A few minutes later, once Jenkins was certain his voice could carry even to the crowd outside the window, he began the lecture in earnest.
"I currently serve as a night class instructor for the Legacy Sage Church, but this is the first ti I've had the honor of lecturing to such a large audience. I hope that you can all take away so useful knowledge from this afternoon's session or, at the very least, find so amusent in my words and not feel your ti was wasted."
His cat, Chocolate, was lounging unceremoniously on the lectern to his left, in plain sight of the front rows. The younger mbers of the audience were particularly captivated by its presence, but Chocolate couldn't care less whether it was being watched by humans or mice—it made no difference to it.
"I would also like to thank the University Union for this opportunity, the City Hall for its financial support of this public lecture, the Nolan Daily and the Kingdom Tis for their promotion, and of course, the Noland First Higher Academy for providing this space..."
These were necessary words, however uninteresting.
"When we speak of literature, we often draw a line between popular works and high art. But while the two are distinct, they share more common ground than you might think. These shared elents are most vividly expressed in fairy tales, as I hope those of you who have read my book will know. Take, for example, the ninth chapter of the 'Stranger's Story Collection,' which features Aladdin..."
Everything was going more smoothly than Jenkins had anticipated. Even if the theoretical parts were a bit dry, the audience seed happy to listen, as only a small fraction of them had truly co to learn.
He occasionally wrote on the blackboard and was pleased to see a few young people diligently taking notes.
When the public lecture began, the flowerbeds outside were still visible through the windows. Half an hour later, a steady stream of latecors had completely blocked the view. Perhaps choosing this lecture hall had been a mistake. If there was ever a next ti, Jenkins swore he would book a larger room.
He didn't spot any of his friends in the crowd, nor did he see John, even though his brother had promised to co.
"Did he use this as an excuse to go on a date with Miss Hood?"
He considered the possibility but then decided John wasn't that sort of person.
"...And so, by reading this tale, I hope people co to understand that there is no such thing as getting sothing for nothing. This is the purpose of fairy tales—to teach children valuable lessons through storytelling. But whether to prioritize the narrative or the moral... now, that is the true test of an author's skill."
By this point, the lecture had been going for about an hour. It was a single, three-hour session with no break, so Jenkins was glad he hadn't had too much of the fish soup at lunch, delicious as it was.
"Interestingly, if we extend this sa principle, we find that past folklore contains similar tales warning against waiting for a windfall, or stories where those who promise sothing for nothing are revealed to be swindlers. Although..."
"Please wait, sir!"
A sudden voice from the back of the room shattered Jenkins's train of thought, and with it, the pleasant atmosphere that had settled over the audience.
All eyes turned to the source of the interruption: a young man with disheveled hair standing in the corner, his face beet-red.
"No, I an no offense, but I hope you will and your statent—promising sothing for nothing doesn't automatically make soone a swindler!"
"Oh?"
Jenkins wasn't angry; on the contrary, he found himself admiring the young man's courage. Not everyone would dare to interrupt a public figure's lecture in front of such a crowd. He was suddenly curious to know what had given him such conviction.
"Would you care to explain? No, gentlen, please let him speak. Quiet, please! I can't hear him. Everyone, please, be quiet!"
He quelled the crowd's urge to throw the man out, then abruptly raised his own voice. Under normal circumstances, Jenkins ca across as a perfectly amiable man, but the mont his expression turned serious, a formidable, almost intimidating, aura beca strikingly apparent.
Silence fell over the classroom once more.
"The honorable Miss Fabricy saved my mother! The money she provided saved my family; otherwise, I never could have afforded her dical expenses. Mr. Williams, I have the utmost respect for you, but I also deeply respect Miss Fabricy, a woman I've never even t. Yes, it was she who saved my family!"
Though his voice trembled, the young man managed to deliver his speech in its entirety. Jenkins genuinely admired people like this, whose convictions gave them imnse courage, even if that courage could sotis be mistaken for recklessness.
Those who had "invested" in Miss Fabricy's mining business early on could indeed have seen their total profits exceed their initial investnt. This was why Jenkins believed that the interests of "most people" wouldn't be hard. Although the venture wouldn't pay out in the end, the losses for each individual, when averaged out, would likely be small.
"Is he from Eldron?"
Jenkins guessed that only the first two waves of "investors" had been genuine beneficiaries.
"Miss Fabricy..."
He repeated the na, and so enterprising students in the front row imdiately began explaining the situation to him. Though their accounts varied slightly, they all described the mining business.
It wasn't a major issue, and Jenkins had no desire to draw any more public attention to the matter before he had a chance to wrap it up completely. He had been planning to brush off the interruption vaguely, but as his eyes scanned the front row, he froze.
"Sir. Yes, you. Thank you for the explanation; I believe I understand now. Oh, forgive , but could you tell your na?"
He suddenly pointed to the young man who had just been explaining things. He had to be a student at this academy; otherwise, he wouldn't have secured such a pri seat.
"Oh! Hello, Mr. Williams. It's an honor. My na is Galpas Barnard, and I am the nephew of Venn Slaebin Barnard, the recipient of the Full Moon dal!"
A fresh wave of whispers rippled through the quiet classroom. To the common person, the Full Moon dal was known as the highest honor a follower of the Unlit Moon could ever receive.
The young man's face bore a striking resemblance to the late Mr. Barnard—especially his profile when he had turned to look back a mont ago. It was an almost perfect match.
Jenkins was certain this was Mr. Barnard's relative.
"You have a remarkable uncle."
He offered a complint. It was a fitting tribute to the recipient of a Full Moon dal, and no one would suspect that the two of them had ever t.
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