Leon felt a single, uncontrolled burst that would have vaporized the boy's head if he had listened to his heart when he raised his hand and looked the boy in the eye.
The image of the aftermath played in his mind as a satisfying vivid scene, where the boy laid on the ground lifeless. He felt the air wrap in heat around his hands like he standing inside a rising tornado, but smiled it off, shaking his head.
Just as he closed his eyes and cracked it open, a memory of his childhood flashed back in pixels.
He was five, holding a paintbrush while trying to bring out an image of a bird on a wood scrap. All the fine lines he had drawn from the beginning were ruined as frustration set in, causing him to daub too much paint. Instead of a clear, beautiful bird came a large, blurry smudge of mixed colors.
Andrew, his father, walked toward little Leon and knelt at his side, his hand stained with permanent, industrial paint. He didn't scold him or scream at him. He simply placed a calm, steady hand over Leon's.
"The strength is in the restraint, son," Andrew said in a low rumble voice. "Anger is a flood that can destroy a decade's work, including the paint itself. But controlling it changes it into a dam. It directs the water."
Andrew paused and stirred the bucket of paint with a cooking ladle.
"Patience and training will turn the flood into power. Feel the current, but do not let it fell you."
He guided Leon's hand, showing him the gentle pressure and the careful stroke. When Leon raised the brush to the scrap wood, the next line came out clean and perfect.
The memory faded in pixels while cold air rushed through Leon's jet-black hair and pulled him back to the assembly ground.
Leon could feel the energy threatening to shatter his bones from the inside out. Yet still, he took a deep breath and made every effort to contain it. When he looked at the boy again, he didn't see the pudgy-faced boy standing before him. He saw the grey beings from his dream, smirking.
Feel the current, but do not let it fell you.
The warping air around his hands stilled as sweat slicked down his face. Leon forcefully shifted his gaze to the stage but his eyes locked straight onto the proctor's, sharp and missing nothing.
The proctor's gaze remained on Leon as he descended from the stage and began assessing the students himself. With every step he took toward the queue, Leon felt the world narrowing, slowly waiting to close in on him.
When the proctor reached Leon's side, Leon didn't dare blink or move. He looked forward, hands stiffened at his sides, unaware of the intensity his eyes carried.
The proctor smiled slightly, then squinted. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice cold as rolling thunder.
Leon's mouth went dry, his throat throbbing, keeping every word inaudible.
Spittle blasted Leon's face as the proctor's brow furrowed. "Are you deaf?!"
"My… my," Leon stammered, forcing the words out through shallow breaths.
"Speak up, boy." The proctor shouted in a voice that pierced through Leon's ears like a blade tearing fabric. Every student turned to Leon and the proctor with a harsh and unrelenting stare that made Leon swear to never visit the assembly no matter what.
When murmurs flowed through the crowd of students like shifting wind, a single stare from the proctor sent every mouth closed.
The air flowing around Leon hitched as if a black hole had sucked out their ability to breathe when the proctor's gaze came back to him.
"Name!" the proctor demanded, placing one hand at his back, the other clenching at his side.
"I'm Leon Storm." Leon's voice came out thin and brittle, ready to snap. Heat prickled against his skin so fiercely that the air on his forehead evaporated before it could cool him.
The proctor moved but kept his eyes lingering on Leon like a hungry lion shifting position toward its prey.
All the students standing beside Leon had reddened faces as they held their breath and maintained a composed posture until the proctor turned and walked completely away from their side.
When the assembly was called to a close, mocking laughter like sharp knives chased after Leon as he made his way back to his room. He kept his head bowed and slammed heavy steps on the block-paved path at the front of the assembly block.
When Leon reached his door and tried opening it, the door remained locked, as if he had been using a counterfeit key all along.
"Why is it not opening?" Leon asked in a low voice and tried a second time, which also yielded the same result.
Just as he about to try a third time, laughter surged at his back as two passing broad-shouldered students hurled words of stones at him.
"Go back to where you came from. You don't belong here. Your own door testifies to that."
"Yeah. You'll only worsen your case. Further still, you can just choose not to exist anymore. Hahaha."
Leon stayed still against the door, watching them leave his sight, their words sitting heavy in his chest. Choose not to exist.
Will choosing not to exist make all of this stop? He thought quietly. Then he shook his head. What about Mom and Lily — who would take care of them?
He slid down against the locked door and buried his face in his hands.
When he heard footsteps stop before him, he didn't look up. "I know you came to mock me. Just do it and go away." His voice came out tired and flat.
But the person said nothing. Didn't move a single step.
Slowly, Leon lifted his face.
Mr. Lee stood before him, wide-eyed, looking into Leon's shocked and teary ones. "Why are you outside?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual. "And why do you think you were chosen if the world had truly rejected you?"
Leon pushed himself up and fumbled around as if searching for the key, saying nothing.
Mr. Lee studied Leon's teary face for a moment, then smiled softly. "Let me help you," he whispered, stretching his hand toward Leon's. He took the key calmly and opened the door with a single attempt.
"Thank you, sir." Quickly, Leon dashed inside, washed himself, and then sat opposite Mr. Lee, who had fully relaxed into the single chair in Leon's room.
"What is your preparation for the tournament?" Mr. Lee questioned, his voice low but cold as ice.
"I'm preparing well," Leon answered. But it was not what was expected of him. His flinching eyes and darting gaze gave a different definition of his own words.
"You are not. It's high time you stopped lying to yourself." Mr. Lee hissed, rising from the chair with a furious face. Then, slowly, he pulled a book from his bag and held it out toward Leon.
"Take this. It will help you understand what you are and how you move through struggles." The book was dark grey, and though it looked heavy, it sat lighter than expected in Leon's grip.
How to Master Tai Chi. Leon's face softened into a slight smile as he read the title in his head.
He flipped to the first page and lifted his confused face to Mr. Lee. "How can I learn this without any prior knowledge of it?"
Mr. Lee chuckled in a low and unhurried voice, like a man who had already seen the answer. "You don't need knowledge of something before you begin learning it." He pointed at the book and gave Leon a soft nod. "Read what's written at the back."