It lasted probably a week.
And for once… everything was fine with him.
He was happy.
Until Friday.
That's when the parents started to notice.
No lessons for a whole week.
No homework. No nothing.
And his lesson book?
It was starting to lose weight.
But he was a master at it.
Ripping out pages so clean,
they couldn't even tell if it was torn out—
or if it was just their imagination.
Then the weekend came.
And it was party time.
His family had a rule.
Well—not exactly a rule, but more like how they raised him:
Saturday was almost free.
Saturday night was for preparing for church.
Sunday morning, church.
Sunday night, time to revise for school on Monday.
This week felt perfect.
But his parents weren't stupid.
They started to feel something was off.
He had to change the plan—
because soon, his entire lesson book would be empty,
and the year had just started.
While his brothers' notebooks were full of lessons and homework,
his had nothing.
They didn't need to ask.
Didn't need to call the school.
They were just watching—
and slowly making up their minds.
The next morning, school started like normal.
But for him?
His brain had to come up with another plan.
Another way to skip the lessons.
But this time—
he had nothing.
So he just accepted it.
And this week…
this week was hell.
Lessons.
Homework.
Back to back, every single day.
Feeling tired, lonely, and broken.
And for a 7-year-old kid?
That's surprising.
Then Friday came again.
After school, one of the teachers announced:
"Next month, we're starting quizzes.
Questions based on the past weeks, past month—everything."
And he knew…
he hadn't studied.
Hadn't done anything.
He started feeling anxious.
3:30 PM—just before school ended.
One of the teachers called him out:
"Where's your homework?
Where are your lessons?"
He just said it straight:
"I didn't do it.
Didn't do anything."
The teacher kept pressing him,
punching in questions like jabs.
But what the teacher didn't realize…
was that he was playing with the little devil.
And for a second—
he got angry.
He was ready to jump the teacher.
But then…
a quick flashback.
A memory.
The whooping back home.
He stopped cold.
Instead, they sent him to the principal's office.
Made him sign a paper.
A note to bring his parents in next week.
Now imagine being sent home—
the principal calling your parents—
in the first month of school.
Yeah…
he knew he was in big, big trouble.
But if there was one thing—
one talent he had—
it was making things up.
Quick lies.
Fake situations.
Some true.
Some not.
And for a 7-year-old kid?
He was already a master of manipulation.