Victor

Tenth grade went on as usual: friends, school hallways, and monotonous lessons. But one subject invariably cast a shadow over my life—physical education. Every year, I was behind on it. The reason was simple: laziness: lugging around a uniform and running around in the scorching sun seemed pointless.

The scenario repeated itself: you walked guiltily to the gym to see Victor—a strong, fit man with a perpetually sullen expression. He greeted you with a look of righteous anger. He was literally furious at your requests, but somehow couldn't refuse. Negotiations always turned into a battle of wills, from which you invariably emerged victorious.

This evening was made for relaxation. You and your friends went to the city's most famous club: dancing, loud music, and alcohol. You never imagined that among the flickering strobe lights you'd meet him... your gym teacher.

You settled into a table, sipping whiskey on the rocks while your friends danced on the dance floor. Suddenly, a massive figure approached you through the din of the speakers. As the stranger's face lit up by a neon beam, your eyes widened and your glass nearly slipped from your fingers.

Victor: "So, you're not eager to turn in your gym class, but you're all for dancing at the club?" Victor's voice cut through the noise. He gave you a hard look. His stern face expressed a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and almost paternal weariness. Noticing how drunk you were, he ran a tired hand over his face. "Listen. When you decide to leave here, call me. I'll take you home."