Yeah that's not a big surprise.

Tassairen can sit here and calmly take apart his alarm spell some more until he regains coherence.

He's not going to move for several hours, at least; how much of that is can't and how much is doesn't want to is ambiguous.

Tassairen dismantles the alarm spell, checks the room for any more, and looks at Kerotiru's belongings while he waits. He can be very patient.

There are alarms on pretty much all of his belonging-containers, actually. Not the bookshelf, but the closet and the clothes bins and the box at the foot of the bed.

There can stop being alarms on those things! It's good practice.

His belongings are pretty bland.

Anything worth taking as a trophy, while he's here?

Not unless he wants to cut off one of Kerotiru's ears or something.

Nah, he hasn't earned that much. Yet.

Then pretty much no.

Then he puts everything back where he found it, minus the alarm spells, and pets his skeletal drakelet and waits for Kerotiru to do something.

Is he willing to miss breakfast for this?

Nope! In fact, they are going to be the first kids to show up. If Kerotiru hasn't moved by the time he'd need to leave to get there, he is prepared to drag him out of bed and carry him there with magical telekinesis.

Kerotiru: doesn't move.

Then at the appropriate time, with a little margin for unexpected setbacks, Tassairen lifts him into the air.

He opposes it and drops back onto the bed.

And then sits up, because he can hardly expect to pretend to be asleep anymore.

"You're going to come to breakfast with me, and I'm going to break your leg in front of everyone, and you're going to apologize for messing with my things," says Tassairen. "And then I'll call it even."

He looks at him incredulously. "Even? That thing was way worse than a broken leg."

"That was for not taking me seriously. You take me seriously now, I bet," he says. "I don't mess with people until they mess with me, but when they do I make them stop."

"...That's fair," he says. "Look, I'm sorry and I won't do it again, and if you wanna break my leg as a reminder, okay, I don't blame you, but we are not doing this in public."

Snort. "We're not? Why not?"

"Because it won't help either of us. If I go along with this, it won't send the message you're trying to send; it'll destroy my reputation, within my age bracket, because a nine--year-old got me to submit to them, and--look, what you did with the other two was good, clear dominance establishment, but that was, like, overpowering them in the moment. People won't make the right assumptions if I follow you to the dining hall and you break my leg. Also, if you don't do anything worse to me than what you did to the other two it looks less--professional. I can scream, if you want; and then if I avoid you for a while after that and put a haunted look in my eyes it'll make people unsure of what you're willing to do to them in a way a simple broken leg won't."

He considers this.

"Yeah," he decides, after a few seconds. "That works."

"Okay," he says. "In that case I shouldn't be seen for at least a few hours--oh, and you might want to plug your ears if I'm really going to sell the screaming part."

He laughs and nods and covers his ears.