It was, John had to admit, odd to get kneed in the stomach and not really hurt from it. Yeah, sure, the wind still got knocked out of him, and it took him a minute to recover, but it didn't actually hurt. He supposed it wasn't too weird; he'd always had a high tolerance to pain.
After giving himself a moment to recover, he rolled to his feet. "Nice job. You've got some good power behind that knee for it just being practice," he said, rubbing his stomach. He'd found that it was also easier to let people think he hurt more than he did. He remembered the barrage of tests his mother had insisted on when he'd been in high school. Even then, he'd been hard-headed. She had thought he'd had some bizarre inability to feel pain -- apparently that was a pretty bad disease.
"So those two basic throws'll help you out a lot. I can show you how to mess someone up who manages to get into your apartment with some basic stuff. Skillets, knives, chair legs. Stuff like that," John said, scanning his apartment. Just about anything could be made into a weapon if you were creative enough. "Then we can call it a day."