Having quickly struck up a rapport with Robert Manners, I spent the rest of the day touring the school under his guidance.
The morning was devoted to exploring the campus.
He showed the classrooms, the library, the chapel, and the various sports facilities, explaining each one in detail as we walked. By the end of it I had already ford a rough ntal map of the entire grounds.
Afterward, all the new students were gathered into a single hall.
There we were granted what the school called a "break," which in practice ant dozing off while Dr. John Keate, the headmaster, delivered an excessively long speech.
In the afternoon we had lunch together and introduced ourselves—though in truth it felt more like a formal presentation of our family backgrounds.
After that ca a short explanation of the curriculum we would be studying.
Eton's academic program was centered primarily on the classics—Latin, Greek, and ancient history—alongside English literature, mathematics, and religious studies.
Once the official orientation was finished, Robert continued leading around the campus to introduce the official student clubs.
"Hey you there!" soone shouted as we passed. "You look clever—why not join the debating society? Anyone graduating from Eton should naturally aspire to politics, shouldn't they? Our club would suit you perfectly!"
"Pitiful creatures who fail to appreciate literature!" another boy cried dramatically. "Co join the literary society and fall in love with the beauty of the written word!"
"A sound mind in a sound body!" shouted another group. "For mbers of Britain's ruling class, cricket isn't a choice—it's a duty!"
There were also clubs for music, theatre, natural history, science, and countless other interests.
It felt less like the extracurricular clubs of a modern secondary school and more like the societies of a university.
The atmosphere was surprisingly serious.
"Is there any club you'd recomnd, Robert?" I asked. "After all, the gathering you ntioned is unofficial."
"That depends on your personality," he replied. "Active sorts usually play cricket. Those with quieter tastes join music or classical studies societies."
He glanced at curiously.
"By the way… do you play cricket?"
"Ah…"
A man who had spent his first life in South Korea and his second growing up in Joseon until two years ago had absolutely no chance of knowing how to play cricket.
Needless to say.
I could play baseball, but unfortunately baseball probably didn't even exist yet in this era.
Even if it did, British society would never treat it seriously.
So it was better to keep quiet.
Still…
Cricket.
That was an unexpected blind spot.
I wondered why Charles Wellesley or Jas had never ntioned it before.
But perhaps to them cricket was as natural as breathing, so they had never even thought to bring it up.
Judging from Robert's puzzled expression, my hesitation clearly seed strange.
"Wait… you really don't know how to play cricket?"
"I suppose I'll have to learn," I said calmly. "Fortunately, I learn quickly."
"In that case," Robert said, nodding, "don't bother joining a club just yet. Hire a tutor for weekend lessons. I'll help whenever I can."
"Thank you."
Apparently, cricket in this era was far more than a sport.
It was considered a demonstration of social standing, athletic ability, and leadership.
Which ant the baseball DNA flowing through my veins would now have to be converted into cricket.
I never imagined that one day I'd find myself learning cricket.
But if I wanted to integrate smoothly into British society, I had little choice but to follow the customs the British themselves cherished.
I made a ntal note to write to Jas and ask him to find a suitable private instructor.
Still, the awkwardness passed quickly.
The truth was that I felt a certain excitent.
After all, I would now be studying among so of the brightest young minds in Britain.
Even if this was the nineteenth century, Eton was still a school that produced the country's future leaders.
Surely the quality of education would be excellent.
…Or so I believed.
That illusion lasted exactly one week.
The educational philosophy of Eton—and most public schools of the era—could be summarized in a single sentence.
Rote morization is the ultimate truth. No superior thod of education exists.
A truly terrifying idea.
The modern European emphasis on creativity and critical thinking was nowhere to be found.
Society was evolving rapidly, but education had yet to catch up.
"Ahem… now, if we interpret this sentence by Cicero…"
There was nothing inherently wrong with studying the classics.
But reading Latin and Greek literature all day quickly beca unbearable.
Mathematics and science existed in the curriculum, but they were minor subjects by comparison.
And even those were taught almost entirely through morization.
"Very well," one instructor announced. "Tomorrow you will have an examination. The assigned passage runs from here to here. You are to reproduce the entire text exactly as written in the book. Each incorrect word will result in a deduction."
At that point I could hardly tell whether this was an exam or simply an exercise in parroting.
Debate? Critical analysis?
There was no room for such things.
Students did not take detailed notes like modern pupils.
Instead, they morized the lecturer's words exactly.
After class, they recited those words back verbatim and were evaluated on how accurately they reproduced them.
Under such conditions, it was hardly surprising that the teachers' lectures were uninspiring.
Even in modern cram schools built around morization—like those in Seoul's Sillim or Noryangjin districts—the instructors showed far more skill.
Fortunately, mastering Eton's system required only a simple thod.
morize.
If it doesn't stick, morize again.
If it still refuses to stick, morize it until it does.
Follow that formula and you beco a model student beloved by every teacher.
Simple, isn't it?
Luckily for , once I recognized a piece of information I rarely forgot it.
Academically speaking, the classes were easy.
The only problem was that they were mind-numbingly boring.
Not rely boring.
Dangerous.
What if all the Latin speeches of Plato and Cicero pushed my precious knowledge of finance and accounting out of my brain?
Of course, none of these thoughts appeared on my face.
Outwardly I behaved like the most diligent student imaginable.
As a result, my reputation among the faculty rose rapidly.
"Excellent, Killian Gore! Your recitation was perfect again," one teacher exclaid. "You follow the lessons remarkably well."
"Thank you, sir," I replied politely. "Your explanations make the material easy to rember."
