"You're really harsh, Leader."
Machi withdrew the Nen needle from her hand and stood up. Kisho, whose left shoulder and right shoulder bone had just been stitched up, had already passed out from the pain.
Chrollo looked at his book without lifting his head, and his words of concern were utterly insincere.
"Thanks for your hard work."
"Altogether, eighteen million." Machi said, not needing any sympathy at all.
Chrollo finally looked up.
"Why did the price suddenly go up?"
He seemed thoughtful.
"Don't internal personnel get a discount?"
"Yesterday's full-body treatment was ten million. Add today's left shoulder three million and right shoulder seven million, totaling twenty million," Machi replied calmly. "But this kid isn't internal personnel. I've already given a ten-percent discount for the leader's sake."
Chrollo smiled.
"Alright, put it on the tab. I'll pay you together after the next activity."
Machi nodded, walked out of Chrollo's room, and casually closed the door behind her.
Chrollo put down the book in his hand and strode over to the corner of the wall where Kisho was lying.
"Passing out from pain" basically doesn't exist for people who grew up in Meteor City. Only under irresistible external factors would "losing consciousness" be possible, such as losing half their blood or being knocked out instantly. Because the body itself is considered a recyclable resource, whether alive or dead. In most cases, anything that "passes out" is treated as a corpse.
So as long as the body can still move, no matter how much pain one has to endure, they would never choose to "pass out."
"Really weak," Chrollo said softly. "Not like someone from Meteor City at all."
The boy was too weak—both physically and mentally. He was afraid of pain and afraid of death, with combat power close to zero, and his personality lacked even a trace of Meteor City's traits.
Chrollo's interest in "silver-blue eyes" far exceeded his interest in "Kisho." If possible, the one he actually wanted to invite into the group was "silver-blue eyes"—the boy who, after appearing, dragged his broken limbs and still forced himself to stand by hanging onto a box, attacking with ruthless decisiveness, staking everything on a single strike.
Teaching "Kisho" felt like instructing a clueless child, whereas "silver-blue eyes," though he had only met him once, somehow felt like an equal existence to Chrollo.
Still, the kid's learning ability wasn't bad. While learning simple dialogues and words in the common language, he practiced Ten, and in just half a day, he had increased his "Ten" to a one-centimeter level. He even learned, without a teacher, how to use "Gyo" to observe the Nen attacking him.
However, judging from the Nen that "silver-blue eyes" had used, how much Nen capacity this body actually contained was still unknown. So this would still be a long and arduous training journey.
He poked the boy's face.
"Break time's over. Continue."
Kisho frowned deeply, as if trapped in a nightmare. It took a long time before he slowly opened his eyes. For him, the dream was a pitch-black world of despair—and the world outside the dream was the same.
...
Kisho sat on the floor holding a pen, a notebook spread open on his knees.
On each page, the first line was written by Chrollo, who also told him how to pronounce it and what it meant.
All Kisho had to do was copy it over and over until he memorized it.
Copying the names of all the troupe members and his own name.
Copying the numbers from one to ten, copying ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand, hundred million. —Although the capital numerals in this world were different from the previous one, the lowercase ones were still the familiar Arabic numerals he knew all too well.
Copying hours, minutes, and seconds; Monday through Sunday; months and years—timekeeping in this world was also seconds, minutes, hours, and weeks, just like before.
He carefully copied stroke by stroke, finding it hard to imagine that the first-grade elementary school curriculum he had once escaped was now being made up in this world.
According to the terrifying Teacher Chrollo, who could kill at any time, each word only counted once it was copied to the point it couldn't be forgotten.
To be fair, Teacher Chrollo's handwriting—though Kisho didn't know this world's standards for "beautiful" calligraphy—was indeed quite nice.
It's just that his fingers were still not very flexible, so what he wrote was probably only slightly better than a child who had just started learning to write.
The next second, he frowned again, because the oppressive Nen pressure that made him extremely uncomfortable rolled over him yet again. For the umpteenth time, he used "Ten" to protect himself. It was really hard to imagine that this feeling—like "a gun being pressed to your temple with the finger about to pull the trigger"—had become something he could get used to in just one day.
Meanwhile, the person releasing the Nen pressure had no awareness of being disliked at all. After the Nen pressure was barely blocked by "Ten," he continued calmly reading his book without any reaction.
...
Dinner was brought in by Pakunoda knocking on the door. When she handed it to Kisho, he stammered out a "thank you" in the common language.
However, it was hard for him to describe Pakunoda's expression after hearing that "thank you."
What filled his stomach was still expired water and canned food. Although his stomach would feel uncomfortable after eating, if he gathered aura in his stomach, that discomfort would quickly disappear. So... being able to fill his stomach was already pretty good.
After dinner, it was still study time. Just when Kisho thought he was almost done copying, he watched in despair as Chrollo slowly walked over to him and then walked back. Then, more than a dozen new words appeared in the notebook.
He kept copying until after ten at night. After using up two pens, Kisho completely gave up.
He closed the notebook and capped the pen, then collapsed backward, hissing—
The back of his head hit the wall. Even with "Ten," it still hurt quite a bit.
Teacher Chrollo, who could kill at any time, raised his head to look at him, candlelight flickering in his black eyes.
By the way, the miserable first-grade elementary student had no money to exchange for candles with Teacher Chrollo, so he was forced to use "Gyo" to see the words clearly in the darkness.
Kisho said in clumsy common language,
"I want to rest. I'm tired."
"You can rest only after passing the inspection."
Chrollo strode over to Kisho. His long fingers picked up the notebook from the ground and flipped it open. Upon seeing the handwriting on the first few pages, a clear trace of disdain appeared on the teacher's handsome face.
After flipping through the notebook, Chrollo asked,
"You remember everyone's name?"
"Mm..." Kisho pulled over a notebook and wrote while reading them aloud.
"Nobunaga Hazama."
"Feitan Portor."
"Machi Komacine."
"Phinks Magcub."
"Shalnark."
"Franklin Bordeau."
"Pakunoda."
"Bonolenov."
"Uvogin."
"Kortopi."
After finishing, he capped the pen, widened his eyes, and waited for Teacher Chrollo's inspection result.
Chrollo looked at Kisho.
"...?"
Kisho stared back at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Chrollo reminded him expressionlessly,
"My name."
"Ah, oh." Kisho pulled off the pen cap again and wrote on the paper: "Chrollo Lucilfer."
Chrollo said expressionlessly,
"Read it."
Kisho said,
"Chro-ro-lo Lu-xi-xi."
Chrollo said,
"Lucilfer."
Kisho enunciated clearly,
"Lu-xi-xi."
Chrollo corrected him again,
"Lucilfer."
Kisho read stiffly again,
"Lu-xi-xi."
...
After repeating this for an hour with no results, Kisho curled up in the corner with a head full of bumps and fell asleep. Nearby, Chrollo held his book and read, yet his gaze did not move with the turning pages. Having experienced a "total failure" in his first attempt at teaching a student, Chrollo still could not figure out which step had gone wrong.