The Prison Scholar (3)
One week after being admitted to prison. Unable to write my thesis, the sorrow proved unbearable, and I felt compelled to overturn this situation. Thus, I began altering my behavior patterns. First, it was crucial to earn the guards' trust. So each morning I rose earlier than anyone else, neatly folded my bedding, and arranged my clothes. When ordered to run fifty laps around the exercise yard before breakfast, I moved without complaint. I suppressed all the nonsense I'd previously spouted in jest. Nearly two more weeks passed in this manner.
“Not a single bout of madness in two weeks. The Outer God must have left.”
The model inmate girl in the next cell still received the occasional beating. Only I had become free from the violence. Of course, contrary to the guard's words, Cartesia had not left my side.
“Inmate number 888888. How are you feeling? Do you know who you are now?”
“I do not.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I cannot fully trust my five senses to judge. An Outer God could return at any moment. Therefore, aside from the fact that I exist and may be controlled by such an entity, nothing can be stated with certainty.”
“……Impressive.”
I learned the guard's name. Guard Weizel. The man who groaned daily over paperwork. He spoke.
“Completely different from the first day when you showed signs of madness. Who would have guessed the silent one was actually quite eloquent.”
“Thank you.”
“What is your background?”
To that question I merely smiled and gave no answer. Private conversations between inmates and guards were forbidden.
“You remember the rules well.”
The next day arrived. Unable to contain himself, Guard Weizel had apparently gone through my files.
“Idel von Rheinland, age seventeen. Top admission to Stellarium Academia.”
He recited my personal information and marveled.
“So you were a prodigy.”
With this reaction, he was already half won over. I would not rush. Slowly, patiently, I would wait until he took the bait.
For the remaining four days of that week, I lived greeting Guard Weizel with utmost courtesy. Around the fifth week, the bite came.
“Nearly four weeks without any madness. This is unprecedented. You might be released within three months.”
“Thank you. But it would be better not to leave until it is certain.”
“Oh ho.”
Guard Weizel fell silent for a long while after that exclamation.
“What are your hobbies, by any chance?”
“Reading.”
“Reading! I see. What fields do you enjoy?”
“I do not discriminate by genre, but I particularly like mathematics and science.”
“Mathematics and science. Are you any good at writing as well?”
“I am not sure. If I had paper and pen, I could show you.”
“Come over here for a moment.”
Guard Weizel led me to the computer room. A desk cluttered with piles of documents, paper cups stained with coffee rings, and dusty triple monitors. His lifestyle—and workload—were immediately apparent. He opened a notepad and handed me a Bluetooth keyboard.
“You know how to type, right?”
“Of course.”
“Write anything.”
“Anything at all?”
“Yes. Anything.”
Guard Weizel advised me to pull the chair forward. I stared at the monitor and thought. What did this man need?
- He has to submit a report. I have gathered enough information.
Suppressing the laughter that threatened to escape, I began typing. What I wrote was none other than a diary. More precisely, a report in diary form. When someone began showing signs of madness. How the madness manifested, what the triggers were. How it was suppressed. What might happen next. I concisely recorded everything the guard should have written himself and submitted to his superiors. As if writing an autobiographical novel, there was not a single pause. My typing speed was also high—almost at the level of a professional stenographer. I could have gone faster, but that might have invited suspicion that I was not human, so I restrained myself.
After about thirty minutes—
“Student.”
The guard's form of address had changed at some point.
“Hic, sob.”
The day began on a rather gloomy note. The moment I woke up, I heard crying from the next cell.
[Inmate No. 888887, emotional excess at 5:41 a.m. Unexplained sobbing observed.]
I roughly noted it down and flung open the cell door. With the key in my pocket, I headed for the computer room.
“Sir, did you not sleep?”
“Huh? Uh, yeah.”
“Rest for a bit. I will tidy up the room.”
Six weeks into my incarceration. I had secured a small measure of power within this prison. My bedding had been replaced with fresh, fluffy linens, and I had received three notebooks— one for records, the other two used as research journals.
— The God of Wisdom and Curiosity is intrigued by your research notes.
The reason I could move about so freely was simple. The people here had originally been ordinary, law-abiding citizens. (Even before being possessed by Outer Gods, those who had committed crimes could be counted on one hand.) The guards controlled madness, not people. If no madness manifested for an extended period, they gradually loosened restrictions while observing the inmate's condition.
