The man hoped that he wouldn’t have to worry, wouldn’t see anything past anger at his accusation, but there it was—the slight twitch of his eyes, like his response had invoked something that he could just barely contain. A common sign of irritation, though his gesture seemed to be amplified by his own rash nature.
“I was, in fact, a teacher of sorts where I came from.” His tone conveyed no acknowledgement of Kijima’s biting sarcasm. “I am confident, though, that I do not need to worry much about survival, other than sheer lack of resources.’
Sasha put both hands in his coat’s pockets, withdrawing from one a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He then proceeded to take one from the open package, light it and stick it into his mouth—all without moving his hands from his pockets, of course. This was a skill he practiced often, and consequently mastered. He continued to show no readable emotion.
“I’d also like to point out that your attitude, in fact, won’t get you very far, either.”