Quint Rauss [2]

The man's lips curled into a devilish smile.

His hand tightened around Quint's throat as the boy gasped for air, his face already turning red. Desperately, Quint clawed at the man's arm, but his feeble strikes didn't even make him flinch.

His vision blurred. The edges darkened. His lungs screamed for air.

The man's grip was unrelenting, his expression entertained—until, for a fleeting second, something changed in his eyes.

Then—

Pain.

The man's face twisted as Quint's small hand suddenly latched onto his thumb, twisting it back with every ounce of strength he had left.

A sharp pop rang through the air.

The man hissed, his body instinctively recoiling. Though his grip remained, pain surged through his broken thumb, forcing him to let go.

Quint rolled away, coughing violently as he scrambled to his feet.

His breath was ragged, his muscles tensed, his body primed to defend against another attack. But instead of lunging at him again—

The man laughed.

A deep, hearty laugh as he cradled his injured hand. His body remained relaxed, completely unfazed.

"Haha... very good, boy. Very good," he said, his voice genuinely amused.

Quint didn't respond. He launched forward, his fist aiming directly for the man's crotch.

The man didn't even blink.

With effortless ease, he stepped back and stretched out his left arm, palming Quint's head like a child holding a stray kitten at bay.

Quint's fists and kicks flailed wildly, hitting nothing but empty air. His small stature barely reached the man's thigh, rendering his attacks useless.

Still, he didn't stop.

He kept swinging.

Blow after blow, despite knowing they wouldn't land, despite the futility.

The man chuckled again. "You fool."

Then—flick.

The man flicked his forehead.

A sharp sting shot through Quint's skull. His head jerked back, and he staggered a few steps. A vivid red mark bloomed on his skin where the flick had landed.

But he didn't hesitate.

He stepped forward again, ready to attack—

Flick.

This time, the man's finger struck his shoulder. A painful sting shot through his nerves. Quint barely flinched.

He charged again.

Flick.

His neck.

Quint paused.

The man studied him. "Are you still angry with me?"

Quint blinked once, then shook his head. "No."

He wasn't lying. The anger was gone.

But...

"I don't want to die. That's why I have to kill you."

His voice was cold. Emotionless. It was a simple fact. Kill or be killed.

The man's laughter rang out once more before he casually flicked his finger against Quint's cheek.

"You stupid boy. If I really wanted to kill you, do you think I'd be flicking you right now?"

Quint stared at him.

The man's smirk widened. "If I intended to kill you, I wouldn't waste time choking you. That gives you too many chances to fight back. I would have snapped your neck. Or crushed your skull. Or collapsed your lungs in an instant."

His words sank into Quint's mind like a stone into still water.

He was right.

If this man had wanted to kill him, he would already be dead. The strength gap between them was immeasurable.

Quint's fingers clenched slightly. "Then… why did you choke me?"

The man exhaled, his grin fading into something unreadable.

"I heard you were special. That you have a profound instinct—a power that lets you see weaknesses."

Quint blinked. "I don't know about that."

The man nodded. "I figured. Or maybe you simply don't remember."

His gaze sharpened. "That's why I pushed you to the brink of death—to wake it up."

Quint's brow furrowed slightly.

"What happened back then?" the man asked.

Quint hesitated, then shrugged. "I heard a voice."

The man's head tilted. "A voice?"

Quint nodded. "It told me to attack your thumb."

The man laughed again—though this time, it sounded more knowing than amused. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his injured thumb.

That damn thumb had been broken before—a weak spot no one else should have known about.

But this boy did.

The man's smirk returned. "Your ability is valuable. But since it only surfaces when you're near death, you can't rely on it alone."

Quint's eyes flickered. "Can't it be improved?"

The man grinned. "Smart boy."

He nodded. "Yes, it can. But it depends on your strength—both physical and mental."

Quint's gaze darkened with determination. "Can you teach me?"

The man chuckled, ruffling his hair. "That's why you're here, boy."

Though his expression remained solemn, a glimmer of something sparked in Quint's eyes. "I want to be strong. I want to protect Mother."

The man stilled. For a brief moment, he just looked at Quint.

Then, he smiled.

"Alright, then. Let's see what you've got."

In an instant, the man lunged forward—

Flick.

Quint barely dodged.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

His forehead, his shoulder, his cheek—he couldn't react fast enough. Each flick sent sharp jolts of pain through his small body.

The man smirked. "Try your best to defend yourself."

Quint gritted his teeth. His arms shot up, blocking—missing.

He started attacking instead, aiming for the man's fingers and wrists. But the man dodged with infuriating ease, only shifting his hands and fingers, barely moving his arms.

Thirty minutes passed.

Quint's small body finally wobbled. His legs trembled before he collapsed.

The man swiftly caught his head before it hit the ground.

"Tired?"

Quint stubbornly shook his head, though he lacked the energy to even open his eyes. His face was covered in red marks from the flicking.

The man chuckled.

With one arm under the boy's knees and the other supporting his back, he carried him into a separate room.

A faint medicinal scent filled the air. Unlike a training space, it resembled a treatment room—with a single bed and a tub.

The man gently placed Quint inside the tub and turned the faucet, letting warm water flow around his small frame. As it filled, he retrieved a glass bottle filled with fine brown powder.

Once the water fully covered Quint's body, the man poured the powder in, mixing it with his uninjured hand until the liquid turned a murky brown.

Quint sighed in his sleep as the warmth seeped into his aching body.

His eyes fluttered open slightly.

The man ran a hand through his damp hair. "Just rest. Your body is healing."

Quint barely acknowledged him. His fingers skimmed the water, feeling the slight tickling sensation as the medicine worked its way into his skin.

