Chapter Eleven: Saint Byrons Comprehensive Academy

Because he was sleeping in an unfamiliar place, Shade awoke early the next morning. Reaching out to the pocket watch on his bedside, he saw it was half past six. He thought about going downstairs to see if any newspapers had been delivered, knowing that the people of Tobesk City generally had a habit of subscribing to newspapers.

The previous detective could be considered middle class, and given the nature of his work, he would likely have subscribed to newspapers to keep up with the news. Thus, it was quite possible that Shade might inherit some newspapers.

Wearing slippers, he descended the stairs to the first-floor foyer, curiously glancing at the sealed-off part of the floor. He thought he might pry open a wooden panel to see inside when he had time.

He turned on the gas lamp in the hallway, but unfortunately, there was no newspaper slipped in through the mail slot on the doormat.

Disappointed, he shook his head and was about to change clothes and go out for breakfast when, just as his slipper touched the first step, he heard the sound of a bell.

Outside the apartment building’s door was a cord which, when pulled, triggered a gear mechanism inside to ring a bell on the inner side—a rudimentary doorbell.

“Is it the newspaper delivery? No, why would the paperboy ring the bell... Could it be that it’s time to pay next month’s subscription fee?”

With his meager savings, Shade felt a flicker of fear, calculating how much money he had left and nervously turning to look at the door. Whoever it was, he certainly didn’t know them. It was unlikely they had come to collect money; more likely, they were looking for the previous occupant.

“Maybe a new client?”

In the worst case, it might be the landlord coming to collect rent.

There was no peephole on the door, so Shade approached it and, recalling the language knowledge he had acquired the day before, asked after translating in his mind:

“May I ask who is it?”

Immediately, a familiar voice responded from outside:

“Is this the Hamilton Detective Agency? I’m Bill Schneider. Do you remember me? The psychologist from yesterday—we exchanged business cards outside the newspaper office across from the Nightingale Club.”

On this equally foggy morning, one of the very few people who knew his name came to visit him in this world.

Unprepared for a visit from Dr. Schneider, Shade hesitated behind the door, uncertain whether he should open it. Yet after a brief pause, he revealed his cautiousness to the psychologist outside:

“Mr. Hamilton, you need not worry. Although it’s odd to visit at this hour, I bear no ill intent. Time is short; please take a look at this first.”

The man outside spoke as he slipped a sheet of paper through the mail slot.

“Do you remember what I said yesterday? Adult education, correspondence courses. Detective, you possess a very special gift.”

Shade bent down to take the paper and raised the brightness of the gas lamp slightly. In the light, he saw it was an admission brochure.

“Hm?”

He doubted his own eyes or that he wasn’t fully awake yet.

The sheet, about the size of an A4, was bordered in silver, shaped like a scroll of parchment. It was a recruitment flyer from a higher education institution called Saint Byrons Integrated College. Aside from a chained book emblem at the top, there were few illustrations; most of the page was filled with printed text.

Saint Byrons Integrated College was not enrolling ordinary students—they were recruiting adult students for correspondence courses.

Besides this, the flyer listed ten departments, tuition fees, enrollment times, academic year systems, admission conditions and restrictions, and the application process by recommendation. From these details, it seemed an ordinary school.

“But why is there no school address?”

Shade asked after a long pause, surprised he hadn’t asked if the visitor had mental illness, coming so early to deliver enrollment documents to a stranger.

“You have a keen eye.”

The psychologist outside complimented him, then asked:

“Can you at least let me inside to talk? Perhaps I can answer your questions about... the other you inside your head.”

The voice in Shade’s mind did not appear when mentioned. Shade opened his mouth, then finally opened the door.

The middle-aged doctor, carrying a briefcase, wore a brown coat and a silk cap, with somewhat thick black boots. His neatly trimmed mustache and blue eyes gave a favorable impression.

“Don’t forget your milk.”

He pointed to the milk box on the left side of the door, his accent clearly that of a Tobesk native.

“The milkman just left as I arrived.”

“Alright, please come in.”

Shade hesitated but nodded, scrutinizing the doctor while trying to wear a friendly expression. He took the keys from the shoe cabinet and unlocked the milk box. After Shade retrieved the milk bottle, the psychologist followed him inside.

