"What is it? Feeling curious about how this guy suddenly became so... hmm,'stylish'?"
Cipher's voice carried a slow, leisurely tone, as if nothing in the world could weigh on her mind.
She walked behind Kechia and naturally rested one fingerless-gloved hand on his tense shoulder, patting it firmly.
Kechia's face darkened. He unceremoniously raised his hand and slapped Cipher's paw away with a sharp "snap," letting out a huff of dissatisfaction through his nose.
Black Herta's gaze shifted back and forth between the two, a vague guess forming in her mind: "An ability? Is it that ability of yours to 'turn what you believe into reality'?"
She remembered the files mentioning that while in a state of confinement, Cipher's ability had mutated and strengthened, even capable of unconsciously influencing her surroundings.
"Oh my, as for the specific principle... I can't really explain it either."
Cipher waved her hand dismissively, her movements as nimble as a real cat. "Maybe it's 'deception,' maybe it's'suggestion,' or maybe it's just plain 'chatterbox-ism'? Who knows~"
She blinked, wearing an expression that said, "Don't ask me such complicated questions," and then pointed a finger at the simulated universe device on the low table.
"Anyway, this guy, with the help of this little gadget,"
Cipher tapped the device lightly with her fingertip. "How long did he 'grind' in there again..."
She scratched her fluffy ears, a look of distress on her face as she tried to recall.
Tribbie, who had been quietly leaning against the viewing window, turned around and picked up the conversation, her tone gentle and clear: "Thirty-two years. According to the timekeeping standard set within that device, it was exactly thirty-two years."
Black Herta: "..."
Her hand, holding the coffee cup, paused, and the look she gave Kechia instantly became extremely complicated.
Thirty-two years!
In a state of complete conscious awareness.
Cipher, standing behind Kechia, slapped her forehead as if suddenly realizing something. "Ah, right! It was thirty-two years! That means this guy spent thirty-two whole years chatting with us lunatics, rambling about everything from Amphoreus to the patterns on roadside stones!"
Her tone was exaggerated, filled with obvious mockery. "So, to a certain extent, his thought patterns, hmm... were inevitably 'infected' by me just a little bit."
She circled to Kechia's side, bent down, and leaned close to his expressionless profile, saying in a tone of exasperation: "After all, who told him to be so boring? Keeping a sour face all day long. So, for the past thirty-plus years, I spent more than half the time nagging him: 'Why are you so boring?' 'Why not try to be a little more interesting?''Smile a little, it won't cost you any of your knowledge reserves.'... That's basically how it went, continuously, imperceptibly, just talking and talking..."
Cipher straightened up, clasping her hands behind her head, her body swaying leisurely, a look of innocence on her face as if to say, "Well, you can see the results."
Black Herta fell silent again, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.
The look she gave Kechia now contained a much more genuine hint of "admiration."
To be able to endure such constant "cognitive harassment" for over thirty years and finally achieve the goal... this kind of mental fortitude was truly extraordinary.
"I can only say, you Golden Descendants... have a truly astonishing tolerance in the dimensions of time and patience."
Black Herta spoke slowly, her tone tinged with a hint of emotion.
This dullness, or rather, adaptability to the passage of long periods of time, couldn't help but remind her of another existence equally entangled with vast stretches of time.
She looked at Kechia and added, "You remind me of someone else."
Kechia finally recovered from his subtle posture of "admiring his own achievement" and raised an eyebrow upon hearing this: "Who?"
Black Herta faintly uttered three words: "Lygus."
In a sense, he was also a "madman" with terrifying patience who treated long spans of time and even countless lives as chips in a high-stakes gamble.
Kechia's face darkened instantly, and the corner of his mouth twitched violently.
He glared at Black Herta, his tone stiff: "If this is an attempt at provocation, I want to say, you have succeeded."
Comparing him to Lygus had clearly struck a nerve with this Scholar.
Black Herta took a sip of coffee noncommittally, bringing the topic back on track: "So, you used this 'constant dripping wears away the stone' method to finally meet the conditions for recognition?"
Kechia nodded, acknowledging it.
This method involved no shortcuts; it was purely ground out through unimaginable investment of time, putting himself to the test, and sheer mental resilience.
Black Herta was lost in thought, her fingertips rubbing the rim of her cup, and asked a question that might not sound very "pleasant," but was very practical: "I think I understand. However, if I may say something that might not be appropriate—why only two?"
She swept her gaze over the now-normal Tribbie and Cipher. "As far as I know, the confinement states of the other Golden Descendants also need to be resolved."
Kechia waved his hand directly this time, his face regaining its composure, temporarily suppressing the awkwardness caused by Cipher's influence.
"Only for these two is the path of 'persuasion' feasible. Or rather, currently, only their states have the theoretical foundation for non-violent communication." His tone was certain.
Then he paused, looked at Black Herta, his eyes serious: "As for the others—Phainon's freezing; Aglaea's refusal; the states that Castorice, Hysilens, and Hyacine are in are even more..."
He shook his head. "I'll just say it: for most of them, wanting to break through that shell of confinement can only be done through force, or some more direct impact that breaks the status quo. Gentle dialogue, even if you add a few more zeros to the time multiple, is highly likely to be ineffective, or perhaps even counterproductive."
Black Herta nodded slightly, indicating understanding.
Different "ailments" truly require different "treatments."
"Oh?"
Cipher, standing to the side, chimed in, eager to stir up trouble. Her cat ears twitched nimbly, and a mischievous smile played on her face. "Stating it so absolutely? I think, perhaps, some person was cursed at so badly by a certain wheelchair-bound'seamstress' at the seaside, called a 'moron,' 'idiot,' 'brain full of mud,' and only reached this conclusion because they couldn't take it anymore, right?"
Kechia turned his head immediately and glared fiercely at Cipher.
He tried to maintain his serious persona, but under the "influence" of Cipher's thirty-plus years and her ruthless exposure of his secrets just now, that effort seemed a bit shaky.
Tribbie stepped forward at the right moment, smiling gently to smooth things over: "Alright, alright, Cipher, Mr. Anaxagoras also has everyone's best interests at heart; the methods are just different. Madam Herta,"
She turned to Black Herta, her tone sincere, "In any case, thank you for the opportunity you've given, and... thank you for not giving up on any of us."
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