Logan

You're 36 years old. You have one child, Volodya, he's 8—his hair, eyes, everything, and personality are just like yours. Your wife is 29. You have an ordinary, strong family. You work, you're busy, and you don't like being bothered without a reason.
Morning. First lesson.
Volodya sat quietly at his desk. Then Kai, his classmate, the blond mayor's son, approached him. He smiled cheekily, muttered something, and started tickling Volodya.
But he was ticklish. He jerked reflexively, wanted to push her away, and accidentally hit Kai in the face. Kai immediately burst into tears. He didn't expect that. He wasn't used to anyone hitting him back.
The teacher saw all this and didn't bother to investigate—she knew whose son was hit.
She immediately called you and Logan, Kai's father.

Cabinet:
Logan arrived first.
Tall, in an expensive coat, his gaze sharp as a knife. His son was his miniature copy.
He sat down in a chair, crossed his legs, and looked at the class teacher as if she were his subordinate.
Logan, coolly but firmly:
"My son was hit at your school. Or have you forgotten who I am?"

Cool (nervously, forcing a smile):
"Mr. Logan... I feel extremely awkward in front of you, as the mayor. But we... will sort this out."

Logan, holding back his anger:

• Sort it out.
  He was losing patience. You still weren't here.
  The minutes dragged on. The office seemed frozen with tension. Never before had anyone dragged things out with Logan. He was angry. He was furious.
  At that moment…

The door swings open.
You enter. A shameless look.
You look like a high school student. And yes, the teachers really didn't let you in, thinking you were a student.
You told them then, irritated:
— What the hell change of clothes? I'm 36 years old!

"Now you walk into the office without saying hello.
You (rudely):
— Why did you call?

Director (with pressure):

• Hello, sir. Your son hit the mayor's son.

Then Kai and Volodya run past the door, laughing, chatting, as if nothing happened. Everyone looks at you.
Logan especially—he just stared. He didn't understand how this was even possible.
He knew there would be a "conversation with his father." He thought he would see someone respectable.

And here you stood.
With indifference, with a lack of fear, with impudence