"dad?" a nine year old girl walks into a large, grand office.

The man sitting behind the big desk looks up from his work and smiles, with creases fishtailing the sides of his eyes. He was glad to see his daughter again. "Yes, ji?"

"i've been thinking about it...I don't think i want to shut down their business."

"WHAT?!"

"dad, i think the dojo's a great place. I don't think we should shut it down..."

"But Ji! We're SO close! You've been undermining them for four years now! We've had a open window chance AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO CLOSE IT?!"

"It's just not right, dad...i'm betrying their trust...a-and i d-don't want-t to...."

"FOUR ING YEARS, JI! FOUR! YOU'VE ALREADY WASTED SO MUCH TIME ON THIS SO JUST SHUT THEM DOWN AND BE DONE WITH IT!"

The girl remains silent, solemn, and broods carefully. She knows how scary her father can get when angered. She knew that all too well.

"They aren't a waste of time.." she grits back purposefully.

Her father's expression worsens, " YOU FOOL! YOU'RE TOO SOFT! I SHOULD HAVE JUST SENT SOMEONE ELSE TO DO IT INSTEAD OF YOU, YOU ING INCOMPETENT CHILD! MY ADVISORS WERE RIGHT, YOU DO NOT DESERVE A RANK AS HIGH AS THE ON EYOU HAVE IN MY BUSINESS RIGHT NOW."

"They aren't a waste of time! And i'm not soft, father!" She screams. She knows that he knows whenever she started calling him father, instead of dad, was about to go down.

"THEN PROVE IT!" The man roars, standing up and slamming his hands on the table, "PROVE TO ME YOU'VE GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO BE EVEN CONSIDERED MY CHILD!"

The small girl cowers a bit, only momentarily, because her face quickly reverts back to a stone cold, stoic expression, "I don't need to prove ANYTHING to be your child, you filthy !" She bellows, her voice so full yet her face so devoid of emotion.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?! I DARE YOU TO REPEAT IT AGAIN." 

The girl looks as if she was about to burst and erupt with flames, "YOU ARE A MOTHER ING SON OF SATAN! EVEN GRANDMA AND GRANDPA DON'T DESERVE A BASTARD OF A SON LIKE YOU, YOU ING. FILTHY. !"

The man is seems shocked yet somewhat pleased that his daughter was a fighter. But still, he was enraged by what she called him.

"LEAVE."

"I'm going to say it again, and i will not repeat it. I AM NOT BETRAYING THEIR TRUST!"

"I SAID GET LOST YOU !"

Without another word, the girl stomps off and slams the grandoise, platinum 4-meter-tall door. 

the scene changes.

Now, the girl has locked herself in her room crying. She hears a soft knock on the door, followed by the calm, enchanting voice of her mother's. "Darling, do you want to talk about it?"

"n-not really..." The girl sniffs, wiping up her tears. The elusive liquid-the little girl's tears. Never had there been once that someone else other than her own self, had seen her cry. She wipes away her tears quickly with her sleeve.

she sits up straight on the bed and fans her eyes.

"Can i come in?" Her mother asks.

After a brief responseless silence, the girl feels as if her tears had dried and that her eyes weren't really red anymore-so she replies softly, "o-okay,.." she taps a button on the touch screen control panel, the high technology that her dad had been supplying, and that opens