"If only the other students were like you. It's still early in the term, but at this rate you may beco the top student among the new boys."
"I'll continue to work hard."
It was the least satisfying praise I had ever received.
The realization that perhaps Eton had not been the brilliant choice I imagined took only two weeks to arrive.
Still, sothing awaited .
In two weeks' ti, Robert had promised a tea gathering with alumni.
For now, that single event was enough to sustain through the monotony.
It had been a very long ti since I had looked forward to a weekend this much.
* * *
"Good afternoon, sir!"
"Welco back to your alma mater!"
"Now, now," one of the guests laughed. "I only graduated four years ago. Don't be so formal."
"Even so, we're still students," soone replied respectfully.
Eton's strict hierarchy between juniors and seniors extended even into unofficial gatherings.
Only about ten students were present.
Yet every one of them was either the son of an aristocratic family or the heir to a powerful London fortune.
Three alumni had co to attend the tea.
But my attention focused on only one of them.
A young man in a neat black suit, his face frad by carefully styled sideburns.
Robert—who clearly held so influence even in this circle—quickly introduced .
"Sir, this is Killian Gore, a new student this year. The eldest son of the Earl of Arran in Ireland—and a prodigy personally recomnded by His Grace the Duke of Wellington."
"The Duke of Wellington?" the young man said with interest.
"Yes. If I rember correctly, you attended Eton around the sa ti as his sons. Killian is also acquainted with them, so you might already share mutual connections."
At the ntion of Wellington's na, the young man nodded thoughtfully.
"Do you know Charles Wellesley?" he asked. "He should be a major in the army by now."
"Yes, sir. I still et Major Wellesley from ti to ti."
"Really? What a curious coincidence," the man said with a smile. "We were closely connected here at Eton. We even entered Christ Church, Oxford together. Though he later transferred to Cambridge."
"In fact," I said, "Major Wellesley accompanied when I ca for my entrance interview. I overheard him and the headmaster speaking about you. He praised you endlessly as one of Eton's finest students."
"Oh, it wasn't quite that impressive," the young man said modestly.
Robert seized the opportunity to speak.
"Not impressive? I heard that His Grace the Duke of Newcastle is supporting your candidacy for Newark. If you win imdiately after graduating from university, won't you enter the House of Commons at almost the sa age as William Pitt? That's extraordinary!"
"Well," the young man replied calmly, "that assus I win."
"You certainly will! Even my father says you're destined to beco one of the Tory Party's greatest hopes."
From the conversation, it beca clear that William Gladstone was preparing to stand for election that year as a Tory candidate.
If mory served correctly, he would indeed win.
Yet sothing puzzled .
The Gladstone I knew from history was a towering figure of the Liberal Party.
Why was he now a Tory?
Then again, political allegiances often changed in youth.
Perhaps he would eventually shift parties.
From my perspective, the question was simple.
Should I allow history to follow its natural course?
Or would it be more advantageous to keep him aligned with the Tories?
For now, I couldn't decide.
But one thing was certain.
Maintaining a personal relationship with Gladstone could only benefit .
Fortunately, I didn't even have to approach him.
He showed considerable interest in first.
"Tell , Killian," Gladstone said, "you're to inherit an Irish peerage, aren't you? Do you intend to focus your career in Ireland after graduation?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," I replied.
"Perhaps not," he said thoughtfully. "But many of our party's senior figures would likely hope you take such a role. Ireland cannot continue as it is. For now the problem is rely patched over—but eventually it may beco dangerous for the entire kingdom."
That sentint seed common among those concerned with Ireland.
To them, Ireland was like a powder keg waiting to explode.
In the upcoming election, Daniel O'Connell would even establish an independent Irish party.
For soone like Gladstone—deeply committed to justice and religious morality—it was natural to worry about such matters.
"While I'm still young and inexperienced," I said carefully, "my father has occasionally expressed similar concerns. If I can one day contribute to the unity of the kingdom, I would gladly do so."
"A comndable attitude," Gladstone said approvingly. "The world is changing too quickly. Basic moral principles are being eroded. People pursue short-term gains without considering the long-term interests of the nation. In tis like these, young n must uphold justice."
"I agree," I said. "Lately there seem to be more and more dishonest people in the world. Swindlers who trick others out of money."
My comnt had been casual.
Yet Gladstone's expression darkened slightly.
"You're right," he said. "Before entering politics I considered building my reputation as a barrister. The mont I registered, acquaintances began approaching for help after being defrauded. Far more people suffer from such cris than we realize."
"Many victims probably keep silent," I said. "They know they'll never recover the money, and admitting they were fooled only invites ridicule."
"Exactly. But as a young lawyer I could do very little."
"Did you try reporting it to the London police?"
"I did," Gladstone said with frustration. "But it was useless. The criminals were swindling investors through railway shares. They seem to have connections with certain officers. Whenever the police begin to suspect them, they dissolve the company and reopen under a new na."
He sighed.
"If I win this election, I intend to investigate them properly."
Interesting.
That was a valuable piece of information.
I had already been considering testing the intelligence network I had recently created.
Finding suitable targets had been the only difficulty.
But railway swindles?
That sounded perfect.
Keeping my tone natural, I cast out the line.
"That's terrible," I said sympathetically. "My father has recently shown interest in railway investnts as well, so I'm rather worried. Would you mind telling us more about the case?"
"Of course," Gladstone said.
"Robert, you should listen as well. And warn anyone you know who plans to buy railway shares."
I straightened in my chair and listened carefully.
Let's see.
Which scoundrels were currently accumulating fortunes—
Just waiting to hand them over to .
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