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Nearly a year had elapsed since my arrival in the oppressive confines of the prison, and amidst the harsh realities, the bond between Minho and me had deepened. I found solace in the fact that he had yet to question the nature of my unique powers, allowing our friendship to flourish.
Every Friday and Saturday marked the dreaded 'Test Day,' a euphemism for the days they subjected me to torturous experiments, seeking to unravel the secrets of my abilities. For Minho, his trials occurred on Mondays, contingent on his chosen form as a shapeshifter.
A nondescript Wednesday found us in the cafeteria, a realm where the culinary offerings remained perpetually unappetizing. Engaging in a playful game with my food, Minho, in his feline form, lounged lazily on my shoulder, utilizing me as a convenient mode of transportation.
"Did you hear?... We got a new kid today. Heard he is an aerokinetic."
"Poor thing. Bet he won't have it easy here."
Whispers of the new kid and his seemingly unfamiliar power, 'aerokinetic,' permeated the air. Bothered by my lack of knowledge, I disturbed Minho's slumber with a shake. "Minho, what's an aerokinetic?"
"Wake me up for a ridiculous question like that?" He hopped onto the table, stretching and washing his face. Settling in front of me, he elaborated, "An aerokinetic can manipulate air and breathe underwater by creating weird liquid bubbles. He's probably lighter than air."
The explanation left me more puzzled. Minho, sensing my confusion, continued, "But having powers like that comes with weaknesses. Anything heavy, and he can't float or escape easily."
As the information sank in, a sudden crash from around the corner drew our attention. There he was—the new kid—being bullied by others, burdened by weights on his feet that impeded his movements.
"Ignore them, y/n. Don't get yourself into problems," Minho cautioned, displaying a detachment that I struggled to replicate. The pitiful sight of the new kid, pleading for mercy as they released him, brought back memories of my own initial struggles.
Unable to stand idly by, I felt compelled to intervene when they subjected the boy to further torment, making him float while holding onto his pants. "Hey! Let him go, you... SHITHEADS!" I stood up, pointing an accusing finger at the bullies, a gesture I would soon regret.
Minho's age contemporaries, brimming with an air of menace, approached, taunting me for breaking my silence. "Oh, look at this, the quiet kid finally talked, huh? How cute."
