Chapter 228: The Education Problem

As a cautious individual, Solomon liked to first propose a general outcome when faced with a problem and then act accordingly. This habit stemmed from his experience with the Stigmata (a result of the spell-slot mechanism). It was an effective approach—Solomon could always summon the right scrolls and spells to solve various issues. Leaving Peggy Carter's residence with a satisfied expression, he chose not to disclose the answers he'd received out of respect. Otherwise, Captain Rogers wouldn't be the only one subjected to blood sampling and research.

The next meeting location was only about 300 meters away. Solomon traversed a narrow, damp London alley and arrived at a quaint café. Captain Rogers, unable to get drunk, and Solomon, underage, had agreed on a meeting spot that avoided alcohol. The café's proximity to Peggy Carter's residence and its rejection of modernized chains like Starbucks likely influenced the choice. As Solomon entered, the aroma of butter and bread greeted him. He quickly spotted Rogers—his towering presence and the lingering café staff around him made him hard to miss.

"Tea with sugar and a serving of French toast," Solomon said to a waitress, dismissing her subtle longing glances. He sat across from Rogers, unbuttoning his suit and adjusting his tie. For Solomon, a suit was casual attire, and a tailcoat was his school uniform. Stark had even introduced him to some excellent bespoke tailors, resulting in an overflow of black suits in his wardrobe.

"To your health," Solomon said, raising his cup. "I just learned something quite fascinating."

"What's that?" Rogers asked, puzzled. "Why did Peggy want to meet with you?"

"In simple terms, everything is cyclical. Your future is someone else's past. Through this, I've come to understand a concept: whether or not we acknowledge or intervene, the multiverse exists. The observer effect might not be as definitive as we think." Solomon smiled as he accepted the tea. His disarming smile melted the waitress's earlier frustration—few could resist the charm of a clean-cut teenager. His youthful allure lacked the mature masculinity of adults, but his short, jet-black hair, striking features, calm gaze, and Grecian lips were enough to captivate. His pale, radiant skin against his dark hair added a divine quality under the right light.

"Stop," Rogers interjected, raising a hand. "Turn off the magic."

"Okay," Solomon replied, canceling the enchantment. The mesmerizing aura dissipated instantly. While his appearance remained unchanged, he was no longer a figure of divine splendor. Solomon had planned to use his charm to clear the café of other patrons, but Rogers had halted the idea.

Rogers sighed, already feeling out of his depth. Since his reawakening from the ice and his reentry into public life during the Battle of New York, he'd been part of various educational campaigns, much like decades ago. He'd filmed videos on physical education, detention, opening ceremonies, and final exams. However, being in these videos didn't make him an expert on teenagers.

Still, he was far better suited than Stark, who had once allowed minors access to champagne and whiskey due to negligence.

"Ahem." Rogers sipped his now-cold coffee. "You haven't explained what you meant yet."

"You'll understand in due time," Solomon said, cutting a piece of French toast and washing it down with sweet tea. After swallowing, he continued, "I'm more curious about why you wanted to meet me. You and your girlfriend have scheduled things so tightly without considering that I'm just a high schooler fresh out of remedial classes."

Academics seemed like a reasonable conversation starter. Rogers decided to pursue it.

"What did you learn today?" he asked in a dated tone, thinking, How hard can high school work be? After all, I caught up on my studies after waking up from the ice. This can't be that difficult.

"Spectral analysis of Fourier series and the invariance of the speed of light—prerequisites for exploring four-dimensional spaces."

Rogers was lost. It felt like he was talking to a younger Stark—everything was in English, yet incomprehensible. Maintaining his polite smile, he resolved to switch topics. After Solomon finished venting about his day, Rogers asked, "Do you have any hobbies? I enjoy drawing."

"Oh, as a matter of fact, I've been studying the sculpting techniques of Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini, an early Baroque artist. Recently, I visited the Cornaro Chapel in Rome's Santa Maria della Vittoria to admire his masterpiece The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa. The subtle arch of her toes, the mix of desire and rapture, the sweet agony—it's not just in her expression but in the folds of her floating robes—"

Still incomprehensible. Rogers sipped his coffee to mask his discomfort. What's going on with kids these days? How are they learning all this? From the educational videos he'd made, he hadn't noticed anything unusual about high school curriculums. Isn't high school the same as seventy years ago?

If he asked Solomon, the mage would likely give a scathing critique of America's failing public education, the frivolous "joyful learning" system, and entrenched class divisions. He might even point out how the country, founded on freedom and war, had betrayed its ideals for the altar of commerce—concepts Rogers, a soldier who left school early, might not grasp.

Unable to find common ground, Rogers sighed. "Nick Fury asked me to talk to you," he said. "I think we need to address your worldview. I don't know much about your upbringing, but you're young. You should have a normal life."

"My teacher is the universe's most powerful mage, and my foster mother is a goddess of wisdom and war. Are you suggesting that I lack the ability to discern right from wrong because of my age?" Solomon's expression turned disdainful. "Why? Why do you think that? Is it because of my alchemical homunculi?"

"You're too mature, Solomon," Rogers said, sighing again. "Nick Fury shared some of your file with me. I know about your contract with him. I don't oppose your privacy, but if everyone disregarded laws and ethics as you do, experimenting recklessly—"

"Because we follow different rules. Your perspective is understandable. Besides, I've been quite restrained. You haven't even seen real black magic yet." Solomon tapped his teacup lightly with a spoon, signaling Rogers to listen closely. "Our environments are fundamentally different, making mutual understanding impossible. But like you, I have the courage to sacrifice for others. I've wielded a sword against divine incarnations. I won't be bound by rules set by a secular society irrelevant to me. America is powerful, but magic doesn't belong to the United States."

"Do you intend to confine yourself to the magical world forever?"

"Oh, I should inform you: in this universe, secular governments hold no authority. All extraterrestrial civilizations recognize the Sorcerer Supreme as the ruler. Didn't you catch that in my conversations with the Asgardians? In essence, I'm the one with governmental authority, while the U.S. government is merely the noisy opposition."

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