Upon arriving at work, I organized the documents and brewed coffee. Then I sat at the monitor and began my tasks. I closely monitored the conditions of tens of thousands of inmates. Whenever I spotted someone going mad, I sounded the siren without hesitation. If anything unusual occurred, I drafted a report and saved it. While I worked, Guard Weizel slept soundly.
— The God of Wisdom and Curiosity is struggling.
Because of Alcatraz's high ether density, it was not an ideal environment for Outer Gods to remain for long. According to Guard Weizel, Outer Gods usually abandoned their hosts and departed around the third week. Cartesia lasting until the sixth week was remarkable.
[“I am reaching my limit. If I brought my true body, perhaps, but manifesting through incarnation is difficult to sustain beyond two months.”]
So you are leaving me?
[“……That cannot happen. Things are finally getting interesting.”]
Ding, ding, ding.
Meal time had arrived. I rose from writing documents and woke the guard.
“Sir, it is lunchtime.”
“Mmm, already?”
Guard Weizel staggered to his seat. After a long yawn, he checked my work.
“Your skill is still unbelievable.”
He stroked his chin and smiled.
“Student. Honestly, you have exceeded my expectations. I would feel bad if I did not give you some kind of reward.”
Finally, the moment had come. There were countless things I wanted, but every journey begins with a single step. I would start with the easiest request.
“I would like permission to read any letters or emails addressed to me.”
The answer came quickly.
“That much is fine.”
“Terence, good news!”
Early morning. Feynman burst into his friend Terence's office, bouncing like a child.
“What is it?”
“We can send emails to Idel now!”
Terence clicked his tongue. Over the past few weeks, Feynman had appealed to the scientific community to get Idel out of Alcatraz.
“Look at this. It is the paper I co-authored with my student!”
The response had been explosive. The new theory, named the Feynman-Rheinland Model, sent shockwaves through particle physics. It described the long-unsolved gravity-ether unification theory more perfectly than anything before. But that was all. While the physics community began to recognize the name Idel von Rheinland, other fields remained largely indifferent. It was merely one theory. Scientific theories only captured public attention when they generated money. In that regard, the paper Idel and Feynman had published lacked appeal.
Concluding that this would not do, Professor Feynman had sent an email appealing to Alcatraz Prison, requesting at least a visit. The reply had been simple.
Rejection. Yet today that restriction had been lifted. And only for Idel.
“The madness must be subsiding. Welcome news.”
Though Terence was not particularly enthusiastic, he expressed sympathy for Feynman.
“This is no time for that. I need to write to Idel right away.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I will start with a simple greeting.”
Feynman attached the follow-up research papers that had appeared in the meantime and sent them to Alcatraz's email address. His typing did not stop for a while.
Meanwhile, two more girls had received the same news. Rustilla and Zernya.
The next day, I received four emails. I read the one from Sonia first.
As expected from an android, the tone was stiff. The next email was from Rustilla. The moment I opened the inbox, a massive wall of text engulfed me. Reading through it, everything seemed to be all right. Seti had stabilized, and Christine could return to school after treatment. Teacher Kendra had miraculously succeeded in reattaching her arm.
The final line carried a strange emotion. If it were only me who was absent, perhaps. But with Seti in that condition, I could not tell how long Rustilla would hold out. The key was how her parents would react. I needed to return as soon as possible, yet that would not be easy. I clicked my tongue and opened the email from Zernya.
I chuckled and rubbed my face.
“An academic transcript?”
It was Guard Weizel. He stared at my transcript and ranking, mouth agape.
“The Constellations are heartless. To think no one claimed such a prodigy until an Outer God infected him.”
I gazed indifferently at the number “1” displayed on the monitor. Honestly, it was an undeserved rank. I had reached it with Cartesia's computational assistance. While my own efforts played a part, they likely did not constitute the majority. One must always remain humble.
Only one email remained. No, not one.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Emails were arriving in real time. Every single one began with “Student Idel, it has been a while.” Yet their contents were remarkably substantial.
Tears streamed down my face.
“Ha, student. What is wrong?”
“Hic, sniff, snuffle……!”
I trembled, fist shoved into my mouth.
“What? Has the madness returned? Ah…… I see. Your girlfriend sent you a letter. ‘I miss you.’”
Finally. Finally, I could write my thesis.