The man's voice lowered. "Attacking to defend yourself isn't wrong, but it requires too much energy. You'll tire too quickly."

Quint's voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to defend."

The man smirked. "I'll teach you. But first, you need to start from the basics."

Quint nodded weakly. "I'll do what you say, Mister..."

The man flicked his forehead one last time. "Call me Master."

Quint's lips barely moved. "Okay… Master…"

Then, he closed his eyes.

-

"What are you doing?"

A little girl's voice rang out.

Quint opened his eyes and looked down to find his second eldest sister staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"I'm practicing," he answered simply.

The girl frowned, then turned on her heel and ran off, shouting, "Mommy! Quint's doing something weird again!!"

Quint narrowed his eyes slightly. He didn't understand what she thought was weird. He was merely practicing the fourth position of basic flexibility—one of nine positions he had to master perfectly before his master would allow him to progress.

Four months had passed since his training began. He was getting stronger.

Before he could resume, he heard soft footsteps approaching.

His mother gasped upon seeing him—then chuckled.

She hadn't expected to find her son suspended five feet in the air, his legs stretched between the living room's lintel in a near-diagonal split while his upper body remained rigid and perfectly perpendicular to his legs.

"Why don't you come down and have lunch first, Sweetie?" she said lovingly.

"Okay, Mo—Mommy."

He still hesitated to call her that. The word felt foreign. Unnatural. But he didn't want to disappoint her, so he obeyed.

His mother's smile widened.

She extended a hand to help him, but Quint merely dropped from his position, landing lightly on the floor. Without a word, he walked past her toward the kitchen, where his sisters were already seated at the dining table.

"How's your practice?" his mother asked as she placed a plate of chicken salad in front of him.

"I'm almost perfecting my basic flexibility skill, and Master said my strength has increased by two levels," Quint said, his voice calm but firm.

His mother smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

"Mommy, when are we going shopping for school supplies?" his sister asked between bites of salad.

"Hmm… how about tomorrow?"

Both girls cheered excitedly.

Then, his mother turned back to Quint. "By the way, you'll be starting school next month."

Quint paused, staring at her blankly.

-

Quint Rauss walked through the school's hallways, his posture stiff, his steps precise.

At first, his two sisters walked with him, but the moment they spotted their friends, they forgot about him entirely.

He didn't mind.

He wandered to a row of lockers along one side of the hallway. Several were open, left unclaimed. He chose one near the end of the row and began placing his things inside.

"Hey! That's my locker!"

A loud voice rang out.

Quint turned his head to see a huge boy approaching.

"My sisters said that on the first day, any open locker is free to take," Quint stated plainly.

The huge boy scowled. "Well, that one's mine."

Quint didn't argue. He simply nodded. "Okay."

He moved his belongings to another open locker a few spaces away.

"That's mine!" another boy declared, smirking.

Quint furrowed his brow slightly but remained silent as he moved his things again.

"That one's also mine!" another voice chimed in, this time with a muffled chuckle.

Quint understood now.

He was being bullied.

His expression didn't change. "Then which one is free?" he asked calmly.

The huge boy grinned. "None of them. Not for you."

Quint didn't react.

Instead, he turned back to the first locker and began placing his things inside again.

The huge boy's grin vanished. "Hey!!" he shouted angrily. "You dare?!"

He swung his fist.

Quint didn't flinch.

At the last second, he tilted his upper body back— a precise 90-degree bend.

The huge boy's punch missed entirely—slamming into the locker door instead.

A loud BAM echoed down the hallway as the locker slammed shut.

The boy cursed, shaking his fist. His eyes darkened with rage.

"You dirty, slant-eyed—!"

He lunged again, this time aiming for Quint's stomach.

Quint stepped back, effortlessly dodging.

The boy had put too much force into the punch—when it hit nothing but air, he lost balance and fell hard onto the floor.

"Hey!! How dare you bully my brother?!"

A familiar voice rang through the hallway.

Quint turned his head. His eldest sister was marching toward them, eyes blazing.

One of the boys blinked in disbelief. "Brother?!"

"Yes, he's my little brother! Got a problem with that?!" she snapped, hands on her hips.

The huge boy slowly stood up, sneering. "How could you have a slant-eyed brother?" he mocked.

His sister's expression hardened.

"Huh! So what if he has small eyes?" she shot back. "He's my brother. Period."

Her voice held no hesitation.

The boys fell silent. It was obvious they feared her.

She turned to Quint. "Did they hurt you?"

He shook his head.

"Good."

She flashed a sharp glare at the bullies before smiling sweetly at Quint. "Put your stuff in whatever locker you want."

Quint glanced at her, a flicker of warmth in his otherwise blank expression.

That moment, he made a promise to himself.

He would protect her for the rest of her life.

-

Quint rushed home excitedly.

His school had been dismissed early—except for the sixth graders—due to an emergency teachers' meeting. That meant he could train earlier.

Since starting school, his training time had been cut significantly.

As soon as he arrived, he went straight to his master's side house—only to find it locked.

His excitement dimmed slightly. His master never locked the house when he was inside. That meant he wasn't home.

With mild disappointment, Quint turned toward the main house.

He decided to find his mother instead.

As he neared the kitchen, he heard something strange.

It wasn't the usual clatter of cooking.

Then—

A muffled scream.

Quint froze.

His body tensed as he crept closer, pressing himself against the wall near the kitchen door. Slowly, carefully, he peeked inside.

His breath stilled.

His mother was lying on the kitchen island, her legs raised, pointed toward the ceiling.

She was struggling.

Her head shook violently from side to side, trying to break free from the man holding her down.

A man who was pressing his body against hers.

A man whose hand was clamped over her mouth.

A man who was his master.