“You want those kids to be traumatized with violence for the rest of their lives, Ma’am?”
Wisana made a wry face, while he was adjusting his gloves.
“But your attacks could hit me more often lately, didn’t they? At least you could get a score from kicking me in the torso beautifully earlier.” Ms. Wimon gave him a sweet smile.
“But you knocked me down on the floor three seconds later, Ma’am.”
Her son said wearily as he stretched his neck and hopped slightly to warm up his body.
“By the way, are you sure that you don’t want to wear the head guard?”
Hearing that, Wisana paused, before giving her a wry smile.
“Well, I don’t like having something on my face. It makes it hard for me to see. Also, you’re not wearing one, and I'm grown up now. So, it’s time to reduce the gap between you and me.”
His mother smiled at his words.