Chapter 14: The Young Man
It had just stopped raining in Almandale.
The city glow was vivid in the night, tiny rain droplets scattered on cars, building, and windowpanes, capturing and reflecting lights like little stars.
The weather was cool, the kind of atmosphere where lovers cuddle up and chill with Netflix or something.
Unfortunately, Syril was all alone. And instead of wrapping up inside and binging a TV show or gaming, his stomach grumbled and protested like an unpaid worker.
He had tried scavenging his kitchen, thinking he’d make something up, anything to fill the crying emptiness in his stomach. Nothing. An utter disappointment.
He checked his wallet, hoping not to be disappointed again. There, he found a hundred dollar bill, his last note, his total wealth.
"How pathetic, Syril. You need a life," he found himself scorning himself, already looking for his old worn-out hoody.
He had promised his stomach something from the nearest convenience store. He left the apartment afterwards, dressed in the hoody, face covered like a fugitive on the run.
Hopped on the ever busy streets of Almandale, he could make vivid pictures of wrapped umbrellas in citizens’ hands, abilities manifested to cancel the drizzling drops, flying cars hovering, the neon glows, and everything that always made Almandale’s night-view pretty.
His steps came to halt in front of his favorite, old, regular convenience store.
"Yeah, I’m gonna spend my last bucks at Sherry’s Convenience as usual." Syril lamented to himself.
When he stepped in, he couldn’t help but think... ’Hey, Raja. Is there any way I can make money from the system? Like become a multbillionaire or something? Through quests or just a reward for being the host?’
’You little motherfucker! Go get a job or something! Isn’t the system paying you enough with insane powers?! And as much as I care, you’re the one being rewarded, douchebag! Pay you for being the host? Pathetic.’
’Jeeez, relax, man. You’re always overprotective of the system. Oh, and I have a job. A big job I squander all of the income on tuition.’
’Shouldn’t you be happy? Now, you’re done with the high school. You can save yourself cash now, right?’
’Geez, where are you from? Ever heard of something called ’college?’ Right now, I don’t even have anything to go in that path, and full scholarship...’
’Get the food you wanna get before you lose your powers,’ Raja cut in teasingly.
Syril paused, his eyes dilated. It looked like his eyes were gonna pop out of their sockets.
’You were trying to shut me or you’re serious?’ He asked, his voice laced with unbridled urgency.
’Hehehe!’ Raja chuckled. ’If you don’t eat anyway, you’re gonna die from hunger, and that automatically means losing your power.’
"Phew," he heaved a sigh, wiping off an imaginary sweat on his forehead.
’Talking about powers...’
"Hi. Good evening, Ma’am Sherry," Syril greeted, already uncovering his face.
"Oh, Syril! I almost didn’t recognize you. How are you?" An elderly woman replied. She looked like a woman in her forties, but she definitely wouldn’t be passed as an oldie. She was what you’d call a MILF. Yeah, a MILF.
"I’m good, Sherry."
"Oh, I can tell. You almost don’t look like yourself." She scrutinized the boy from head to toe, her eyes lingering on his refined jawline.
"Thanks, Sherry. Could always rely on your comforting words," he replied, pretending to be courteous.
"Oh, Syril. I’m not comforting. You’ve... changed. A lot."
"Does it have anything to do with your ability?" She added, now resting her own chin on the counter, still stealing glances from the boy.
"Um..." he cleared his throat. "I’ve just been exercising. I’ll go get... my food now." He left the counter, but he could still feel Sherry’s eyes burning into him from behind. She was still staring.
Of course, he didn’t mention anything about his ability issue to any outsider apart from Amanda. Yes, Sherry was an emotional supporter in his dark days, comforting the boy with words and free goods whenever he came with his last cash or bent head, like a flabby dick. Regardless, Syril couldn’t trust anyone. If word got out to a lot of people that he didn’t have ability, there’s a lot to imagine about what they would force him to do.
Few minutes later, he came out with a wrapped onigiri in his hands.
"This will do."
"Bring it, dear. Let me scan." She replied, still giving Syril weird looks.
’Hmmm. I also have something to scan. Let’s see how this baby works.’
*Scan.*
[Name: Sherry Whitmore.]
[Age: 41.]
[Sexual Status: Non-virgin (sexually deprived).]
[Race: Human.]
[Ability: Regeneration.]
He quickly read through, but he found his eyes continually reading the ’sexual status.’
’What the fuck...’
