My Teacher's An Assassin? (** Hiatus**)

・4・

"To think he knew...Should we eliminate the kid too?" A man spoke in a hushed volume, reaching for his firearm in the interior of his jacket.

"No," a tall man with a spiky hairdo responded, stepping in front of his accomplice with no delay. He proceeded to approach the dead body, sharp eyes peering down at the boy shielding the cold corpse, the growing puddle of blood staining his clothing.

A silence filled the air. For a moment, the child was convinced the two adults were gone. He wished for the killers to just disappear and vanish into thin air, never to be found again. It was a childish desire, but all the boy could do was wish; He was too weak and fragile to do anything else.

The man knelt down next to the child, his keen gaze seeming to glare brilliantly like a cat's eyes in the darkness. "You shouldn't stay here," the man lectured in a curt tone. "I hate to say it, but he'll only continue to bleed out, and you'll only continue to cry in this same spot." He informed with an exhale.

For a moment the child was motionless in response to the man's words. He knew very well his father was gone, and he knew nothing in the world would bring him back.

Using the bloodstained concrete, the boy hoisted himself up onto his knees, not caring of the amount of red liquid that dirtied his hands.

He forwarded a dull gaze at the man beside him, not bothering to relieve himself of the tears still evident in his eyes with his hands. "It's...It's because papa knew about the yellow man, right? That's why you killed him..?"

To this, the man that neared the child had no reaction whatsoever of the fact that he knew of the creature he'd just referred to. He had a hunch that the boy's father shared what he knew about the being with his son, but most of all, why? And at such a young age?

The man's eyes abated at the child's current state. It was enough to tell that the poor youth was scarred just by the look in his eyes.

The man placed a gentle hand upon the child's head out of pure guilt. "...It wasn't supposed to turn out like this, kiddo."

〠「°♨︎<>:◎~⇔~◎:<>♨︎°」〠

(Y/N) stood stilly in his new—empty—bathroom, staring at his reflection whom stared back at him with the same blank glance. Today was the day the teen would finally resume high school.

Ever since the night his said teacher came to their humble abode with the news of (Y/N) being enrolled, he couldn't help but remain verbally distant from his mother. The two of them knew very well that (Y/N) didn't do well when it came to school overall, whether it was by choice or not.

"(Y/N)!" His mother yelled from the bottom of the staircase. "Please tell me you put on your uniform and you're ready to go."

The teenager scowled at his mother's voice. The Paradise High-School uniform was simple: It only involved a simple black button-able pullover with the student's choice of clothing underneath, along with black slacks—though, that didn't change the fact that (Y/N) still hated the very idea of uniforms.

"Yeah yeah; I'm coming," The teen hollered back, sliding on the school's assigned shoes with reluctancy before marching down the stairs, his mother waiting by the door.