"How can I be the problem, father? I never gave them a reason to hate me. I even pretended to like them."
The boy honestly explained.
"I cheated in the game only once. And that because the others were doing the same. So why did they only attack me? This is the fifth time now that this has happened. When will they stop?"
The boy spoke and sighed, expressing the weariness of a lifetime of being struck by his "friends."
"Fifth time?" the man mumbled to himself, carefully observing his son again. It was then that he noticed his son had a few light bruises on his body. At that moment, the man comprehended that his son's situation was a bit more serious.
"People don't always need a profound reason to hate something, son. Sometimes, they don't need a reason at all. They can hate anything that is unusual or anyone who is not like them," the man looked up at the sky as he spoke in a distant-sounding voice.
The boy sensed a change in his father's expressions. Expectantly, he looked at his father before asking, "Would you beat those jerks for me?"
"No," the man firmly stated, shaking his head.
"This is your battle, son. You have to handle it yourself. In life, you won't always have someone by your side. You can't rely on others to solve your problems for you.
However, I'll assist you in preparing for your battles. I'll ensure you're ready to face the challenges that have or will trouble you in the future," the man said before taking a bite of his fruit salad.
"So what are we dealing with? How many targets are we talking about?" the man asked, looking at his son. It was as if the father and son had had these kinds of talk before.
"Six jerks. All of them are bigger and stronger than me. They strike me when nobody's watching so others can't intervene," the boy matter-of-factly stated.
Observers would find it challenging to believe that a 10-year-old could be so composed, indicating that his mother's assessments about him were not completely wrong and he was indeed a bit different from other kids.
The boy's father seemed unfazed by his child being unique. He treated his son's words as if they were briefings from one of his party members before continuing.
"Hmm. 6 enemies. All of them are stronger than you and united. Looks like you'll need to give this your all. Do you remember the first rule of a battle?"
"Never fight a fight you can't win," the son said.
"Good. What if the fight is unavoidable?" the father asked promptly.
"Oh… I remember this. This was something you wrote in the second scroll. Wait. Let me think about this."
"Take your time."
"Aah! Yes. If the battle is unavoidable, control the battlefield."
"What does that mean?"
"It means to take the initiative in choosing the right battlefield. The right settings."
"How does that translate in your current situation?"
"I… I am not sure."
"Memorizing the scrolls is useless if you don't know how to use them in your real life, son." The man looked at his son with a critical gaze.
"Tch. I know all that, father. I didn't want to… hm? Wait. I think I got it. The place we play hide and seek. That is the battlefield I can choose, right?"
"Correct. So you have chosen your battlefield. Now what will you do? What is written in the 3rd scroll I gave you?"
"Keke. I remember the third scroll's content very clearly. After choosing the battlefield, we have to make it ours. We have to make it benefit us and hurt our enemies."
"Excellent. Now how will you do that in your current situation?"
"By maximizing the advantages I have over them. It means I need to find something I am better at than my enemies and use that against them."
"What are you good at, son?"
"Thinking. Those jerks can't think with their silly heads."
"Hahaa. Anything else?"
"Wait. Swinging sticks. I have practiced swinging sticks for years because of your training. I can probably beat them all using a stick. But I can't carry the stick when I'm playing with them."
"This is where the advantage of choosing the right battlefield comes in. You can choose to keep the stick hidden on the playground even before you arrive to play there with those boys," the man said and gave his son a wink.
"Oh!" The boy was genuinely surprised by his father's idea. He liked the idea so much that he started laughing.
"Kekeke. That can work. I'll teach them a lesson."
"Not "them," son. If you beat the first guy, the others won't come near you. Do you think they'll just offer themselves to get beaten up by you if they see a stick in your hand and see how well you can use it?
People are cowards and intelligent at the same time. They don't like to be defeated by someone "lesser" than them. They also don't like to engage with someone stronger than them."
"Oh! Then what shall I do?"
"Lure them in. Don't use the stick immediately, son. Wait for them to let their guard down. Let them approach you."
"That is… Genius… Hmmmm? wait," the boy was about to say something but then he realized something else hidden in his father's suggestion.
"Haah! It's useless then," the boy said. "What's the use of me beating them with a stick if they end up beating me first? The goal was to prevent them from beating me. But your plan makes me do exactly that," the boy said in a sulky mood while reclining in his chair.
"Haha," the man chuckled before speaking further. "If you want to punch someone in the face, you must first prepare yourself to eat a punch in the guts, son."
"But father, what's the use of anything if even in winning the battle, I end up in the same situation as losing?" the boy asked his father in an unsatisfied tone.
The man looked at his son and smiled before speaking in a calm tone.
"The difference lies in what comes afterwards. Those boys will never dare to beat you again if you win the battle like this. Nobody will.
Sometimes, on the battlefield and in life in general, you have to lose a bit to win big. Always remember this, my son," the man concluded while finishing his meal.
"I have to lose a bit to win big…"
The boy's emerald green eyes had a peculiar spark in them as he processed his father's words.
He then got up and left in a hurry, towards the playground, his battlefield.
