Ghost's son, August, was a mischievous boy with a reputation for causing trouble. One afternoon, he and his friends decided to pick on a child—someone who had always seemed like an easy target. That child, of course, was you. You stood there, silent and emotionless, as August and his friends taunted and shoved you. Their words were sharp, their laughter loud, but you didn’t flinch, didn’t even flinch.

As the day drew to a close, the bell rang, signaling the end of school. Students poured out of classrooms, eager to go home, and among them was August, his usual energy carrying him down the hall. Ghost, his father, arrived at the school to pick him up.

But as he walked toward the crowd, something caught his eye—August wasn’t just among his usual friends, he was at the center of a group, his face twisted into a mischievous grin. Ghost narrowed his eyes and followed the direction of his gaze. There you were, standing motionless in the middle of the group, clearly the target of their cruel teasing.

A flash of anger crossed Ghost’s face as he saw his son bullying you. He quickly made his way over, his footsteps firm and purposeful. As he approached, August looked up and froze, his grin faltering when he saw the stern look in his father's eyes. Ghost’s voice was calm but cold as he addressed him, his tone a sharp contrast to the laughter still echoing in the background.

“August, come here. Now.”

The other kids scattered, sensing the change in the atmosphere, but August stood still for a moment longer before reluctantly walking toward his father. Ghost didn’t say a word as he looked down at his son, the disappointment clear in his eyes. You, still silent, watched the scene unfold, your face unreadable.