Page 19 of Discordant Cultivation

“Why?” The word came out broken, exhausted. “Why m-me? Why this?”

Vale looked down at him from the stove where he was cooking oats. “Because you’re extraordinary, and no one else sees it. Because you were killing yourself slowly on those streets, and someone needed to intervene. Because the world deserves to hear what you’re capable of when you stop hiding.”

“I w-wasn’t hiding.”

“Yes, you were. You were playing your saddest song for strangers who gave you pity change and then forgot you existed. That’s not artistry. That’s self-flagellation disguised as a career aspiration.”

The accuracy of the observation hurt more than Kieran wanted to admit. He had been hiding. Playing music for people who weren’t really listening, who saw him as background ambiance instead of someone worth actually hearing.

“That still d-doesn’t give you the right to kidnap me.”

“Rights are philosophical constructs. Results are what matter.” Vale plated the oats with the precision of someone who’d done this thousands of times—berries arranged artistically, honey drizzled over them in perfect spirals. “And the results will speak for themselves.”

He set the plate on the counter and gestured for Kieran to stand. “Eat. Then we’ll start your first lesson.”

“Wh-what if I say no?”

Vale’s smile was patient, almost fond. “Then we’ll try again in a few hours after you’ve had time to reconsider. But your stubbornness won’t change the situation, sweetheart. You’re here. I’m going to teach you. The only variable is how difficult you make the process.”

Kieran stared at the offered food, at Vale’s calm expression, at the locked doors and dead phone lines and complete absence of escape options. His throat still ached where Vale’s fingers had pressed, a reminder of how easily his body could be controlled.

I can’t fight my way out. I can’t sneak out. I can’t call for help.

But maybe I can play along. Make him think I’m cooperating and wait for a real opportunity.

“Fine.” Kieran pulled himself up to sit at the counter, keeping his expression neutral even though rage burned in his chest. “I’ll eat yo-your breakfast.”

Vale’s eyes narrowed slightly, searching Kieran’s face for the trap. “You’re being very reasonable all of a sudden.”

“You’re right. I’m st-still foggy from the seizure. F-f-fighting you isn’t productive.” The lie tasted like ash, but Kieran kept his voice steady. “If I’m st-stuck here until I’m ‘recovered,’ I m-might as well cooperate.”

“Interesting.” Vale leaned against the opposite counter, studying him like a particularly fascinating specimen. “And here I thought it would take days to reach this point.”

Because you’re an arrogant asshole who thinks you’ve already won.

“I’m practical,” Kieran said, echoing Vale’s earlier words back at him. “N-no point in making my-myself sicker by being stubborn.”

Vale smiled. “I knew you were intelligent. This is going to be much more enjoyable if you’re a willing participant.”

Kieran picked up the fork and began eating the oats mechanically. They were perfectly cooked, flavored with cinnamon and vanilla, topped with berries that probably cost more than his weekly grocery budget.

Vale is methodical. He plans. He researches. He prepares.

Which means he’s thought of everything.

Which means I need to be smarter than everything he planned for.

“So,” Kieran said, keeping his tone neutral, “what’s the f-first lesson?”

7

Heart's a metronome of panic keeping anxious beat…

Vale

Twenty-four hours of observation gave Vale a comprehensive understanding of Kieran’s baseline responses, and something about the boy’s sudden compliance felt calculated. Too smooth. Too easy. Like someone who decided cooperation was strategic rather than genuine.

So he unlocked a door. The living room. Just to see if Kieran would keep testing what he could access.