Dad suggested I should lick my new tattoo.

LANCE

He stood in silence before me. I'll never comprehend what he thinks. I just know I messed up so bad his blood must be boiling in volcanic eruption by now. One thing he hates is cowardice. And I just pathetically slapped it in his face. I'm a real idiot.

When the silence is too unbearable for me to bear, I looked up. To call it a mistake or not I didn't know. My skin just crawled inwardly when I gazed at his raging mossy green eyes. He's dangerously pissed alright.

"Lance," his voice is subtle, quiet. Which makes me feel worse because I can't read what's on his mind.

"Yeah?"

"A man must never back down without a fight," Without warning, he strikes me down with his bladed sword. I clash mine against his. Even with the cloth wrap, the steel eerily vibrates in my hand.

He tried to smack my knees with the scabbard but I'm quick to back away, missing a few inches of my leg. He almost stumbled but quick to recover. His eyes grew colder, as if I'm playing a tag with him. I never meant to back out. It just happened. Not all times a man should foolishly charge against an enemy he knew he can't take down. There are times we gave up to fear too. Why can't he understand that?

I know he, of all people experience the paralyzing terror you have no chance to stand against with. One that force you on your knees, grovel in the ground, cowering, wishing to the bones this was just a nightmare which will disappear.

For me…he was that nightmare. But I don't want to lose him either. I'll probably wouldn't survive without him.

He cut the sword in the air and I jumped back. Most of his moves are predictable, horizontal and vertical. But that only last when I deliberately put a fair amount of distance between us. If I clash swords with him head on, I'll be covered with bruises.

My Dad is always serious. Especially when it comes to training. Me chickening out must have been the greatest offense I ever gave him. So he won't let me off easily today. Why did I say it anyway? Knowing it will only get me more bruises and scars than a free ticket out?

I readied my right kneeling leg, trying to catch the good timing to leap towards his left. I twist my body in a curve, deliberately using the split seconds for him to miss my shoulder and strike his chest with my scabbard, supported by my elbow.

I smack him using my full strength. That should have hurt. A scale of 8 out of 10. I can tell you for sure my strength is crazy strong. Because of this ridiculous training he put up with me each day. Back in middle school, I got to slam the body of a bully twice my size in the wall, with me holding his neck. Believe it or not the white pavement cracked, his eyes dilated, his skull is not bleeding. But I'm sure it has permanent effect on him. Internal bleeding, brain damage, could be anything. I never saw that bully again. We change states right after the school summoned my Dad to fine the hospital bills, then the wall repair.

The strength I applied today has more force than back then. And yet, he never showed any signs he's in pain, his expression never changed too. Always the same stony faced. The light in his eyes intensified. There's a hint of joy and probably…this is just my assumption but I think he's proud of what I did.

I was so occupied on my thoughts I never noticed the scabbard he readied to strike me squarely in the side, jabbing my ribs.

I staggered. Clasping my ribs. Shocks, I can't walk properly to school later with this.

"What? Is that all you got little champ?" He produced a crook smile. Dropping the sword to his feet. "Now that your fighting spirit is back, let's get serious." He positioned his scabbard in one grip. To be fair, I discard my sword as well.

I was the first to make a lunge for his neck. He sidestepped and scored a hit on my back. Knocking the wind out of me. But I held my ground, I go for his head and he deflected it, throwing a hit to my gut. The next few minutes we never stop thrusting and clashing our scabbards.

One out of ten I got lucky, I manage to foresee some of his attacks and deflected them. But most of the time, his scabbard is kissing my ribs and legs I sometimes think he's doing this in purpose to dismembered me. He really wants me to embarrass myself in front of the class huh.

We parried, I managed to keep his scabbard away from my body parts. My wrist is ringing from the impact of his strike. Any moment now and my hand will give in, dropping the scabbard to my feet.

Dropping?

Yeah, I could try that taking down an opponent's weapon thingy. I stepped forward and made a surprise thrust to the base of his scabbard, pouring all my strength to trap it to my circling motion. But it didn't work.

He managed to grab my scabbard from my hand and hit me squarely in the jaw. I toppled down with my butt kissing the mat in a loud thud. I'm seeing two makeshift stars spinning like atoms. I looked down, blinking away my nauseousness. I watch my own blood drip into the ground.

"Okay, that concludes our training. Hmm, you lose…again. For the hundred fiftieth time. Any hate speech or 'I'll get back to you next time' kind of threat?" He merrily exclaimed with his proud British accent. I groaned.

He knows I hate hearing him speak like that. But he still do it to annoy me anyway. I crawled on all fours, wincing at every movement and managed to stand on my feet, limping.

"Thanks to you I have to come late on my first day of school." I grumbled. He chuckled.

"At least, it could grant you the grandest entrance among new students." He proudly said, picking up the swords and scabbards before putting it back to it's holder.

"And bullies. Which is great really, I receive bruises and scars for my fifteenth birthday as presents. Yey." I grab the collar of my black long sleeves and took it off, freeing my skin from it's sweat.

"Lance, what's that?"

"What's what? Ow." I held my left rib and rubbed. As if it could reduce the swelling and pain. He stride towards me and held my right arm out.

"Hey, careful it hurts." His eyes are glued into my arm, like he saw the most deadly vicious mosquito biting my arm.

"Where did you get this tattoo Lance?"

"What tattoo?"

"This?" He twisted my arm, letting me see what he's referring to. Yep, it's a black ink tattoo alright. A palm size circle, with strange intricate drawings like someone is scribbling random Arabic in my skin, highlighting the big number 5 at the center.

I tried rubbing it but none come off.

"Dad did you do this? Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"If it's me would I ask you about it?"

"Oh yes, you will. After you have another round laughing your guts out." I pinch, I rub my sweat, I grind my fingers just to remove the ink, still nothing works.

"Try licking it, maybe it'll come off." He suggested.

"I'm not a dog so no."

"If you're lying and you actually went to a tattoo shop –"

"Dad, I'm underage. Stuff that ridiculous ideas in your head and let's head to school."