ch:2 Mental Challenge

Kiyotaka's POV:

It's been a week since my arrival at the youth center, and if there's one thing I've learned about my roommate, it would be that he is, in a way, a genius.

Not academically (since I didn't really want to test him), but he is a genius nonetheless. He understands the bigger picture of things and, interestingly, he is a polyglot.

He can speak four languages quite fluently: English, French, Russian, and Romani. English, French, and Romani are his strong suits.

He can understand and speak just a little Russian. Anyway, if there's one thing I can say about the youth center, it would be that it's utter garbage.

The guards don't do their job and often just ignore the kids. They see the kids getting harmed but they're not doing anything to stop it.

Only when a superintendent or someone of higher power is nearby do they do something.

On another note, about an hour ago while Dick and I were heading towards the cafeteria, we had an unwelcome encounter with another kid.

The kid's name was Tommy; he looks to be around a year or two older than me. He's also the bully in this establishment, and from what Dick told me, I can assume he was beaten up by him.

Anyway, continuing on, Tommy went right in front of us, blocking the doors. He said in a rather annoying voice, "What are you little shits doing?"

At this point, I started to question whether or not this child is mentally challenged. I mean, if you see people heading towards the cafeteria, I think you can probably assume that we're going there to eat.

Finally done thinking about how mentally challenged the kid is, I responded, "We're going to the cafeteria, can't you see?"

I don't know how, but my words seemed to have made Tommy beet red. He came up close to my face and said, "ARE YOU CALLING ME STUPID!"

At this point, I wished to get out of this situation; I don't really wanna waste my energy fighting this kid.

I responded while giving him a glare that could scare even the toughest of men, "I think you misunderstood what I said; I'm just telling you what we're doing."

Tommy looked at me in fear and muttered, "A-ah, I-I see, well don't bother me, Chink." After that, he speed walked away.

Of course this kid's a racist he probably thinks that anyone of Asian descent is Chinese.

While we were walking into the cafeteria, I noticed that Dick was looking at me with astonishment in his eyes. I asked him, "Is there something wrong?"

He hurriedly replied, "Oh no, I was just surprised that he backed off so quickly."

I spoke, "I can agree with you on that; I got no clue why he sped off like that." I could feel the dry look he was giving me.

"Uh huh," he said with a tone that clearly said, "Yeah, I don't believe you."

Alright, now moving on to the present, Dick and I are in our room. We haven't really gotten that close, but I think I can maybe confidently say that we're friends.

While he was reading a comic book to pass the time, he asked me a question.

"Hey, Kiyo, can I ask you a question?" He abbreviated my name; I think this is proof that we're friends.

"Sure, shoot," I responded.

"If it's not too personal, could I ask you what happened to your parents?"

Well, uh, now I have to fabricate a story on the dot.

"I got separated from my dad a week ago; I've never met my mom, so it was just me and my dad, but then again we never really interacted like how a father and son should," I had to think long and hard about what I should say.

He looked at me with curiosity and maybe a tinge of pity. "What do you mean by that?" he asked cordially.

"He never treated me like how I think children my age were supposed to be treated. He treated me as if I were a computer doing every task that he asked. When I was separated from him, I think he deliberately made me get separated." I'm hoping that this story sounds believable enough.

Maybe I could use this opportunity to fish for some info on what happened to Dick. I have no need to, but I just want to satisfy my curiosity.

"How about you, Dick?" I asked, my voice steady and expression neutral as always.

I observed him closely, trying to gauge if he was ready to share.

He seemed to hesitate, his eyes searching mine for a sign of safety or perhaps judgment.

After a long pause, he finally seemed to relent.

He shifted slightly on his bunk, pulling his knees up closer to his chest as if bracing himself against the weight of his memories.

"Well," he began slowly, his voice a bit shaky, "it's kind of tough to talk about, but I guess... I guess it's okay."

He took a deep breath, and his next words came out in a rush.

"My parents were acrobats—famous ones, part of the 'Flying Graysons.' We were performing in Gotham; it was supposed to be just another show. But Tony Zucco, a local mobster, he... he sabotaged our equipment. He had been trying to take money from the circus, threatening accidents if we didn't pay up."

Richard's voice faltered, and he looked down at his hands, which were tightly clasped together.

"I saw him that day, lurking around. He warned us to be careful, said it was for our own good. I had a bad feeling," he paused again,

"I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what to do about it." His words trailed off, and he swallowed hard, clearly struggling with the guilt.

"I was supposed to perform with them that night. At the last minute, I... I got scared and backed out. Then during the show, the rigging broke. It all happened so fast, and they were gone," he finished quietly, the last word almost a whisper.

As he spoke, his face remained downturned, avoiding eye contact. The pain in his voice was palpable, and it painted a vivid picture of the trauma he had endured.

It was a clear illustration of how deep emotional scars could influence someone's behavior and outlook.

I listened, my expression unchanged, but internally I was piecing together how these events shaped the person in front of me.

Richard's story was a reminder of the harsh realities that many faced outside the calculated environment of the white room where I had grown up.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Dick," I said after a moment, ensuring my voice conveyed some level of empathy, even if my facial expression did not. "It's a heavy burden to carry."

As he nodded silently, I realized this conversation might have been the first step towards understanding each other better, navigating this new reality together.

Though primarily driven by curiosity, my inquiry had unintentionally paved the way for a potential alliance or at least a mutual understanding in an environment where trust was scarce.