John had been taken away by his mastro at the age of five. He had never attended a traditional school. All of his knowledge was passed down through teachings at the temple.
So, when he said he'd never gone to school, he wasn't lying.
But others didn't interpret it that way.
Nick, Marcia, and Justin were stunned for a moment, then their expressions twisted into sneers of contempt.
Especially Justin, who wore a smug, superior smile.
Marcia scoffed. "So you're illiterate?"
Even though Queenie had warned her not to make things difficult for John, she couldn't suppress the disdain in her tone. In this day and age, how could someone still exist who had never gone to school?
Was he too poor to afford tuition?
But hadn't he grown up in a welfare house? Surely the staff there taught basic education!
There was only one explanation in her mind: he either had no interest in learning or simply hadn't made the effort.
And in her eyes, he deserved to be mocked.
As the three of them stared at John with thinly veiled ridicule, he remained unfazed. He even chuckled and said, "Well, I can recognize a few words."
"Oh? Like fifty?" Justin blurted with exaggerated sympathy. Then, faking remorse, he added, "Sorry, John. Didn't mean to offend you. Please don't take it the wrong way."
His concern was a poorly veiled mockery, as obvious as the sarcastic grins Nick and Marcia wore.
Queenie could sense the scorn in the air. She was about to speak up in John's defense when a hand slipped under the table and gently pinched her thigh.
She froze, biting back her reaction. Of course, it was John. But his hand didn't stop there—it began inching upward toward her most private area. Queenie whipped her head to glare at him.
What the hell are you doing, John? she fumed silently. They're insulting you, and instead of speaking up, you're trying to grope me?
If they weren't in public, she would have yanked him by the ear and given him a harsh scolding.
Sensing her glare, John sheepishly withdrew his hand and flashed an awkward smile.
In truth, he hadn't meant to cross the line. He simply didn't want Queenie defending him—he preferred to handle things his own way.
But to Nick, Marcia, and Justin, it looked like Queenie was glaring at John because his ignorance embarrassed her.
A ridiculous assumption.
Justin, meanwhile, lit up with glee. He thought he had just spotted a chink in John's armor—one that he could exploit to get closer to Queenie. If he could deepen her disappointment in John, maybe he'd finally have a shot.
And John, as if reading his thoughts, handed him the perfect opportunity.
"I heard Mr. Bush here is a top overseas graduate," John said casually. "I've got a few words I don't know how to read. Mind teaching me?"
Everyone turned to look at him, confused.
Even Queenie was caught off guard. She stared at John, dumbfounded.
You brat, what are you doing? she thought. The subject was already over. Why bring it back up again?
You could've just asked me at home if you were really curious about something.
She sighed internally.
Justin paused for a moment, then gave a patronizing laugh. "Haha, of course. Ask me anything, John. I'm always happy to help the… less fortunate."
He was in his twenties, but he had never encountered someone so clueless—or so willing to publicly humiliate himself. This was going to be fun.
Nick and Marcia chimed in gleefully. "Justin's right. Illiteracy won't get you far in life. He could teach you to recognize more words, improve your educational level!"
Their faces beamed with self-satisfaction.
Not because they had any newfound respect for John—but because this was clearly a chance to trample him while flattering Justin. And best of all, John had handed them the opportunity himself. Queenie couldn't even blame them for it.
They were practically gloating.
John stood and walked over to the counter to fetch a piece of paper and a pen. Queenie started to follow, but he subtly gestured for her to stay put.
Marcia quickly took the chance to hold Queenie's hand and said, "Just let him be. It's good he's trying to learn."
Reluctantly, Queenie sat back down.
A few minutes later, John returned with a folded sheet of paper in his hand.
"Mr. Bush, I know how to write these words, but I'm not sure how to pronounce them," he said politely. "I've listed them here. Could you help me out?"
Justin grinned, unable to hide his smugness. "Ha, sure thing. Always happy to help—"
He looked down at the paper—and froze.
His face drained of color as his eyes scanned the jumbled mess of letters on the page.
sbdweuiybfasbcikhj
kshxcbukysebdibsai
asiudbowiuedasda
sdbwebfbweufasda
bdsxioawbdiebgasd
"What the fuck is this?" he snapped, shooting up from his seat. His calm, gentlemanly facade shattered in an instant.
Mr. and Mrs. Yeats, who had been silently judging from the side, glanced at the paper. Their faces stiffened with subtle discomfort.
Queenie had initially been upset with her parents' scornful treatment of John—but when she saw what he'd written, she couldn't help but smirk and throw a cold glance his way.
What a devilish bastard!
Nick, Marcia, and especially Justin looked like they'd been slapped. Their expressions twisted in various shades of confusion and embarrassment.
John, perfectly composed, leaned back with a faint smile. "You're a top overseas graduate, right? I didn't think your cultural level was below mine. Oh—and by the way, I know someone named Shelly. Should I introduce her to you?"
He was referring, of course, to Shelly Lee, the internationally renowned artist.
Justin's face turned crimson with rage. He looked ready to explode.
He stared daggers at John, as if he wanted to tear him apart right then and there.