Thinking about the earlier transformations, Sean felt it might not necessarily have ties to games—the panel's appearance might merely be adapted to a mode that he could easily comprehend. Regardless of its form, this was undoubtedly a good thing.

"Hold up, shouldn't it also show *Body Drilling Skill*, *Boxing*, *Swordsmanship*, *Horse Riding*, *Axe Technique,* and *Archery?* Why aren't they displayed?"

Sean immediately considered the reason—it was likely being recalibrated starting from now, requiring him to practice anew. Taking one look at his injured arm, he abandoned the idea of stepping outside to wield swords or draw bows.

"Close panel."

He tried issuing the command, and sure enough, the membrane disappeared.

The light screen returned the next second when he summoned it again.

He experimented with commanding it inwardly instead of speaking aloud—sure enough, that worked too.

*Unfortunately, the panel was overly simple, so he turned his focus back to the medicinal books.*

"Looks like this isn't going to make me an invincible one-hit legend. Guess this is a nightmare for perfectionists."

By the time midnight came around, the experience bar hadn't budged an inch, leaving him with a mild sense of unease. *Still, drained of energy, he conceded to sleep first.*

The next day.

Sean woke feeling refreshed. In the span of a single night, his injuries had miraculously improved, and the discomfort in his body had mostly cleared away.

The sound of a soft creak accompanied the door being pushed open.

Near the potted plants nearby, Peggy was tidying up when she heard the noise and set down her scissors.

"Good morning, Brother Sean. Not planning to sleep in a bit longer?"

"Morning, Peggy. I slept wonderfully last night."

"Have your wounds improved?"

"Thanks to Mr. Orio, they've gotten much better. I think I'll be fully healed in another two or three days."

Meeting his little sister's concerned gaze, he responded lightly, though in truth, he wasn't entirely sure about his recovery.

Sean could tell Peggy had purposefully stayed nearby, just waiting to hear about his condition as early as possible.

Sure enough, when she heard what he had to say, Peggy breathed an audible sigh of relief and smiled brightly. "I asked Madam Kasey to prepare breakfast already, Brother Sean. Freshen up quickly and come eat."

Sean nodded gently.

Peggy briskly made her way toward the dining room. As she reached the hallway corner, she couldn't resist adding, "Don't take forever—food loses its taste once it goes cold."

"I'll be there quickly."

Sean nodded again, watching his sister walk away with satisfaction, though he rolled his eyes inwardly just after.

*This body's original owner was truly unreliable.*

The Marichadon family, tracing back three generations, had been part of the nobility. His great-grandfather held the title of Baron, though the title was lost mysteriously. Unlike most common households, theirs had managed to maintain traditions such as three meals a day, and occasional teas and midnight snacks. Still, the food lacked the opulence and refinement of true aristocracy.

Today was different—breakfast was something special. More lavish than usual, it included bread, smoked fish, eggs, milk, honey, and jam biscuits.

Sean caught frequent glances from his younger brother, but under Peggy's overpowering presence, the boy was too intimidated to ask for a bite.

Sean took it all in with amusement, then unceremoniously dug into his meal.

The jam biscuit was a delightful mix of sweet and sour, and the smoked fish had an intriguingly woody aroma.

"Madam Kasey, the food is excellent."

"Thank you for the praise, though don't count on having the same breakfast tomorrow. Miss Peggy specifically ordered this for today," Madam Kasey replied as she busily worked on some minor tasks nearby. Her amused smile followed as she emphasized the point.

Sean couldn't help but glance at his sister.

Peggy cautioned lightly, "Dad only left us enough money for everyday expenses—we can't afford any extras."

"I understand. I'm just glad you're handling things so thoughtfully."

Hearing her explanation, Sean abandoned the idea of asking about medical expenses. He decided to wait until his father returned.

*It seemed the previous owner had left behind quite a negative impression.* He'd have to slowly work to change their perspectives.

Feeling the table's atmosphere grow a little tense, Peggy spoke up: "Brother Sean, have you started learning the Breathing Method yet? I might need to prepare more food for you."

Knights trained through dedicated breathing methods. This allowed them to extract the *Breath of Life,* which greatly increased the body's energy consumption—thus, they needed larger meals each day.

Sean replied, "I need to wait until my injuries are fully healed."

Generally, one could begin knight training with the Breathing Method at age thirteen, but their father clearly didn't intend to teach Sean the family's inherited method—he'd planned for Sean to learn at the Swordsmanship Hall. *The body's original owner had dragged his feet, unwilling to accept this prospect.*

*Now Sean had other ideas.*

Peggy spoke earnestly, "Study hard. I'll make sure your food is taken care of."

"Alright."

Sean didn't refuse.

Just then, Sean's younger brother abruptly raised his head, staring at him with a blank expression.

His sudden action drew the siblings' attention.

With a strained smile, Sean's brother declared, "I've got good news and bad news, Brother Sean. Which one do you want to hear first?"

Peggy, knowing his personality well, immediately recognized this was the preamble to trouble.

"Spill it—what mess have you made this time?" Peggy demanded.

Sliding half an inch forward on his chair in preparation to bolt, Sean's brother answered hesitantly, "Before Dad left, he told me to let you know he'd already asked that grumpy old man to train you in pharmacy. You were supposed to visit the clinic two days ago to start."

