I got my ass kicked by my dad

*24 hours from meeting Magnus*

LANCE

My Dad used to be a police inspector. He's strict, like don't you dare bring girls inside our house or I'll shove your face in the toilet kind of strict.

His motto is always "Don't be stupid, steer out of trouble, and whatever happens stay alive." I reckon he's an ex-police officer that's why he's suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or something.

He's always paranoid. Back in my grade school days we always change our address like ten times. And in highschool, two times.

I got tired of migrating. I got tired of freshmen initiation. I got tired of jockeys acting so high and mighty. I got tired of having these punks shoving my ass around like I'm their scaredy cat nerdy victim.

For years, I endured this treatment. Out of living my Dad's wishes, I keep myself out of trouble. Which also means I need to endure the toilet skunk that smells worse than public bathrooms.

This significant morning, however, is my first day in local highschool called, something that starts with a P and letters I'm too tired to read Academy.

Dad said he'll drive me there. I admit it's cool. Not all dads out there send their kids to their school like families gather around to send a dead family member at funeral.

Speaking of funerals, I think today's finally the D-day for me. Not in school, but with my dad's early morning training.

Today is Monday. Which means it's swordsmanship training. The one I detest the most. I kicked my blanket off my feet. Can't I just stay in bed and pretend I'm sick?

A knock sounded at my door.

"Lance, breakfast in five minutes. And head to training hall afterwards."

I grumbled inwardly. For the love of spicy hot pizza why today has to be Monday?!

"Alright. Be there." I called out to him. He didn't answer. Only his footsteps receding downstairs.

I pick myself up, took my towel, and a change of clothes in the bathroom. It took four minutes to get out of shower. One minute to change into my black training clothes, it's just a pair of stretchy sleeves and pants, no biggie. I lazed my way towards the kitchen downstairs.

I found him buried in the newspaper. A cup of coffee within his left arm's reach. Yeah, he's left handed. Like me.

If only I was right handed I could have reason out why I'm always defeated in boxing training at Wednesday.

Too bad I wasn't.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's my pizza?"

The exact moment I asked, the microwave dings in the kitchen counter.

"Yep, there's your pizza. The delivery boy brought an extra box."

I glanced suspiciously at him. "By own will or threatened?" He raised his eyebrow at me. "What do you think?"

"Forget I ask." I go over the counter and fetch the pot holder. Taking the two pizzas out. I placed one beside his coffee and mine in my tablespace.

I didn't eat it right away. Pizza is nothing without chocolate milk. Glancing at me from his newspaper Dad said,

"You're the only kid I know who loves to eat pizza three times a day. Why won't you ask me to cook some eggs or something? I could at least make you some. Wait, you know what, I'll cook you steak and chicken soup tonight." He slowly nods, affirming himself as if I want to eat that steak of his.

I pick up a pizza slice with pineapple and sausage on top and dip my hot sauce all over it.

"Dad, did I ever tell you you're good at cooking?"

"Why, of course not."

"Then why do you keep cooking?"

The look on his face is priceless. I can't stop the chortle from escaping my throat.

"My, my, what a smartass kid." He murmured and help himself with the slice. "Let's just hope you're able to put it to good use in our mock training later."

I gulped. The tension I managed to level down shot up again. I should have lied to him and say yes.

Stupid mistake. Considering the first rule is don't be stupid. Man, I'm doom.

After we finished our breakfast Dad urged me to head over the training hall first and do some sparring ten times before he sends me to school.

That got me worried my head off.

When Dad said training hall, it's not the same in the movies. Maybe a bit, but not that thrilling to watch.

Just a big square room with glassy hard walls and divided sections with different stations. There's a square ring for boxing, exercise equipments, like weight lifting, treadmill and Dad exclusives you're - dead - if - you - touch - one - muscle - strengthening - equipment.

We proceed to the left, where there's a mat for my shoulders and knees to crash into and two real samurai swords sitting in a pillar made of limestone.

Before you assume let me tell you my Dad is in no way Japanese or samurai frenzied. He just umm, love sword fighting.

I asked him once, when he's drunk and his guard is down, he said it's to make up for that time when they're facing a skilled swordsman. At their operation to arrest illegal smugglers.

His undercover was blown and they were trapped with his bestfriend. They faced the swordsman. Two guns versus a sword.

They were helpless. The guy is too good, eyes sharper than eagles he managed to slice the bullets they're firing. When another team arrives and help them shoot the man down, they succeed.

From that moment on, Dad won't let his guard down again. He's training himself to expect the unexpected. And he did the same thing to me.

Yeah, training and training and training. I'm already itching here, I badly want to ask, if he loves being a cop so much why resign? Did something happen?

I know he loves catching bad guys. I know he still keeps his old Officer ID and his gun in the bedside closet.

I took the sword from its metal holder and sheath its blade.

Right, I forgot to mention there are three layers of white cloth wrapping around the blade. In case your worrying or betting how many seconds will it took for Dad to have my neck.

Without the suspense and drumroll let me proudly announce it's three seconds after he shouts 'let's begin'.

So yeah, just put that dollar back in your pockets or you could have it delivered to me. You know, for pizza. If I'm gonna have my head whacked and my gut punch, at least let me have something I can look forward to after I'm smacked to death.

"Raised your sword and scabbard properly, Lance."

I did as I'm told.

"Let's begin."

I instinctively take a step back when he lunges at me full speed. And the next thing I did is so stupid I could've won the most honorary awards for 'the biggest idiot in town'.

Instead of deflecting his attack, I crouched in the middle and trembled with the sword in hand. My breath hitched in my throat. Dad almost loses his balance when he saw me.

"What are you -"

"Dad, I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore."