The punch would be for him being a bystander. Hereby silently encouraging it. I remember one quote from one of Dad’s criminology books that says; When it comes to crime, especially the heinous ones. There is no such thing as a bystander. You are either part of the problem or part of the solution.

That explains Dominic’s part in the bullying. As for Brooke, well she burns me with cigarettes. I would like to burn her with sulphuric acid.

Or perhaps watch her and the rest of them shrink and burn into nothing in one of those beautiful-looking, hot acidic lakes in Yellowstone national park. There is this new vicious part in me that I feel like is growing by the day.

I was scared and concerned about it at first. I thought terrifyingly if I was turning into a monster like Calyx and his minions.

But now I feel different about it. I want it to grow so well and big enough for it to overshadow me so that I would not continue being a coward. And perhaps become vicious enough to do at least one fight back against them physically like I always do in my mind.

But I also think about what the outcome would be if I do that. Would they back away?

Or would it be even worse? Would I even succeed in attempting? I consider those too.

You only charge head on into a battle that you are certain you would win. If not, then.....

Dad is speaking with the fat man. He is telling him, more like begging him to not go so hard on my training by asking me to shatter iron and bricks with my bare hands.

Wait, what?! I look at wide-eyed. The fat man responds by saying that how would I learn if he doesn’t go hard? That gives me a lot more trepidation.

"How long do I have to stay here?" I had run to ask Dad in slightly concealed panic that when I see him about to leave. He gives me a look. "It’s not a boarding house. You will be coming home later."

He doesn’t get my point. "No, I mean for how many hours?"

"You can stay until the evening today and come straight here after school tomorrow. If you don’t like it that way, you can work out an arrangement with Tianjin.

He is a little grumpy and a hair head. But I am very sure he would consider my request of taking you into favor. There is nothing to worry about, kiddo." I again obstruct him from leaving by putting myself in his way this time. "What about my part-time job? What would happen to it if I’m stuck with this?" I complain. He did not think about that? Well, even me did not quickly think about it too.

"Then quit." He says simply. "I don’t know why you are even working in the first place. It is more important for you to learn some kick-ass moves right now. Isn’t it?

"Dad. I...I..." I tried to say, but he cuts me off.

"Okay, if you are that worried about the pay, I would be settling that. So have fun. And see you later. I’m very late for work." He rushes out his words and walks past me. I watch him, speechless as he goes out through the glass door. Have fun, he said. At a martial arts studio?

Seriously??

In this moment, I feel like a lamb left in the midst of lions. They are not hungry. But that does not make them nice because they can maim.

The feeling was further heightened when I turned around; I nearly scream out in shock, my heart almost leaping out of my chest when I see them assembled behind me like an enemy formation in battle.

It must be the entire class.

Including the big fat man. He has so many students. Wow. Many had their arms folded, silently staring at me and looking dangerous. They could have least made some noise. I’m getting reminded of the mass bullying at Krohns.

One person throws something at me. I instinctively caught it. It is an orange. I throw a quizzical glance at them. One person is holding a bag that I guess is filled with the oranges. I look back to the orange in my hand.

The fat man seems pleased. I don’t really know if that is the case, but he has one a barely there smile. "You have a sense of reflex. Most don’t." He spoke. Is that like a compliment? He gives a sign with his hand, and another orange was thrown at me. Followed by another. Then another. I managed to catch all four.

This is me pushing myself because he just kinda complimented that I have reflex, so...

"This is the first lesson." He does that same hand sign again for more oranges to be thrown. It was like a gauntlet. I’m expected to catch all these? I could not match the number and speed in which they came. I cannot believe that I’m being stoned by oranges.

This is training? One hits me hard on my chest. With an impact force that feels like it hit my lungs directly. I fall to the floor holding my chest. You would think they would stop, seeing that I’m hurt by their supposed training.

But they don’t. Another one hits me on the knee with the same force as the first. I managed to intercept the one that was aiming for my forehead and save my self from a cerebral hemorrhage or a concussion just in time before it hits. That would have been very bad. Bad people!

By the time they stopped, I was groaning and rubbing the pained spots on my chest, knee, leg and arm. Almost everywhere hurts. And to think that I have not even properly started yet. What would the next ones be like? The fat man tutting sounds.

"Disappointing in the end." He seems disgruntled. "Was I meant to catch all of that?" I ask,

The loud silence tells me the answer. This is totally unbelievable. "Pardon me sir, but no one can catch that many oranges." I say vehemently. "It is impossible."

His eyes fixes on me. He then looks at a little girl and points at her. The girl looks half my age. She fists one of her hands in the other and bows her head to the fat man before coming forward to stand where I was before.

The fat man signals me over. When I get to him, he grunts out, "Here, watch and learn."

Three children go to pick up the oranges and begin throwing it at the girl standing in front. And to my uttermost bewilderment, she is catching all of them. She’d let the ones she had previously caught fall to the floor when they had gotten too many for her to hold, and quickly catch the others as fast as they were being thrown. Not dropping a single one. What dumbfounds me the most is her speed; it is almost like that of a lightbulb when it suddenly comes on and goes off. It is too fast for me to even look at. All of a sudden, I feel a large pain in my forehead,

like I had bumped it into something or something was thrown at me. I groan, holding my forehead as I stepped backwards only to trip over my own foot and fall embarrassingly to the floor. In my uncomfortable pain daze, I hear the man say good job. I did not have to wonder about the source of the attack on my forehead when I see an orange rolling close to me. How and when was I hit with that? Wait a minute, could it be. . .?

The fat man’s face intrudes sideways into my line of sight. "She passed. You didn’t. There is no impossible except in the human mind." He tells me before leaving. The others are all trailing after him.

I am not surprised that not one of them showed concern for my forehead. There is an air of uncaring around them.

One approaches me while I was attempting to get myself up. She is the girl with the speed from earlier. "How was the hit?" The question brings me a slight frown. "What do you mean?"

"Oh? Didn’t you realize that it was me who aimed that orange right at your forehead?" My frown deepens. The grin she has on widens. "Yes I did it deliberately. Consider it my..... mic drop. You are welcome to fight me if you’re mad. I’m always ready." She winks and walks off. I stood speechless watching her back with my mouth agape.

What kind of audacity was that? She said she had hit me with the orange on purpose.

What nerve! And no one, not even that fat man said anything about it?. I’m I being bullied here too?