Chapter 134: Touch
Bryan’s discretion would save him from a lot of uncomfortable questions and even more uncomfortable explanations.
Grayson’s hand suddenly appeared in his line of vision, reaching forward to press against his forehead. The touch was brief, but it made his cheeks burn a little. He knew he was checking for his temperature, but he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat.
"Feeling better?" Grayson asked.
A headache had been plaguing Neville since earlier, but it had subsided into a dull throb. He even forgot that he was sick and beaten badly with adrenaline.
He didn’t know if it was the medicine kicking in or because of his amazing regenerative abilities, but he nodded anyway.
"I’ll get going now," he said, preparing to make his escape before either of them could think of new questions to ask.
"You’d better keep your antics in check," Grayson warned, his tone suggesting that he more or less had an idea of what exactly Neville was up to. "Don’t let it come back to bite you."
Neville didn’t reply. Instead, he focused his attention inward, trying to make his complexion, which had already shown signs of recovery, become sickly pale again.
It wasn’t a dramatic change, but just a few changes in his breathing made his body react with a sickly color. The key in the micro-expressions was the slight weakness in the posture and the way you held your shoulders.
He turned to Bryan, letting his voice drop into a slightly weaker register. "Did I get it right?"
Bryan’s expression went from amused to absolutely speechless. His mouth opened and closed twice before he finally found words.
"Why did you not become an actor instead?" he said, and this time there was no humor in his tone, only genuine bewilderment. "I think you’ll do great. Even better, you can have Maxwell Corporation’s sponsorship."
Neville let out a small chuckle, allowing some of his natural color to seep back into his complexion as he broke character. "Thank you, Sir Stewart, for the compliment. If I ever get laid off by the company, I’ll consider doing that."
"No, I mean for real," Bryan said, and this time his tone was entirely sincere.
The comment triggered an unwelcome flood of memories.
Neville was suddenly reminded of the curriculum from that place—the ’black hell hole’. The secretarial training had been bad enough. But it was an intensive crash course that was brutal. They had somehow managed to cram what should have been years of education into mere months.
Months of repeated education to earn perfection that turned into just mere hours when he got spit back out into the world.
But then there were the electives. It was random and seemingly arbitrary subjects that the system had insisted he learned.
Acting. Voice modulation. Survival combat. Disguise techniques. Social networking.
But still, the list of subjects went on and on.
At the time, he had been furious.
What kind of secretary needed to learn how to properly throw a punch or convincingly fake a dozen different emotional states most effectively and naturally?
The curriculum stated the reason behind it was: "a real secretary should be versatile and have high adaptive ability." It did sound like complete nonsense when he was buried under mountains of homework and repeated practical exams.
Skimming and dabbling in those subjects had felt like a waste of precious time and system points. But he was unable to refuse. Being stuck in that space with no escape had left him no choice but to comply.
Even now, the memory made him shudder internally. But he was also, grudgingly, thankful. Those random skills had saved his ass more times than he could count.
He suddenly thought of an evil idea.
Neville’s expression changed into something that could only be described as evil, his eyes glinting with mischief behind his glasses.
"You really want to spice things up on the internet?" he asked Bryan with malicious mischief. "Want some fighting scenes to go viral?"
Bryan’s expression cracked, but he did actually pause to consider it with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Maybe from time to time," he admitted.
The response was so unexpectedly frank that Neville couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The sound burst from him, genuine and unrestrained, bringing a healthy flush of color back to his cheeks.
"The world would burn at your comments, Sir Stewart," he managed between chuckles.
Before Neville could react, something cold and wet splashed against his forehead.
What the—?!
Neville blinked in surprise, raising one hand to touch the water that had landed on his face.
What’s wrong with you? Neville’s expression
Grayson had literally just flicked water at him from the water bottle that was sitting on the table. The gesture was so unexpected, so out of character, that it took Neville’s brain a moment to catch up.
"Get going if you still want to play your little game," Grayson said, cutting through his laugh.
Neville blinked again and became annoyed.
I know he was right. But he should’ve told him something before splashing that water—it was downright rude.
Neville, helpless, began adjusting his expression and strategically flicked a few droplets of water from his forehead.
Before heading out, Neville turned back one more time and said, "Thank you for your tolerance, Mr. Maxwell."
"Just get things done," Grayson replied dismissively, already turning his attention to the light brain he just opened.
"Yes, sir." Neville snapped off a quick salute and slipped out of the office.
The door hissed, muffling Grayson’s quiet whisper, "What am I going to do with you?"
...
The way out of the company was eerily uneventful. It wasn’t quiet, it was still bustling, rather it was even busier today. But to think that he didn’t actually bump into Liam, Sarah, or Iris.
This meant that it was really that hectic today. Not the chained to the desk busy, but the running around busy. Even Lisa had had him come in to sign his name for another day of sick leave, her face drawn with exhaustion.
Neville maintained his tired, pale, and thoroughly defeated look all the way back to the dormitory building. The weary mask didn’t slip until the door of his room hissed closed.
Finally, he allowed himself to slump as lazily as humanly possible onto his sofa.
