The daily struggle

The morning was quiet.

The sky stretched wide and pale blue, the salty breeze from the ocean rustling through the streets as Luka and Sasha walked to school.

Sasha wasn't as tense as yesterday. She still carried the weight of her worries, but her shoulders weren't as heavy. She talked more than before not as loudly, not as animatedly, but enough.

And Luka listened.

He always did.

But as they walked, his mind wasn't on her words.

It was on what waited for him at school.

The school stood at the far end of the village, a blend of old tradition and creeping modernization. Its wooden walls were reinforced with metal supports, and small floating drones patrolled the outer gates, scanning each student as they arrived.

Sasha let go of Luka's hand as they entered the schoolyard, flashing him a grin. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Luka nodded.

Sasha ruffled his hair and jogged toward her class, blending into a group of students near the entrance.

The moment she was gone—

The atmosphere shifted.

Whispers.

Eyes.

Luka felt them immediately.

They were watching him,Judging and waiting.

Luka walked toward his classroom, keeping his head down.

But the moment he passed the outer hall, a foot shot out in front of him.

Luka barely reacted as he stumbled forward, catching himself before he could fall.

Snickers echoed around him.

"Oops," a voice drawled.

Luka straightened, blinking slowly as he turned.

A boy named Petya Kravchenko a new student from last year .

A little taller, a little stronger. Always surrounded by others,he stood with his hands in his pockets, grinning like he had done something clever.

"Didn't see you there, weird boy."

Luka didn't respond.

He never did.

Petya's grin widened. "You don't talk much, huh? Guess that makes sense. No jōki, no emotions, no point, Bet you don't even feel pain."

The others laughed, their voices mixing into a dull hum.

Luka didn't react.

Because if he reacted, they would keep going.

That was how it worked and he was used to it.

So he turned and started walking again.

But Petya wasn't done.

It was during the break that it happened.

Luka had been heading toward the courtyard, his mind set on sitting alone in his usual quiet spot.

But just as he turned the corner—

Something hard slammed into his shoulder.

The force sent him staggering back, his bag slipping from his grasp, books scattering across the floor.

The hallway filled with laughter.

"Look at that! He can move!"

Luka didn't move to pick up his things.

Petya crouched down in front of him, his smirk sharp. "You gonna cry, weird boy?"

Luka stared at him.

Did people cry over things like this?

He didn't know.

Petya's smirk twitched. Luka's silence always irritated him.

"You think you're better than us, don't you?" Petya muttered. "Walking around like some little ghost."

He grabbed one of Luka's books, flipping through it carelessly before tossing it over his shoulder. "Bet you think you're special. You're not. You're just defective."

Luka still didn't say anything.

He didn't flinch. Didn't glare. Didn't react.

Petya hated that.

His fingers curled into Luka's shirt, pulling him forward roughly.

"Say something, freak."

The laughter died down slightly.

Even the others were watching now.

Luka tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes unblinking.

"Why?"

Petya blinked.

Luka's voice was quiet, but clear.

"Why do you want me to talk?"

Petya's grip tightened.

He didn't have an answer.

Luka didn't struggle. Didn't pull away. He just waited.

It was always like this.

They pushed. He didn't react. They got bored.

That was how it worked.

But today—

Today, Petya wanted a reaction.

So he shoved Luka backward.

Luka's head hit the wall with a dull crack.

The moment was brief,pain sharp, then fading almost instantly.

A small gasp rippled through the crowd.

Even Petya froze for a second.

Because Luka didn't cry out.

He didn't even wince.

And then—

Luka stood up.

His head still felt warm where it had hit the wall, but the pain was already gone.

He glanced down, noticing a faint streak of blood on his sleeve.

It was... gone already.

Like it had never been there.

Petya saw it too.

His smirk faltered. "What the hell—"

The murmurs grew louder.

"Didn't he hit his head?"

"That should've hurt, right?"

"But he's not even flinching..."

Luka's gaze drifted to Petya.

Not angry. Not afraid.

Just watching.

Petya clenched his fists, like he wanted to say something. But then he scoffed, pushing past Luka roughly.

"Freak."

The crowd slowly dispersed, the whispers lingering.

Luka bent down, picking up his books one by one.

His fingers grazed the spot on his head where he had hit the wall.

No pain. No wound.

He exhaled softly.

He had to be careful.

If they noticed something was wrong with him...

Things would only get worse.

****

That afternoon, Sasha waited outside the school gates, her arms crossed.

When she spotted Luka, her face brightened slightly.

"Hey! Slowpoke! Took you long enough."

Luka walked up to her, his expression as neutral as always.

Sasha sighed, stretching her arms. "Today was so boring." She rolled her eyes. "Math class was the worst. The teacher kept talking about formulas like they were the most exciting thing ever."

Luka listened.

He always did.

She didn't ask how his day was.

And he didn't tell her.

He didn't tell her about the shove.

Didn't tell her about Petya.

Didn't tell her that he had bled and healed within seconds.

Because if he told her...

She would get angry.

She would fight for him.

She would make it worse.

And he didn't want that.

So instead, Luka just nodded.

And as they walked home, he let Sasha fill the silence for him.

But today, his mind was elsewhere.

His fingers grazed the spot on his head where he had hit the wall.

There was no pain. No bump.

Nothing.

He had bled. He had felt it.

But now... it was like it had never happened.

And as they walked through the familiar streets, Luka thought about Mama.

About her healing jōki.

By the time they reached home, the scent of dinner was already filling the air.

Agata stood by the stove, her braid draped over one shoulder, stirring something in a pot. She looked up when she heard them enter, smiling warmly.

"Welcome back, my loves."

Sasha kicked off her shoes with a dramatic sigh. "Ugh. I'm exhausted."

Agata chuckled. "Then sit, eat. You'll feel better."

Luka walked in slowly, carefully.

He didn't limp. Didn't touch his head. Didn't act any different.

Because if he did,Mama would notice.

And if Mama noticed, then Sasha would notice.

And if Sasha noticed...

Things would get worse.

So Luka sat at the table, like he always did.

And he said nothing.

Agata moved effortlessly through the kitchen, setting plates on the table, filling cups with warm tea.

But even as she laughed at Sasha's complaints, even as she asked Luka if school had gone well, her sharp eyes flickered to him now and then.

She could always tell when something was off.

But she didn't push.

Not yet.

As they ate, Luka chewed his food slowly, lost in thought.

His mother's healing ability.

She had always told him it was her jōki that healed his wounds.

But now... he wasn't sure.

She had never healed Sasha that way. Never healed Papa.

And today, he had healed on his own.

Without her touch. Without her jōki.

What if... it was never her ability in the first place?

What if it was mine?

He had too many questions.

But if he asked them,Mama would want to know why.

And if she knew why...

She would know about Petya. About the bullying.

She would worry,Sasha would fight for him.

And Luka didn't want that.

So he took another slow bite of his food, keeping his face neutral.

And he said nothing.