I understand what you speak of, Amelia, and yes, you are right about what you say. We—no, I—really need to stop doing this. But you know I just can't help myself.
After all, this is a very important phase of Anthony's life, and he can't slack off at all. If done well, this can be a life-changing moment for him; he might not have to struggle much in the future. These thoughts drive me to do what I'm doing."
"But, hearing you say that while what I'm saying is for only the good of Anthony, we can't force him on doing something he is already working hard on—even harder—as that won't be fair to him... These words do justice to this situation," Marcus said before quoting: "Motivation is a fire from within. If someone else tries to light that fire under you, chances are it will burn very briefly."
"Ugh," Amelia muttered, surprised by her husband's quote. She couldn't help but say, "A truly sustainable motivation must come from an internal source, and in this case, from within Anthony himself, and not from external pressure or persuasion, for they will last for only a brief moment."
"And I think that fire within Anthony is now sustaining his motivation to improve. He's late on this, but it is a welcome move, right, honey?"
"Indeed," said Marcus with a sigh, before changing the topic. "Shouldn't we now wake him up and hurry off to the dinner that's waiting for us down there? What do you say, dear?"
"Huh... huh?" Hearing this, Amelia tilted her head in brief confusion—a confusion that was quickly snapped away by sudden clarity. "Aaaahhh! How did I forget this? It's your fault!" she said, pointing at Marcus.
"What did I do?" asked Marcus, but he was stopped by Amelia's glare—a glare that told him to keep quiet and wait for his turn. With that, she walked toward Anthony.
Raising her hands high, she slapped downward, targeting Anthony's butt. A loud "Pah!" sound came.
In another moment came Anthony's cry: "Ahhh! What happened? Give me my money!" as he turned and sat up straight, looking around in confusion.
He only realized this was his own room, with two people standing there, looking at him speechlessly as if they had seen or heard something very weird.
But just waking up from sleep, he seemingly ignored these two people and instead spoke with a bittersweet smile: "Sigh, that was a dream, dammit! And here I was thinking that I was really robbed of my money.
And the dream was just awkward. I mean, they robbed me by slapping me on my butt and then running off with my money! What kind of robbery tactics is this, and this weird fetish... This is weird, weird."
Hearing this, the already speechless and stunned Amelia and Marcus were stupefied once again by the rambling of their son. They couldn't help but wonder what kind of dream he was having and what money he was talking about.
And that butt-slapping robber... it couldn't be Amelia, could it? Marcus thought, glancing at his wife with a slightly weird face, but nothing too obvious. He would rather not face his wife's wrath. He carefully masked his facial expression.
Fortunately for him, Amelia wasn't paying him any attention at all. Her eyes were completely fixed on Anthony as she looked at him speechlessly, not knowing what to say about the nonsense he was muttering. It was just... weird. Yeah, that was the only word she could think of at that moment.
Meanwhile, Anthony, still half-awake, was finally getting truly conscious. He realised that the two people he had seen and ignored were none other than his father and mother.
Both were looking at him strangely, as if he were some kind of weird element and not their own son. Huh, what's going on? That was the first thing that came to his mind.
But before long, he had his answer, which made him realize the few words he had mistakenly spoken out loud—and that they must have heard it. Realizing that, his face turned red in embarrassment as he blushed a little.
But while realizing his gaffe was one thing, admitting it was another. With this principle in mind, he tried to—no, he flipped the topic and asked, "Umm, Mother, Father, what are you both doing here in my room, and when did you even come in?"
He then turned to Marcus and asked, "Father, why is your nose swollen like that, and there's even a bit of blood there? What happened to you?" He asked with a hint of concern and then added, "Did you receive the flying slippers that Mom threw at you, and that caused this?"
"You little brat!" Marcus roared, a hint of embarrassment and a bit of anger fueling his voice. He pointed his finger at Anthony, suddenly reliving the moment that Anthony had just alluded to—one of the biggest shames of his life. How did he even connect my swollen nose to that incident? Dammit, this kid has no shame at all!
"What happened to my nose was all your fault, you little brat!" Marcus declared. "Had you not slept like there was no tomorrow, and had your door not gotten stuck, and then suddenly come loose when I was trying to open it, causing me to fall, this would not have happened at all!"
Twisting things a bit, Marcus added what had truly transpired a few moments ago, making no mention of Amelia. It was partly her fault, of course, but he wouldn't say it. After all, he didn't want to become her dinner tonight. He was not that foolish; instead, he was smart, and he did all this to appease his wife.
Amelia's face had already turned a bit red upon the mention of her sacred weapon—the flying slippers—something she used to punish this duo of father and son.
Just as she was about to fly off in a rage, Marcus's words calmed her down, as he hadn't told all the things that had actually happened and had instead twisted all of it a bit.