Peggy realized instantly—her little brother had delayed delivering the message for four entire days, causing Sean to miss an important opportunity.

"Dear Mother Above!" Peggy exclaimed, her wide, watery eyes glaring. "Sean, do you see what you've done?"

"I just forgot!"

As Peggy moved to take action, Sean's younger brother darted behind a chair for cover.

Across the table, Sean's expression darkened. *The little rascal was indeed trouble incarnate.*

*No wonder Old Orio was so snippy yesterday!*

*Having just unlocked the light membrane abilities, Sean had been planning his approach to the clinic to learn pharmacy and further explore his skills—only to stumble upon an ambush from his own brother.*

*Thinking of yesterday's pain, Sean interposed himself at the exit, focusing seriously on his brother as he asked:*

"Sean, do you know what 'the fist of love' means?"

...

Two days later.

Early morning found Sean at the far end of the street, staring at the clinic's tightly sealed doors.

'Bat Gaze.'

That was probably what the clinic's name meant—or wait—perhaps it was 'Bat's Eyes'?

He noticed the wooden plaque hanging above the door, inscribed with ancient Vandanyan glyphs. The strange name somehow suited Old Orio perfectly.

Huh?

*Sean felt something, a subtle shift within. Keeping his face neutral, he silently muttered, "Scholar."*

[Apothecary Skill: lv0 (3/10)]

[Linguistics Skill: lv0 (1/10)]

Having nicknamed his panel 'Scholar,' Sean watched as an additional discipline appeared. He couldn't help but feel puzzled.

*Over the last two days, he'd tried skills like swordsmanship and archery—areas in which he was fairly adept and well-grounded. Yet these hadn't triggered any changes on the panel. Now, entirely unintentional, a new discipline appeared.*

*Could it be based on the potential of the discipline? Perhaps those without significant potential weren't worthy of being recorded?*

"Showing up this late—are you expecting me to invite you in personally or what?"

At that moment, Old Orio emerged from the corner of the street, his face dour.

Sean calmly muttered "close" within his mind, causing the light membrane to vanish.

*Previously, he'd tested displaying the Scholar panel in front of or near Peggy, his younger brother, and Madam Kasey—none of them had been able to see it at all. The light membrane must solely exist within his own field of vision.*

"Good morning, Mr. Orio. I think I'm almost fully recovered."

Knowing full well he owed the man for medical expenses, Sean didn't let Old Orio's attitude bother him.

Thanks to his brother's blunder, there were lingering challenges between the two parties. Yet Sean didn't bother offering any excuses; Old Orio's reputation for peculiar behavior was well-known. Plenty had tried to apprentice with him, and none had succeeded—which certainly implied underlying reasons.

*Sean's plan was simple: start by doing odd jobs, observe the situation, and reevaluate from there.*

Old Orio's attention shifted to Sean's injury upon hearing his words. Without further comment, he promptly unlocked the clinic doors.

"You're far from healed yet. Removing stubborn toxins takes time. Stop idling and come over here—I need to take another look."

Inside the clinic, Sean nervously stretched out his arm, allowing the bandages to be removed to reveal scabbing wounds. The once-purple and swollen area had faded; now only faint redness and mild swelling remained, with a few patches of discoloration in the center.

The dark patches confirmed Old Orio's words—the poison still lingered in small quantities.

"Wham."

Without warning, his arm suffered a heavy punch aimed directly at the wound. The burst of pain was indescribable.

Sean's eyes widened in disbelief.

"It's to break it up—makes it easier to extract," Old Orio explained, not bothering to meet Sean's glare as he methodically applied ointment, pricked openings into the skin, squeezed out toxic blood, cleaned the area, applied salve, and rebandaged the wound, all with practiced ease.

After rebandaging, he gestured toward the desk. "Clean up—that's three gold coins you owe me now. Put yourself to work around the clinic properly."

Sean kept his thoughts to himself and began tidying up.

*Over the last two days, his memory seemed noticeably sharper compared to his past life—he'd already memorized the contents of the medicinal book.*

*Despite earning only two experience points, further reading hadn't yielded gains. Staying at the clinic clearly held importance for progression.*

*Thus, he worked diligently, motivated to make the most of this chance.*

Seeing Sean tackle the tasks with focus despite his injuries, Old Orio didn't comment but his gaze softened slightly—he'd already heard stories of Sean's troublesome personality.

The clinic, in essence, was modest in size, operated as a compact storefront. Inside, the left side housed several rows of shelves containing various bottles, jars, boxes, and containers—appearing quite disorganized.

A diagnostic desk sat in front of the shelves, where Old Orio typically examined patients. Against one wall, there was a tool bench scattered with various instruments.

The right side of the shop featured a treatment table that could be partitioned off using cloth drapes.

The back of the shop consisted of two separate rooms—one served as storage, while the other was the apothecary lab.

Noticing Sean's rookie status, Old Orio refrained from assigning him more delicate tasks. In truth, the odd jobs didn't amount to much.

Once Sean finished, he began idly taking in his surroundings—his wide-eyed interest giving off a faint sense of laziness.

Old Orio barked out, "Bring me 2 ounces of chili pepper grain."

Sean paused. There was no one else around—it had to be meant for him.

*Was this a test, or just sarcasm?*