A tiny boy appears in the Sorting Room. He appears to be about five years old, and small for that age, with thin hair and dark eyes. In reality, he is seven. The lingering effects of early deprivation haven't been wiped out, despite looking lean and strong. And he's careworn, unusually so for a child so young
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I walk up to him when he puts the pen down. "Second?" I look at him. "Ever resent the guy who was first?"
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"At times. Before I understood the reasoning behind his decisions." Before Bean understood him.
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No. I was always going to beat Near. "Did you want to be better than him?"
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Maybe I shouldn't have decided to play with the kid.
"Ever think about other things you want to do?"
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It was necessary. He was beginning to understand the idea of 'acceptable losses'.
He ignored Mello's first question.
"I want to remain a commander. I could easily become a theorist, or a scholar, but this is what I want to do."
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I smile. "And I wanted to be a rival, to be the best, to surpass those I was whose place I was training to take, but plans change in this place." Plans change when you die too, but that hardly needs to be said. I shrug. "I did succeed, but this place...is different." I eye him. "When I was your age, I wanted to be the best. I became indispensable. I'm not sure that is adequate compensation for the cost. Become a scholar."
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"I might become both."
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"Magic?" is what he latched onto. He wasn't so far back in time that science was regarded as a branch of witchcraft, that much was obvious. "What do you mean?"
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"How? How do you do those things?"
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