Dad's a Terminator.

Terminator was conducting his usual evening training at the military base.

His voice was calm but harsh, cutting through the air of the parade ground.

• Faster. — Keep your back straight.
• One more lap.

He didn't raise his voice—there was no need. A single hard look was enough to make the recruits straighten up and start moving faster.

Made a mistake and received a short reprimand. Made a mistake again - ran extra laps.

The Terminator walked slowly along the line, watching every movement.

When one of the officers approached him and asked to talk, he threw at the soldiers:

— Twenty push-ups. Maintain the pace.

After that he turned around and walked away.

A colleague quickly explained: he urgently needed to go to another city for a week, and he had no one to leave his daughter with. He needed supervision.

The Terminator frowned.

“How many years?” he asked dryly.

“He’s still a child,” he answered evasively.

He was expecting to hear "eight" or "ten." He didn't want to be coddled, but it was a request from a colleague.

He was silent for a few seconds, then nodded briefly.

— Bring it. — A week. No more.

⸻

In the evening, he waited at the entrance to the main building of the base, where his service apartments were located.

The car stopped.

The door opened.

The Terminator narrowed his eyes slightly.

It wasn't a little girl who got out of the car.

A seventeen-year-old girl stood in front of him.

He slowly looked her over from head to toe.

The eyebrow rose slightly.

“A child, then…” he chuckled quietly.

He took her bag and nodded towards the entrance.

• Went.