In the study.
The floor lamp was on, casting a circle of dim light, covering the man sitting on the side of the sofa.
Slender fingers frad the wooden drone, as the motion shifted, shadows of varying depth and shape flickered across the wall.
"Master Pedro, the soup is ready."
Jack Carter carried the cooked soup, knocked three tis on the half-open door.
His gaze lingered on the drone before moving to the figure at the door, Pedro Langley spoke lightly, "Take two servings next door."
"Yes."
Jack quickly responded, brought the soup inside, and placed it on the coffee table.
Pedro Langley’s gaze swept across the bookshelf on the wall, his fingers caressed the drone’s bottom pattern, Nora Scott’s vibrant smile appeared in his mind, he suddenly rembered the promise of that set of books, the curve of his lips softened slightly, and he called out to Jack Carter as he was about to leave the study.
"Master Pedro, anything else?" Jack Carter’s curious gaze glanced over.
"Clear out the fourth shelf." Pedro Langley ordered.
"Oh, okay."
Jack didn’t quite understand, but obediently nodded.
*
The next day, early morning.
The familiar school, mottled walls, last week’s history of climbing the fence due to almost being late, replayed once more.
Marcus Shaw sighed heavily, resigned to his fate.
"Let’s go."
With just two words, Marcus Shaw didn’t need Nora Scott to remind him, he grabbed his backpack, opened the car door and got out.
Once a rookie, twice a pro.
Without any pause, Marcus Shaw stopped outside the wall, glanced up, and in a few simple steps, he climbed over the wall.
Nora Scott whistled, drove away without any guilt.
Watching the vehicle depart, Marcus Shaw ruffled his short hair in frustration, making it slightly ssy, but he didn’t care, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he quickly left this dangerous area.
"Marcus Shaw!"
Rounding the corner to the leafy path leading to the teaching building, Marcus Shaw heard a shout from behind, his brows furrowed then relaxed after a few seconds.
Not sure if Nora Scott is poisonous, every ti she brought him to school, it was the routine of climbing the wall, encountering Mr. Flynn.
"Considered it for a week, any change of mind?" Mr. Flynn greeted him with a smile that was like a warm breeze, kind and gentle.
The saying goes, a smile wins over any hard-heartedness.
Marcus Shaw’s cold expression eased a bit, he opened his mouth, subconsciously wanting to refuse, but suddenly recalled Oliver Scott’s ssage last night about Ancient chanism Technique—
"Ancient chanism Technique might be lost, but from the preserved parts, it has evolved into chanical Engineering today. Moreover, many things have been improved. Our cha creation also requires such knowledge, if you want to study it, I can recomnd so related books."
Ancient chanism Technique, modern chanical Engineering.
The blueprints and books viewed over the weekend erged one by one, causing Marcus Shaw to hesitate.
"Not imdiately rejecting shows there’s a chance." Mr. Flynn observed him, even the smile reached behind his ears, he suggested to Marcus Shaw, "Why not consider it again?"
Marcus Shaw was not one to dawdle.
Once tempted, there was no need to consider further, he quickly decided: "I agree."
"..."
His straightforwardness was unexpected for Mr. Flynn, there was a mont of surprise.
"Marcus Shaw! Class is about to start, what are you doing holding up Mr. Flynn here?"
Anastasia, dressed smartly and competently, wore heels with the montum of running shoes, walking as if running, quickly approached Marcus Shaw.
Marcus Shaw’s figure paused, he turned to see her approaching, expression returning to his usual cold and distant manner, he didn’t greet her.
Seeing his cold and impolite deanor, Anastasia was annoyed, glanced at Mr. Flynn, feeling embarrassed because students in her class didn’t care about her, she harshly ntioned a past issue: "Is Oliver Scott’s chanical Box fixed? Oliver isn’t rushing you, but that doesn’t an you can just let this go—"
"Returned it to him."
"..."
Anastasia, who was stern and harsh, was stumped by Marcus Shaw’s nonchalant three words.
After a good while, she restrained her surprise, showing doubt, "You fixed it?"
"Ask him yourself."
Glancing past Anastasia, Marcus Shaw tightened his grip on the backpack strap, turned and walked away.
However, after just two steps, Mr. Flynn grabbed his arm, Mr. Flynn gave him a gesture, smiling.
He mouthed three words: "Wait, a, mont."
At that mont—
"Ms. Anastasia, Mr. Flynn."
Oliver Scott arrived shortly after, greeted the two teachers, then his gaze fixed on Marcus Shaw.
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