“And if I click this, it opens a new spreadsheet…?” he asks, squinting at the screen as if it holds the secrets of the universe. After practically wrecking a spreadsheet, he’s now getting a crash course in technology from you.

Fun, right?

Well, not quite. Considering he was dead for a while and then spent years living with assassins, his tech skills are lacking. They definitely didn’t have a class titled How to Use a Computer 101 in the League.

It’s almost endearing how clueless he is. Watching him struggle with the mouse is like seeing a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time, all long limbs and uncertainty. Or like those heartwarming TV shows where kids navigate their way through everyday adventures, blissfully unaware of how ridiculous they look.

You genuinely want to help him; you really do! But it’s challenging when he approaches each task like a man with arthritis in all his fingers. His movements are slow and tentative, as if the computer might bite him if he gets too close.

“Okay, let’s try this,” you say, guiding him through the process. “Just click here to open a new spreadsheet, and then type in what you need.”

He stares at the screen, brow furrowed in concentration. “So, I just… type?” he asks, as if he’s never encountered the concept before.

“Yes, exactly! Just like writing, but on a computer,” you encourage, trying to keep your tone light and patient. You can see the gears turning in his mind, but it’s clear he’s struggling to keep up.

He gives it a go, fingers hovering above the keyboard like they’re afraid of what they might unleash. “This feels so strange,” he mutters. “How do people even do this all the time?”

You chuckle softly, “It just takes practice. You’ll get the hang of it, I promise.”

As he fumbles through, you can’t help but admire his determination. Despite the clumsiness, he’s genuinely trying, and that’s what matters. It’s moments like these that remind you how far he’s come—and how much more he has yet to learn.