The Chair
...
The chair was too big for him. It swallowed him whole, its stiff wooden back pressing against his spine, its seat wide enough to make his legs dangle just above the floor.
His feet swung back and forth, the only movement in a room that felt like it had been built to smother sound.
The walls were lined with dark wood, old and polished, the kind that had absorbed decades of hushed voices and stern lectures.
Shelves filled with thick, leather-bound books loomed behind the heavy desk in front of him.
The books weren't the kind anyone actually read, just the kind people kept around to remind others that they were the kind of person who could read them.
A single lamp sat at the edge of the desk, its brass base gleaming under the dim yellow glow. It flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows that stretched and shrank across the room like restless ghosts.
He wasn't looking at the books. He wasn't looking at the lamp. He was staring at the blotter on the desk, at the indentation where someone had pressed a pen too hard against paper.
The outlines of words were still faintly visible, though he couldn't read them. He tried. Anything to avoid looking up.
The silence wasn't empty. It was filled with the weight of waiting.
Across from him, behind the desk, a man sat, his hands folded, his fingers tapping idly against his knuckles.
The tapping was slow. Measured. A metronome ticking down to a verdict. The man had said nothing since telling him to sit.
A clock somewhere in the room ticked. Each second landed like a drop of water in an empty sink.
Finally, a breath. The man shifted, exhaled through his nose.
"You broke his nose."
The boy swallowed.
The man's voice wasn't angry. Not yet. It was the kind of calm that came before something worse.
"Do you have any idea how serious that is?"
The boy opened his mouth, but the man leaned forward, cutting off the answer before it could form.
"Do you?"
The boy closed his mouth.
The man sighed and leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight.
He wasn't old, but he was the kind of tired that settled into a person's bones early. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.
When he opened them again, they landed on the boy with the sharp focus of a hawk spotting something small and fragile.
"You're not leaving this room until we figure out what to do with you," he said. His voice was softer now, but not kinder.
"And if you think for a second that you can just sit there and wait it out, you're wrong."
A knock at the door.
The boy's stomach twisted.
The man sighed again, heavier this time. A sigh that had lived a thousand times before.
"Come in," he said, already knowing who it was.
The door opened with a gentle creak, and she stepped inside.
She wasn't tall, but she carried herself like someone who had seen taller men shrink under her gaze.
The black of her habit blended into the darkness of the room, making her pale face stand out even more.
Lines creased the corners of her mouth, not from smiling. Her hands, calloused and dry, folded neatly in front of her.
Her eyes landed on the boy. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, she sighed.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet, knowing sound.
Like she had been here before.
Like this was expected.
The man behind the desk gestured at the chair beside the boy. "Sister."
She nodded, stepping forward and lowering herself into the chair. The wood barely groaned under her weight. She sat straight, spine rigid. The boy kept his eyes on his lap.
"I take it you've heard what happened?" the man asked.
The nun exhaled again, as if considering whether to deny it. "I have," she admitted.
"And?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if the question was unnecessary. "It won't happen again."
The man let out a humorless chuckle. "You said that last time."
She didn't argue.
The boy's fingers curled against the fabric of his pants. He wanted to speak, but he knew better.
"Sister," the man continued, his voice sharpening, "he knocked out another student."
"A student who was twice his size," the nun countered. Her voice was even, but there was a thread of something underneath. Something close to defense.
The man scoffed, shaking his head. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
The man's jaw tightened. "Violence," he said, "is not tolerated in this institution."
"Of course," the nun agreed. "And yet, here we are."
The boy glanced up, just for a second, just enough to catch the way the man's fingers curled into a fist before relaxing.
The man inhaled through his nose. "If it happens again," he said, slow and deliberate, "he's expelled."
The words hung in the air.
The boy stiffened. He opened his mouth—
"Understood," the nun said, cutting him off.
The boy turned to her, his throat tightening. "But—"
She placed a hand on his arm, just enough pressure to silence him.
The man watched them both for a moment, then leaned back. "Good."
The nun stood, smoothing the front of her habit. "If that's all?"
The man hesitated. For a second, it almost seemed like he wanted to say something else, something that wasn't rehearsed, something that wasn't an exhausted reprimand. But then, he just sighed.
"That's all," he said.
The nun nodded, then placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. A silent command to stand.
The boy hesitated. His throat felt tight. He wanted to say something, anything. But he knew they wouldn't listen.
They never did.
So he swallowed it down and slid off the chair, his feet finally touching the ground.
Without another word, they left the office.
The heavy wooden door shut behind them.
The silence remained.
...….
The Walk
The hallway outside was cold. The kind of cold that settled under your skin and stayed there.
The boy—Killa—walked a step behind the nun, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The wooden floor creaked beneath their slow steps, but neither of them spoke. Not yet.
They passed framed pictures of old men in stiff suits, their faces frozen in judgment. Latin phrases carved into plaques. A statue of some saint with chipped fingers.
The walls held too many eyes. Too many reminders of rules written long before he was born.
Finally, when they were far enough from the office, when the air around them no longer carried the weight of that conversation, Killa stopped.
The nun took a few more steps before realizing. She turned, looking down at him with the same patience she always had.
The patience that made his stomach twist in ways he didn't understand.
"That's it?" he asked. His voice came out rough, quieter than he wanted it to be. "You're just gonna let him say that? Let him threaten to kick me out?"
The nun inhaled, slow and steady. "You broke a boy's nose, Killa."
"He shoved me first!" The words burst out, raw and desperate. "I didn't start it!"
Her face didn't change. "And yet, you finished it."
Killa's teeth clenched. His chest was tight. It wasn't fair.
"You didn't even let me say anything," he muttered, his voice trembling now. "You never do."
The nun exhaled through her nose. "Would it have changed anything?"
"Yeah," Killa shot back. "Maybe it would."
Silence.
She studied him, eyes unreadable. For a moment, just a brief moment, something almost soft flickered across her face.
Then it was gone.
"Come," she said. "We need to go."
Killa didn't move. His throat felt hot. "You don't care."
That made her pause.
Her gaze sharpened, just a little. Not in anger. Not in warning. But in something else. Something he couldn't quite name.
"You think that?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
Killa shrugged, looking away. He hated how his eyes burned.
The nun sighed. Not the tired sigh from before. A different kind.
She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "If I didn't care, Killa," she said, "you wouldn't be here at all."
Killa swallowed. His hands unclenched, just a little.
She waited. Gave him a moment. Then, when he still didn't move, she reached out—not to grab him, not to push him forward, just to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Let's go," she said.
And this time, Killa followed.
A/n: Hello Art233 here. This is my new novel about boxing. This is about a boy named killa. That's it. Hahaha. I'll release the synopsis in a bit so read this for the time being. Have fun and I'll see you hopefully tomorrow.