Night fell on Ash Lane as usual, and Lein arrived at Mr. Sloan’s Night School as always.
After today’s ceremony ended, he spent some time reflecting on the results of completing the ritual.
The physical changes went without saying—his muscles were no longer sore, his joints had stopped popping, and even his senses in every aspect had become sharper than before.
But more than these, the most significant change occurred in his mind.
His brain had become clearer, and his thoughts moved faster.
It was like an old steam engine that had been stripped apart, all its pipes cleaned, worn valves replaced, and when it was fired up again, the steam rushed through the pipes with no more obstruction.
He sat now in the noisy classroom, the children’s laughter, the rustling of book pages, the crackling of wood in the stove fire—all these sounds flooded into his ears simultaneously, and yet he could distinguish each one without feeling overwhelmed.
Then his gaze landed on the front of the classroom.
Mr. Sloan stood behind the lectern, speaking in a pompous tone about something.
Lein stared at him for a few seconds, when a thought suddenly struck him.
‘Since Mr. Sloan knows about the ritual, is it possible that he himself has undergone it?’
Lein wasn’t sure.
He focused his attention on that metaphysical flame that had settled in the depths of his chest ever since completing the ritual.
The next moment, the flame flickered.
Then his vision changed.
The shift wasn’t violent—in fact, it was quite gentle.
It was like someone who had been sitting in a dim room for a long time, and then another person struck a match.
The light wasn’t harsh, but it was enough to illuminate the contours that had previously been hidden in darkness.
Lein looked at Mr. Sloan.
In his current field of vision, a very faint halo emanated from Mr. Sloan’s body.
It thinly enveloped Mr. Sloan’s form, as if someone had traced a border of light around his outline.
Lein’s pupils constricted slightly.
So that was it.
This guy had also undergone the ritual.
The instant this thought flashed through Lein’s mind, Mr. Sloan’s movements suddenly stiffened.
He broke off mid-lecture and abruptly turned his head, his gaze cutting through everyone to lock directly onto Lein.
There was a complex mixture in that gaze.
There was disbelief, some irritation at being caught off guard, but more than anything, a raw, offended resentment.
The classroom fell silent.
The students exchanged bewildered looks, unsure what had happened.
Mr. Sloan stared at Lein for about three seconds, then spoke in a voice half a note lower than usual.
“Mr. Collins.”
He tossed the textbook onto the lectern with a dull thud.
“Has no one ever taught you basic manners?
Staring at people is hardly a commendable behavior.”
Lein immediately averted his gaze, simultaneously withdrawing his attention from the flame inside his body.
His vision returned to normal.
The halo around Mr. Sloan vanished completely, and he transformed back into the old charlatan in the worn, shiny jacket with that sharp-tongued expression.
“Sorry, Mr. Sloan,” Lein said, his tone sincere.
Mr. Sloan snorted and picked up the textbook again, but his interest in continuing the lecture had vanished.
He hastily ended the lesson, announced that today’s class was over, then jerked his chin toward Lein.
“Mr. Collins, stay after class.”
A few students cast sympathetic glances at Lein.
He nodded expressionlessly.
His mind, however, was racing.
‘So that’s how it is.
Other people can also sense that kind of gaze.
In other words, the effect produced by activating that flame isn’t a one-sided peeping—it can be perceived by the target.
This is crucial.
If I use this ability on someone else in the future, I have to account for the risk of being discovered.’
Mr. Sloan’s reaction earlier had said everything.
It wasn’t just the discomfort of being stared at—it was a deeper feeling, like anger at being violated.
Lein filed this lesson away in his memory.
The students filed out one by one, and the cold wind that rushed in whenever the iron door opened and closed made the kerosene lamp flames sway and dance.
Lein stood before the lectern, waiting for Mr. Sloan to speak.
The old man sat in his chair, legs crossed, pipe clamped between his teeth, squinting as he scrutinized Lein from head to toe.
That gaze wasn’t what you’d call friendly.
It was more like a butcher appraising a cut of meat.
“You actually went and tried it.”
Mr. Sloan finally spoke, his voice tinged with a grinding anger.
“I told you so much, and you didn’t listen to a single word.
You went and attempted that thing.”
He raised his eyes from behind the pipe, staring at Lein.
“And you managed not to die.
You survived.”
Lein’s expression showed no fluctuation.
Neither happy nor angry, he calmly looked back at Mr. Sloan, as if the man were speaking about something completely unrelated to him.
“Human curiosity is unavoidable, Mr. Sloan,” Lein said.
“Besides, if you had answered my questions properly yesterday instead of saying all those cryptic things, maybe I wouldn’t have been curious enough to try it.”
The statement was half true.
Curiosity had played a role, but what had truly driven him to complete the ritual was the entity that controlled him.
But Lein wouldn’t tell anyone about that, whether it was Mr. Sloan or anyone else.
Mr. Sloan glared at him, the pipe nearly falling out of his mouth.
“You don’t understand anything!”
His voice rose a few notches.
“That’s not something you can just try on a whim!
Out of ten people who undergo the ritual, at most one survives!
Only a rare few are lucky enough to be chosen, to survive and become—”
He suddenly stopped, as if realizing he’d said too much.
But Lein’s ears had keenly caught the word.
“Chosen?”
He repeated it, locking his gaze on Mr. Sloan’s face.
“What do you mean by ‘chosen’?
Who does the choosing?”
Mr. Sloan clamped his mouth shut and knocked the pipe against the table leg, dumping out the ash.
His movements carried a hint of irritation, as if he regretted his slip of the tongue.
“You don’t need to know that,” he said in a low voice.
“What’s done is done.
Saying more won’t help.
Since you survived, then you survived.
But I’ll warn you—take it easy.”
He stood up, walked over to Lein, and tapped his chest with the mouthpiece of his pipe.
“Behavior like what you did today—to others who have also undergone the ritual as transcendent beings—that’s an absolute offense.
What you just did to me… if it had been someone else, they’d have had every right to kill you on the spot.”
Lein’s expression finally shifted slightly.
He frowned.
“What is it, exactly?” he asked.
“I can see a light on you.
What is that light?”
Mr. Sloan was silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on Lein’s face for several seconds.
Finally, he let out a sigh, as if making some kind of concession.
“Some call it Inner Sight, others call it the True Eye, or Spiritual Sight.”
His voice dropped very low, as if speaking about something that shouldn’t be heard by outsiders.
“In short, it’s an ability that only transcendent beings who have undergone the ‘Spark’ ritual possess.”
Lein silently repeated those words in his mind.
“Spark?” he asked.
“What does that mean?”