◇◇◇◇
The walls were glossy white with soft acrylic paint. The room’s soft illumination sourcing from the cove lighting and luxurious sconces mounted on the walls.
The room was Amy’s. No flowers, no wall arts, just luxury and softness.
She lay on her bed with her aunt by her side, arms stretched wide, gaze fixated on the ceiling like something special was happening there.
She had been long healed by the family’s healer. It was that simple in this world. If you have any healer nearby, cuts, fractures, ruptures were minor health issues.
Big families like Vancouver keep individual or individuals who have healing abilities close to them, and pay them for the services rendered for the family. Hospitals weren’t really significant, mostly useful for blood transfusions and citizens with no healer nearby or healing ability.
"I know. I know he can be a jerk sometimes. He’s my brother after all," Clara spoke into the air, gently stroking her niece’s blonde hair.
"No. No one listens to me. No one. Even you. You all think I don’t know what I’m saying, that I’m just a teenager who wants to make personal, irrational choices..."
"It goes beyond that, Clara." Her voice stuttered. She turned to Clara and their gazes locked instantly.
Clara could see the welled up tears, the way her lips quivered, the way her body shuddered under the duvet.
"Oh, dear..."
The stream ran free, trailing irregular pattern down her cheeks.
"Clara, I know what I’m saying. I know what I’m doing." Amy sobbed harder, pressing her cheeks against her aunt’s torso.
"Sweetie, it’s fine. We can talk about this. We can sort things out," Clara tried to soothe.
However, Amy was having none of it. "No much to say. I know you still think it’s some teenager issue or hormonal imbalance. Pfft!"
"Maybe you’re right. And we’ve also emphasized the reason for the union of Houstons and Vancouvers countless times. I don’t need to repeat it."
"Now, mind to tell me about this young guy you made mischief with?" Clara’s facial expression shifted from concern to craftiness.
"Syril?" Amy asked, a red warmth already creeping from her neck.
"Oh, my! Amy? Don’t tell me... you like him?"
"What if I do?" Amy’s eyes slit, her voice edged with exasperation and playfulness.
"Okay..." Clara dramatically rose her hands in surrender. "Who is the young man?"
"He’s Syril. Syril Sylvester," Amy said, staring dead into her aunt’s eyes as if to read the intentions there.
"Don’t do anything to him! I swear, I won’t forgive if you do any bad thing to him," she quickly added.
"Relax, girrrrl. No one is hurting him," Clara smiled, her hands now tangled in Amy’s hair.
"He’s a mate, or was a classmate. He’s infamous for having no ability, therefore, gets pushed around and taunted. However, what interests me about Syril is that he never stops fighting. He’s hardworking and... cute, too. Silent, observant, intuitive, intelligent, calm... not like that shit-face Oliver..."
"He has this serene atmosphere around him," She added, her cheeks now completely flustered, like a tomato about to burst.
"Hmm. Okay, okay. And you’re sure he has no ability?" Clara pressed.
Amy suddenly froze, series of thoughts ran through her head and she found herself wondering if Syril really didn’t have an ability. She could remember how he had demonstrated dominance in that hall, and how his looks had dramatically changed. That wasn’t... normal.
"I mean... I’ve watched the video a couple of times, and he pretty looks like he has some kind of trick in his sleeve," Clara pressed further.
"Well..." she thought about her response, not wanting to sound foolishly smitten. "He has no ability. I’m sure of it. He lost his parents at a young age, and he has been fending for himself since then. His income from the Amanda’s as a waiter is what he used for tuition and feeding. No way to get an ability book." She found her answer, totally convinced the answer was genuine.
"Hmmm. I see," Clara responded, already pushing herself up and planning to leave.
"We’ve worked on your admission into Greenville College. You’ll be leaving soon for Greenville."
"Yeah, I know. We’ve discussed this a bazillion times already..." Amy classically rolled her eyes, but then a thought came to her.
"Clara, please... I know it sounds too much, but I need your help on this one. Can we get Syril admitted in Greenville?" She gritted her teeth before continuing. "It’s the only way I can help. He has too much..."
Clara paused by the doorway, her hand hovering on the doorknob, eyes narrowing into suspicious crescents. "I believe there’s something we can do. But don’t get your hopes high with him. You’re a Vancouver, and you need not his type."
"Your relationship with him should be neutral."
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Is it me, or someone is calling the stakes? I smell... drammma!
@Rejoice_Olanrewaju, @ZeroAtlas, @reincarnation_end... I saw y’all’s Stones. Keep supporting. Love y’all!