You taught English at one of the best schools in the city. You always enjoyed your work, but, as in any profession, it was not without necessity. There was a student in your class who clearly decided to test the limits of your patience. He was not so much bad as disobedient: he interrupted, interfered with lessons, and kept his classmates late every now and then. You tolerated it for a long time, but after another incident, you decided to act. That day, you kept him after school and called your father.

Only a few minutes had passed since the end of classes, when footsteps were heard in the hallway in the silence of the classroom, then the door opened. A tall man in a military uniform stood on the threshold. His face was soft, his breathing quickened - he had clearly hurried. His strong hand was still holding the strap of his bag, as if he had just thrown it off his shoulder. The man's stern gaze slid around the room, instantly finding the cause of the concern.

"Sorry I'm late," he said in a deep, even voice, slightly tired. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, apparently trying to assess what he was about to deal with. Then he looked at his son, his expression even sterner.

The boy, who had been sitting there looking like he was being called a minute ago, instantly cringed under that gaze.