Stats: Written: 1/27/18; Prompt: The Modern Typewriter; Time: 30 min. max – 22.5 min. taken

Prompt: “You’re hurt,” the villain said in a neutral tone of voice. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I can still work.”

Their breath caught as a hand brushed over their injured ribs, though they did their best to keep their expression composed. Hyper-aware of the feel of the villain close behind them, breath on the side of their throat. The closeness left them dizzy. Their skin felt oddly hot.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice,” the villain murmured against their ear.

“Tell me, is that because you think me unobservant or simply that I don’t care enough to pay attention to you?”

Their mouth went dry.

“You’re hurt,” the man, considered a villain to many, spoke in a neutral tone. Not quite uncaring, but not surprised. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I can still work.” Oh, why couldn’t he be surprised by the blunt answer? Probably because he heard it a thousand times.

The boy’s breath hitched as a hand, not so gently, brushed his injured ribs. He did his best to keep his expression composed. Just like he’d been taught.

Hyper-aware of the feel of his mentor close behind him, breath on the side of his throat. The dread of death filled the pit in his stomach. One wrong move-

The closeness left him dizzy and he felt oddly hot. Like the embarrassed kind of hot. He had succeeded, technically, unless he forgot something… or perhaps-

“You thought I wouldn’t notice,” the man murmured against his ear. “Tell me, is that because you think me unobservant or simply that I don’t care enough to pay attention to you?” His mouth went dry. For starters, a part of him feared he actually offended him. Another part felt like he had failed the test in some way. He saw how brutal the man could be to those who failed him. Perhaps, he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.

“Well,” demeanor taking a 180, he stepped away, giving personal space back to the kid, “you weren’t as stoic as I had hoped you’d be. Practice that a bit more. You did a satisfactory job of not showing your cracked ribs – don’t give me that look. I studied medicine for years and worked in the field, I’m sure at least two are broken.”

He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder and guided him down the hall to be tended.

The kid remained somewhat jumpy, unable to hide his startled-ness anymore.

“Relax, now. It was just a test. Granted, I never intended for you to get this hurt. Maybe a bump and bruise, that’s all.”

Once, the student had been patched, he was sent off to bed. Dinner would be served there. Before he could step fully out of the room, his teacher grabbed his face, keeping him in place and focused.

“And no, you can’t work with damaged ribs. You’re barely nine. You may have to get used to injury on the field, but when you’re here, living under my roof, you won’t be left limping to your studies. With that being said, eat all of your dinner and be up and ready by 9:30 for your classes. Got it?” With that, he released him and watched as he walked away – if this had been a few months ago, he’d have scurried, like a rat. He might have even hidden extra food in his drawers.

Not now, no. He walked upright, comfortable for the most part in the home and in his own skin. Only now and then would stash food like a squirrel, mainly on the days he’d jump at casting lights and dancing shadows.

The man, suspicious in the eyes of many and hated in the eyes of many more, returned to his office, watching the tapes of his lackey’s “mission”. He took note, already revising his lesson plans to include more self-defense teaching and hopefully, the boy wouldn’t be so badly injured next time.