The Good Teacher

Chapter 121 Hidden Behind A Bookshelf



Chapter 121 Hidden Behind A Bookshelf

"Mister Goran?" Kano said in a low voice while tugging at Goran's jacket.

"Huh? Ah! Kano!" Goran exclaimed as he was pulled out of his wistful trance.

"Was she Medium Sis' Mother?" Kano inquired.

"Medium Sis?"

Kano chuckled lightly and clarified, "That's what everyone calls Sister Jean."

The explanation and Kano's cheeky expression brought some mirth into Goran's drooping facade. He exhaled loudly and answered, "You're right. This is Nyla, she was Jean's mother and my wife."

"She looked beautiful," Kano admitted wholeheartedly.

"She WAS beautiful. Inside and out," Goran's voice wavered as he spoke. He extended his hand towards the painting and caressed the woman's face with shaking fingers.

"She was so beautiful..."

"Who painted this portrait?" Kano interrupted as he noticed Goran descending into a depressing spiral.

"I did."

"I didn't know you painted?!" Kano vocalised in incredulity.

"I used to. Not anymore though..."

"Why not?" Kano retorted. Only to receive an elongated silence from Goran. Kano realised that he had possibly struck another chord and decided to shift the conversation.

"I can feel a lot of love and affection emanating from the painting. The brushstrokes are meticulous and meaningful. The use of colour evokes a vibrancy that closely mimicks her character-"

Goran interrupted Kano with a raised eyebrow, "How do you know her character?"

Kano scratched his chin to copy a gesture he had seen Teacher Larks perform many times when he entered deep contemplation.

"The books," the boy stated. "They sort of match up."

"What do you mean?"

"Well. The portrait tells me a lot about what kind of person she is, or at least what kind of person you perceive her as. Which I think is quite close to her actual character seeing as you two have been married for quite a while now. So when I read those journals, I found the author's tone overlapping with the person in the portrait," Kano explained.

"You are very perceptive!" Goran praised while gently patting Kano's back in appreciation.

He then looked around the room and released a sigh filled with years of repressed emotion.

"Was I not supposed to come in here?" Kano asked with an apologetic gaze.

Goran pulled his lips into a thin line and shook his head lightly.

"This used to be our room, Nyla and I. Our little world. She was the one who decided to decorate the room this way, half for me and half for her. I've moved most of my things out of here, but I just couldn't touch hers," Goran nudged his chin in the direction of the bookshelf as he said this.

"By the way, how did you gain entry into this room? I believe it was supposed to be locked," Goran inquired.

"I don't know. The door just swung open," Kano answered as he scratched his head.

"I have the help come in and clean the room once every week, I guess they forgot to lock it up this time," Goran muttered.

"There sure are a lot of books!" Kano exclaimed as he once again approached the massive bookshelf.

"Oh, this? You're barely scratching the surface, boy," Goran said lightly with a hint of playfulness, as he walked up to the right edge of the bookshelf. He then reached forward and placed his hands on a raised marble slab. Kano observed as Goran's hand started to light up, and a purple ethereal circle extended outwards and began rotating clockwise. Suddenly, the ground started to shake as the bookshelf swung inwards from the centre.

Kano took a step back and absorbed the phenomenon in its entirety. The motion finally stopped after half a minute, following which a passageway lit up automatically and revealed rows upon rows of similar bookshelves each stocked to the brim with the same type of journal.

"Wow! There're more?!" Kano exclaimed excitedly.

"My Nyla loved to journal everything. From her meticulous theories to inane happenings," Goran explained as he walked into the passageway.

"This space is under a magnification enchantment - actually multiple magnification enchantments. We've had to add more of them each time Nyla ran out of space," Goran continued with a warm, nostalgic tone as he pointed at the black gems embedded into the ceiling of the passageway. Kano noticed the intricate, illuminated carvings that snaked out with alluring geometries.

"It got so difficult near the end. Because each time we had to extend the size, we had to remove all the books, remove the existing enchantments, then redraw the new enchantments, and THEN move the books all in. You must know that the original space is substantially smaller than what you see right now, so the enchanters had a really tough time drawing those carvings for the more recent additions. It definitely cost us a fortune too!"