The doctor was also surprised at the sealed-off portion of the first floor but said nothing, silently accompanying Shade upstairs to room number one on the second floor.

Shade asked the doctor to wait while he changed clothes and boiled water to entertain his guest. Though the kitchen held no food, at least there was tea for entertaining clients of the detective agency; otherwise, Shade would have had to serve plain hot water.

Once everything was ready, the two sat down to talk.

The fabric sofa set in the living room was quite old-fashioned—perhaps antique. Two long and two short sofas arranged around a wooden coffee table, ideal for discussing business with clients.

The doctor and Shade sat facing each other on opposite sofas.

“No need for introductions. First, I want you to trust me.”

Dr. Schneider, the mustachioed psychologist, spoke first, smiling as he thanked Shade for the tea.

“I’m really here about the college brochure I just gave you. First, let me describe your current symptoms—”

“Wait, symptoms related to the school?”

Shade asked, though he already suspected the answer. Not being a local and having witnessed many mad delusions, he was more accustomed to such situations. The mentioned Saint Byrons Integrated College was probably akin to a Hogwarts-like institution.

“Of course they are related. Please listen. Mr. Shade Hamilton, can you hear another voice inside your head?”

Though Shade tried to control his expression, he saw from Dr. Schneider’s smile that he had been caught.

The doctor continued:

“Does that voice say strange things? Some of which help you? It whispers in your ear, sometimes unexpectedly, but without malice.”

Shade knew he couldn’t hide it and nodded.

“Moreover, detective, these symptoms appeared within 72 hours.”

“More precisely, within 24 hours,” Shade corrected.

“That’s even better. Then we still have plenty of time. Looks like we’re lucky. After all, the awakening period for this gift is 72 hours, so I have time to explain.”

Dr. Schneider smiled.

“These symptoms resemble schizophrenia but, in my view, they are not.”

He pointed to himself, his blue eyes fixed on Shade, speaking slowly:

“For certain people, the presence of ‘another self’ is a marvelous yet dangerous gift. No, it’s more accurate to say this is the early manifestation of a gift. If properly guided, you will see a truer world—a mysterious, perilous world. Without guidance...”

“Return to normal?” Shade asked.

“No, worse.”

The doctor shook his head.

“I don’t want to deceive you—not yet anyway. To be clear, this is a sign of the ‘Ring Sorcerer’ gift—a rare talent. You may consider it a gift or a curse of fate. As for the ‘Ring Sorcerer,’ think of it as a special profession, one that can wield... mystical powers. I hope you understand what I mean.”

The doctor deliberately studied Shade’s expression. In this still superstitious era, most believers in the true god rejected concepts like witchcraft. Fortunately, as the doctor’s investigation showed, the detective opposite him had only recently recovered from mental instability due to the awakening of his talent, so his views differed from those of ordinary citizens.

On the other hand, Shade’s suspicions were confirmed. He nodded hesitantly, trying to feign surprise, as any normal person would be. Yet inside, he felt unusually calm—perhaps the stress of yesterday had dulled his reactions.

“So, hearing strange voices is actually a manifestation of some... system, a power system? Many people experience this? Like some see further, some hear more?”

Shade asked.

“Yes. ‘I am you, and you are me.’ Every Ring Sorcerer is like this. If you succeed in becoming one, that voice will accompany and aid you for life. That voice is another version of you; only your perspectives differ. It helps you engage with this mad and noisy world in a truer way, accessing the hidden and the eerie. Knowledge, information, even words carry dangerous power, and outside the safe world of ordinary people, we cannot let our souls come too close to forces that could warp ourselves.”

The doctor paused, giving Shade time to ponder.

“But the awakening period for the Ring Sorcerer’s talent is very brief—from the first whisper in the ear to the voice’s complete disappearance usually within 72 hours. Not every gifted person can frequently hear the voice or realize it is not their own thought. They often dismiss it as hallucination or an ear problem.

“So, Detective Shade Hamilton, whether it’s the three great academies or the Church, recruiting and training new talent is extremely difficult. That’s why I say we are both very fortunate.”