Chapter 2My Dad Uses Me to Rule the Class

Zack's POV

That night, I smelled the familiar scent of food in the air when I pushed open the door to my house. A warm light had been switched on in the living room.

Dad sat at the dining table. A bowl of mashed potatoes, a plate of fried chicken, and a pot of mushroom soup were placed on the table in front of him.

Dad didn't know how to cook before, but he was forced to fill the roles of both my father and mother after Mom left. He burned himself countless times before he finally learned how to cook.

I made as little noise as possible as I changed into my indoor slippers. I wanted to hide my swollen right cheek and the flecks of blood at the corner of my lips in the shadows.

However, Dad immediately looked up when I moved.

"You're back?"

Although his voice was still stern, there was a trace of nearly imperceptible worry in his tone. "Does your face still hurt?"

I looked down and shook my head. I then walked over to the dining table. Sinking into the chair opposite him, I began to take small bites of my dinner.

Although the food was delicious, I felt like I was being tortured. Every bite that I took made the muscles in my face sting painfully. The pain was so overwhelming that I decided to just swallow my food without chewing.

Dad suddenly placed his fork down and walked over to me.

My body reflexively went rigid, and the muscles in my back tensed.

However, Dad simply sat next to me and reached out his hand to me. His fingers were hard, rough, and slightly chilly when he gently touched my swollen cheek that stung hotly.

I shrank back as if I had been electrocuted.

Dad's fingers froze for a moment. He took a deep breath and said, "It hasn't been easy for me to raise you by myself, Zack."

His eyes slowly reddened as he spoke. After shedding the mask of the homeroom teacher that he wore during the day, he returned to being a single father who had to overcome countless hardships.

"I'm a homeroom teacher. I have to keep over 50 students in check. It'll be difficult for me to control the class if I don't have any authority. The students' results will decline if they're not disciplined. When that happens, the principal and the students' parents will come looking for me to air out their complaints.

"You're my son. The other students will only concede and be scared of me if you're the best and show the most proper and outstanding behavior. I need to assert my authority."

He brushed his rough fingers across the corner of my eye. It was completely dry because I hadn't shed a single tear.

I felt as if a hole had opened up in my heart as I looked at his pale face and old, faded clothes.

A long time passed before I heard myself say dryly, "Steve told me that I'm just your punching bag today. He said that you don't see me as your son at all."

Dad's hand stiffened. The melancholy and vulnerability on his face disappeared, replaced by a sternness that suggested that he had been offended.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" he snapped, his voice rising.

His image of a loving father crumbled in an instant. "You must have said something to provoke Steve. You shouldn't lie even if you're jealous of him!"

I closed my eyes. In the end, I couldn't help myself and sneered mockingly, "Why would I be jealous of him? Should I be jealous that his results are worse than mine? Or should I envy him because he doesn't have a father?"

The sound of a harsh slap rang across the air.

My head snapped to the side from the impact. The right side of my face swelled even more. I lost my sense of hearing in my right ear for a split second.

"How could you say such things? I can't believe that my own flesh and blood would say such malicious words."

"Your flesh and blood…" I mumbled.

I nearly burst into laughter at how absurd the entire situation was. "Is that why I deserve the worst punishments? Is that why I don't deserve to live with dignity?"

"You!"

Dad's chest heaved from fury. He pointed a trembling finger at me and snapped, "You don't know what's good for you! I worked so hard to—"

I tuned out his heart-wrenching sob story just like I had countless times in the past. His words used to make my heart soften in an instant when I thought about all the trials and tribulations that he had to overcome.

However, at that moment, his words were like a gust of wind that blew through the hole in my heart, leaving nothing in its wake.

Dad needed to slap me until my face turned swollen and use a needle to poke my lips for my sake. For my sake, he needed to inflict bone-deep pain on me and trample all over my pride.

When he was done ranting, he rubbed a hand over his face and rose to his feet. His calm, weary demeanor returned as if I had hallucinated his earlier outburst.

"That's enough. Eat your dinner. You still have to get up early tomorrow."

I lowered my head and continued eating the food on my plate that had gone cold ages ago. I curled my fingers under the table, brushing them across the tiny notebook that was hidden in my pocket.

"It won't be long now," I thought to myself.