Goran wore a conflicted expression before adding, "It WAS my idea though. Nyla wanted to store these journals at the mansion's library, but I felt that they were far too personal to be mixed in with the generic books."

He then furrowed his brows and continued, "Nyla wanted to preserve these for Jean, ever since she showed interest in becoming a healer. The day little Jean made that firm but cute declaration for becoming the 'best healer in the world', Nyla descended into her journal-writing with rekindled vigour. It was hilarious and deeply concerning as she sometimes went days on end holed up in the study, jotting down vague memories and anecdotes from her past, as well as inane theories that warranted further study which Jean might find interesting. A lot of the books on display outside were written by her during the years after Jean's birth"

"'We can't always be there for Jeanie. One day, when she is down and out and lost, maybe these journals can guide her,' she would keep repeating. I wonder if she somehow knew..." Goran muttered.

Goran snapped out of his impending trance and exclaimed, "That's right! I never showed Jean all of these before, considering her fragile state of mind. But now that she is on her way to becoming a proper mage, she would definitely find these useful."

With that, Goran mentally jotted down a reminder to transfer these books to Jean, either by erecting a library in the village near the orphanage or by investing in a storage disk for her.

"Am I allowed to read them?" Kano asked meekly.

"Huh? Of course, you can. But I hope you remember the event at the guild?" Goran hinted. He then smiled wryly and added, "Your painting of the Red Dragon Smaug will probably enter the exhibition as well."

"What?! Why?" Kano exhibited a more animated reaction this time around. While before he didn't really care when others looked at his works, there was a sense of apprehension in his attitude now.

"It's my fault," Goran admitted. "I inadvertently drew you into a familiar conflict. But don't worry, I will make sure that you aren't affected adversely," He promised.

"BUT, I think that entering your first work will prove to be a boon for you. You will be able to recieve valuable feedback from experts and practitioners. It will be extremely beneficial towards developing your craft. After all, living in an echo chamber will only reinforce negative and detrimental habits."

Kano pondered on it for a while before nodding in affirmation, albeit with a hit of nervousness. Goran smiled at the boy's blatant expressions.

'It's good that his behaviour has changed this way.' To Goran, this showed that the boy was learning more AND was recognising his inexperience. Although he didn't want to crush Kano's enthusiasm, this was a necessary step for every practitioner to a craft because without it one couldeasily grow arrogant.

"I'll leave you to it then," Goran added before turning to leave. "Once you are done, inform the attendant outside. They will close the bookshelf."

____

Once Goran exited the walk-in bookshelf, he turned to face the portrait once again. He stared at Nyla's face for what felt to him like an eternity.

It wasn't a secret that Goran was an avid collector and appreciator of paintings and artworks. But it was a less-known fact that Goran himself was a talented painter, specifically a portrait artist. It was less-known because he never applied for a license with the guild and he only painted for a singular client: his wife. It was through Nyla's encouragement that Goran picked up a brush and deigned to walk down the artist's path. He quickly found out that he had some talent in it and quickly began to practice his craft by drawing portraits and stills of people he'd meet and come across in his daily life.

Of course, he would never show them to the public, only his wife. She was his critic and his sole customer. Sometimes, when they had nothing to do, they would retire to his private studio and look through his paintings. They would select a few and knit together an elaborate story about the person in the image, their background, their aspirations, what they were doing at that time in particular. It was their pass-time.

And the painting before him was the last one Goran ever painted. He felt that he had improved enough, by practising with portraits of other people, to be able to perfectly capture his wife eternally on a blank piece of canvas. And he did succeed in doing so! Goran had reached deep into his heart, metaphorically dislodged a large chunk of it, and distilled it into the painting. Although his wife had perished, her spirit persisted within this portrait. It was exactly because of this that Goran had it covered and locked up in their old room.

Goran feared that as long as this portrait remained, he would never truly get over the loss of his beloved. Every time he gazed at her face, all the now painful memories would gush out from behind a locked chamber in his heart that he had forcefully barricaded. Goran feared that as long as this painting remained, he would one day end himself to join her in death.

Goran couldn't let that happen! He had to protect Jean. But he couldn't bring himself to destroy the portrait! He managed to burn the others, without remorse. Yet this one was special.

"Maybe my method was wrong, to begin with," Goran uttered. He recollected a conversation he had with Teacher Larks before he departed from the village.


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