Chapter 11

: Hello Teacher, My Name is S11

The researchers never imagined that the new tutor’s arrival would unfold like this. 

Whenever someone met S11, it usually ended in injury—this had long been accepted by those in charge of his room. But none of them had expected S11 to be the injured one this time… 

It was quite extraordinary. 

Even S11 found it extraordinary. 

As the doctor treated his fractured wrist, the boy’s expression remained perfectly calm. Propping his chin on his other hand, he watched Juan, who stood tall and still, with great interest. 

Juan stood motionless, as if carved from stone. 

“All of you can leave. I need to have my lesson with my teacher now,” the boy said, waving off the medical staff as if shooing away flies. 

Once everyone was gone, the boy raised an eyebrow and glanced at Juan’s left hand. 

“Do you need that taken care of?” he asked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a mischievous grin. 

He was referring to Juan’s left pinky. No one had noticed it earlier, but the finger was severed, barely hanging by a strip of skin. 

Juan hadn’t noticed it either. 

He lifted his hand for a look, seeing the dangling finger, but his expression remained unchanged. “It’s fine. My coordination was off.” 

He explained flatly that he hadn’t managed to dodge all the flower-arrows, and one must have severed his pinky before he could escape. 

Then, without another word, he lowered his hand. 

The boy blinked, then burst into laughter, so hard that he had to clutch his stomach to steady himself. 

“They call me S11. What about you, teacher?” The boy’s boisterous laughter subsided into a faint smile, and he looked at Juan with an expression that was both friendly and innocent. 

His light-colored eyes, nearly transparent like rare gems, seemed to draw people in— 

But not Juan. 

Staring directly into the boy’s eyes, Juan replied without hesitation: 

“I’m here for the magic book you’re holding.” 

His words hung in the air, but the boy’s smile didn’t falter. As if he hadn’t heard, the boy asked again, “They call me S11. What’s your name, teacher?” 

Juan: … 

Is this some kind of time-reversal magic? 

↑ 

Coming from a world of magic, that was Juan’s first thought. 

Unfortunately— 

Seeing that Juan wasn’t answering, the boy cheerfully repeated, “They call me S11. What’s your name, teacher?” 

This time, Juan knew for sure—it wasn’t magic. The boy was just pretending not to hear him. 

Facing the smiling boy again, Juan had the odd sensation of throwing a fastball straight into a pillow. 

“Juan,” he muttered. 

“Juan? That’s a great name!” As soon as he got the answer he wanted, the boy’s “magic” vanished. His cheerful grin remained as he continued talking. “Why Juan? Does it have some deeper meaning?” 

“…Because of a physical trait,” Juan answered reluctantly. 

Though they hadn’t known each other long, Juan was already getting a sense of the boy’s personality. 

For instance, he could tell the boy was the type who wouldn’t give up until he got what he wanted. 

“Physical trait?” The boy scrutinized Juan from head to toe, his gaze lingering suspiciously at his waist. 

“…” Actually, it’s because of my curled tail. Not wanting to reveal such a private detail, Juan remained silent, letting the boy’s imagination run wild. 

“Juan, I just realized we’re still standing at the door. There’s nothing fun here. Let me show you around,” the boy said suddenly, turning on his heel and walking deeper inside. After a few steps, he turned back and added, “There’s a big tree with a table and two chairs under it—perfect for chatting.” 

Then, with a playful smile, he added, “And also great for teaching.”

Juan: “I didn’t come here to be your tutor.” 

He strode toward the boy, determined to make his intentions clear. “I came for—” 

Before he could say the words “magic book,” a burst of blood mist exploded among the branches above. A small bird, ripped in half, dropped from the sky, landing moments later at Juan’s feet. 

Had he not stepped back in time, the bird’s corpse would have landed on his head. 

Juan glanced down at the dead bird, then looked up—just in time to see the boy smiling at him. 

It was his doing. 

“That’s not a bird,” the boy said, blinking with a smile. 

“I know. It’s a surveillance device,” Juan replied. 

He now understood clearly: the thing that gave him the sense of being watched was indeed a surveillance tool. 

The boy’s smile faded as he gave Juan a serious look. After a moment, he remarked, “You really are quite special.” 

Am I? Shouldn’t I seem boring? 

Though Juan said nothing, his eyes conveyed his thoughts. 

The boy continued walking and responded lightly, “Not boring at all.” 

“Other people who saw me kill these birds screamed loudly—especially the last one.” 

That woman had gone out of her way to present herself as kind-hearted, even attracting birds to perch on her fingers to impress him. When he killed the birds, their blood sprayed all over her. 

“But there was one person who didn’t scream,” the boy added. “She had an even stranger reaction—she asked if I wanted to make soup out of them.” 

“Soup made from surveillance devices? No thanks. I’m not into eating stuff like that. Imagine biting into a screw—that’d be a disaster.” 

His voice shifted slightly, as if recalling an old memory. 

So, you really did accidentally eat a screw once, didn’t you? 

Though Juan stayed silent, the boy seemed to pick up on his thoughts. 

“That was an accident, back when I was a kid,” the boy explained casually. 

Oh… 

Juan’s disinterested gaze slid from the boy’s face to a large tree ahead. Under its blossoming branches sat an intricately designed table with a few books on it and two matching chairs. 

The flowers on the tree looked familiar—they were the same type the boy had been holding earlier. 

“Please, have a seat, teacher.” As expected, the boy sat down on one chair and pulled the other out for Juan, motioning for him to sit. 

“I didn’t come to tutor you. I came for the magic book you have,” Juan said, standing at the table and reiterating his purpose. 

The boy fixed his gaze on Juan. After a moment, he raised his bandaged left hand and, with an unknown motion, made a book float beside him. 

“Is this the one?” the boy asked, his light brown eyes unwavering. 

Juan’s eyes instantly lit up with desire, and he stared at the book without blinking. “Yes, that’s the one.” 

He instinctively reached out to grab it— 

But his hand grasped only air. 

The boy withdrew the book with a smile, patted the chair beside him, and casually picked up another book from the table. 

“I heard that this new teacher likes poetry. So I asked for a few poetry collections. They’re pretty good, but I don’t know much about the stories behind the poems. Could you explain them to me?” 

Juan: … 

Determined, Juan tried again. “I want to read the magic book—” 

But the boy cut him off with a cheerful smile. “I want to read poetry.” 

Seeing Juan’s persistence, the boy added with a grin, “If you want to read the magic book, read poetry to me first—until I’m satisfied.” 

“And then you’ll let me read the magic book?” Juan asked. 

“Uh-huh.” The boy raised an eyebrow playfully. 

The two locked eyes for a moment. Then Juan sighed, pulled the chair out farther, and sat down.