Once Upon a Story [ INCONSISTENT UPDATES ]

The Prodigy II

ִֶָ. ..𓂃🪽་༘࿐

News spread in the academy of the young prodigy who was acing his courses with ease, so much so that professors began calling out their older students' incompetence. Even Beecham, who taught the higher courses, was annoyed. His students were all outdone by a boy half their age.

"You were all chosen among the top students to move up to my course because we deemed you better than the rest. It appears we were wrong." His fingers grazed along his brows, resting above his jaw as he thought. "I have taken the time to teach you. Notes, lectures and demonstrations in my spare time. All that for mediocre work. Your progress is slow, and honestly subpar of what I expect for this class."

The silence hung heavy on their shoulders, but none of the students dared say a word. Their skill, time, and effort were all admonished. Many of them had given up everything to fulfill their dream, only to be told they weren't fit for the job.

All because a prodigy happened to live in their city.

"You will all be tested at the end of this week, a practical and a written test. I expect you all to study your notes thoroughly. This will be your last chance to remain in this course." He adjusted his glasses. They glinted in the light. "Class dismissed."

They slowly piled out, sluggish and discouraged. Some were unfazed, most were nervous or embarrassed.

"Dr. Beecham! Clinton did it!" James came running down the hall, clutching multiple pages. He squeezed through the students with Clinton hot on his tail. The poor boy had been running after the kid all day, trying to prevent him from sharing his work. Bounding down the steps, he arrived too late. Beecham was overlooking his sketches. His impassive expression gave him no reason to worry, but Beecham's status as his professor was enough to evacuate his bowels in fear.

"And you tell me he did this alone?"

"I didn't help him at all!"

Beecham glanced at his student, the one he'd considered failing multiple times. "You've improved. I never thought I'd see the day, but your hard work is paying off. I hope the trend continues."

Startled by the compliment, he flushed. "Thank you, sir! I will do my best, sir!"

"You sound constipated."

"What does that even mean?!"

"Bicker outside the classroom, boys."

The pair dashed away, under the watchful, resentful gaze of the student body.

A prodigy and his helper, favoured by even the harshest professor of the academy.

Targets.

A student walked before the group. "It's time we put things back in order. Don't you agree?"

No one answered, but smiles appeared. Eyes glinted with malicious intent.

Something brewed. Waiting.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃🤍🪽་༘࿐

James tied his shoes, making sure he hadn't forgotten any of his books at home. His mother, holding her parasol, handed him a small box. She had returned from her morning errands with his prescription glasses: thin, round black frames to match his little round face. A new pair to replace the ones he'd accidentally broken in his excitement during a lab.