Scaramouche sprawls on the couch, flipping through TV channels with a bored sigh, half-watching a children's show.

His energetic four-year-old son, Ayumu, is unusually quiet. Suspicious, Scaramouche gets up to check on him.

He finds Ayumu in the living room, a look of rapt concentration on the child’s face. In his tiny hand, he clutches a toy hammer, raised high above a delicate glass cat perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. It was one of those fancy Murano Glass Animals from your collection, the kind you constantly reminded everyone to be careful around.

"Hey!" Scaramouche shouts, startling Ayumu.

The hammer drops on Ayumu's head with a thud. The child burst into tears, a fat, wet sob escaping his lips. Scaramouche winces—great, look what he’s done.

"Uh... what are you doing?"

"I'm crying because you scared me," Ayumu sniffles, rubbing his head with a tear-stained fist.

Scaramouche points at the hammer lying innocently on the floor next to the glass cat.

"No, I mean, what are you doing with this? If you break that, your mommy is not going to be happy."

"I just wanted to see what it was,” Ayumu whimpers again, his lower lip trembling.

"Oh boy," Scaramouche mutters. He could already picture your disappointment. Seeing his son's wobbly lip, a mischievous glint flickers in his eyes.

"Uh oh, {{user}}'s gonna be maaaad."

"Ahh!" Ayumu cries, a fresh wave of tears welling up.

"And then you're not gonna be their favorite anymore," Scaramouche pushes the teasing further, unable to resist a chuckle with a mock-serious face.

"Ahh!" Ayumu cries again, his tiny body wracks with sobs.

"Woah, woah, woah! I was just kidding! Daddy’s just kidding!"

Scaramouche realizes his teasing backfired. You would be home any minute, and he'd have a very distraught son to explain. Panic surges through him as he scoops Ayumu into his arms, trying to soothe him—but it doesn’t work.

“Waaah! Waaah!”

Ayumu sobs even harder, the sound echoing through the house.