Eldritch Horror Theatre

Sedatives.

What item could be more fitting to discipline a restless student?

Even its length and the way it felt in his hand were perfect.

Faced with an unruly young man, Fu Qian hadn't just grabbed whatever was nearby; he had pulled out an item he had selected long in advance.

Demanding a student act like a student required the teacher to first act like a teacher.

A teacher's authority could not be defied. Even if you were writing the theory of relativity, such an attitude remained unforgivable.

"Heh..."

The method proved highly effective. After a brief reprimand, the student had already learned a new sound.

His throat relaxed a fraction, and the look in his eyes turned noticeably clearer.

As a devilish instructor, Fu Qian was hardly satisfied with just that. He pressed on in a freezing tone.

Uh—Thump!

The student's reaction was merely a beat too slow, and the Bell struck his head once more.

"What..."

It was undeniably effective; his language faculties seemed to be recovering.

Thump!

But Professor Fu's strictness carried on. This time, without a single word, he brought it down again, adding a fraction more force to the blow.

Huff...

Under the added pressure, the man's breathing instantly turned ragged. A fierce inner struggle echoed in the very sound of his gasps.

Thump!

His only answer was a fourth strike from the Bell Staff.

"Notebook... the notebook..."

The scales of his inner struggle instantly tipped, and his memories returned.

...

Classical mechanics really did work wonders.

His earnest teaching had finally borne fruit. Facing the student who had remembered the question, Fu Qian gave a satisfied nod.

Though it bordered on corporal punishment, it was still better than blowing his head off, wasn't it?

Given this fellow's previous state, calling him a walking landmine would have been a compliment. The threat of him blowing up at any moment was far from a joke.

This also seemed to explain why the client, fully aware of where the notebook might have been dropped, hadn't just come to fetch it themselves.

The chains outside were clearly meant to lock away some kind of danger. Mental instability was likely the least of this man's problems.

So what exactly had gone wrong here?

Fu Qian didn't push him, nor did he actually start searching the area. He merely stood in silence, watching The Thinker's transformation.

He needed to immerse himself in the role, yet remain detached from it.

A notebook recording the beginning and the end? It certainly sounded promising, well worth a read.

But what intrigued Fu Qian even more was his earlier question: why had a similar notebook appeared in both manifestations of the Etched Intellect?

And why had both been so conveniently lost?

As for his reasoning, it was partly because answering this question seemed like the best way to find the notebook itself.

Subjective initiative had its limits. The sedatives could only calm The Thinker down a fraction; they couldn't synthesize memories out of thin air.

On the other hand, within this current time and space, the question represented the absolute informational advantage he held over anyone else.

If they really had some earth-shattering theory, there were plenty of ways to force it out of them. A leading academic possessed at least that much confidence.

But a leading academic's vision shouldn't stop there. In Fu Qian's eyes, putting this bunch of intensely studious brains together might just help him Sublimate an even more interesting conclusion.

"I don't know... I don't remember any notebook."

Just as expected, after a period of bitter contemplation, The Thinker had committed the classic mistake made by most students: he had forgotten the notebook.

"Heh..."

Casually twirling the Bell Staff, Fu Qian let out a string of icy chuckles and cast a glance toward the hourglass.

Ignoring the teacher, daydreaming in class, failing to take notes... and despite all this, he still dared to sit in the very front row.

"Then why are you here?"

...

There was an hourglass, but the falling point was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, Fu Qian's glance hadn't merely been to show off his authority as a director.

For him, as long as he knew the position and orientation of the Twelve-Faced Hourglass, he could easily calculate the coordinates of the falling point.

However, no such sight existed there yet.

As previously established, compared to the current scene, the place he had visited earlier was an absolute ruin.

The coordinates of the falling point were clearly outside the underground platform, currently buried beneath layers of other structures.

Looking up from this angle, one could even see what looked unmistakably like a prison cell at the very top.

Indeed, having such a massive space entirely filled with seats would have been too absurd, even for a research facility like this.

Across the tiered spectator stands, all sorts of bizarre installations could be seen, the most numerous being small, compact cages.

Constructed of metal bars, they were barely tall enough for a single person to stand inside. In some of them, solitary seats resembling an Electric Chair were visible, painting a profoundly surreal picture.

The legendary VIP box seats?

"I remember... I think I understand everything now... The answer is here, I've been calculating it all along."

Amidst this silent critique, The Thinker seemed to recall the answer to the previous question and grew agitated once more.

And surprisingly, it fit The Thinker's title perfectly. He truly was achieving complete enlightenment, though it seemed he had misplaced the actual contents of his epiphany.

Smack! Smack!

With heavy, dull thuds, The Thinker slapped his head with a force that suggested he didn't view it as made of flesh and blood at all, as if trying to physically smack a crystallized thought right out of his skull.

Unfortunately, judging by his increasingly contorted face, the method wasn't yielding much success.

"If you didn't bring it, you didn't write it."

Thankfully, Professor Fu was also well-versed in educational psychology. With a snort, he delivered a classic axiom.

"Why don't you tell me how exactly you've been calculating?"

...

So this was yet another one? Someone who got close to the answer, only to lose it.

It was getting more and more sinister, practically a manifestation of the 'curse of knowledge.'

Even as he gently coaxed the man, Fu Qian didn't need The Thinker to reply; he had already reached a critical conclusion.

The Brain Jellyfish, the Person Behind the Door... although the man in front of him didn't even have a notebook, that was merely a difference in form.

With just a little thought, it was easy to see the fundamental consistency among the three.

It was just that this one seemed to have suffered a worse fate. Not only had he forgotten the fruits of his thinking, he was also locked up.

"How have I been calculating—you're right, how have I been calculating it?"

While Fu Qian empathized in silence, The Thinker did not let his guidance go to waste. In that moment, he seemed to catch a train of thought, his words tumbling out faster.

"Wait a minute!"

In his manic excitement, he bolted from his seat without permission, leaping an absurd distance in a single bound.

He yanked open the door to one of the cages and planted himself on its solitary throne.

Given his somewhat stiff movements, he bore a strong resemblance to a rising zombie king.

"It was right here—"

As Fu Qian followed him over, The Thinker didn't wait to be asked. He emphasized his point with absolute certainty.

"Is that so? Why don't I see anything?"

Fu Qian narrowed his eyes and scanned the area, confirming they were still some distance from the falling point.

Hmm... Crack!

His words successfully earned another bout of silence. After pondering for a few seconds, The Thinker viciously struck his head once more.

The force behind it was significantly greater this time, so much so that a piece of his skull genuinely cracked open.

In the next moment, he reached inside, grabbed the exposed brain, and began to violently squeeze it.

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