"Hey, son, you're being too hasty. Watch the ball until the end before you jump in."

Her ominous premonitions were never wrong. As she passed through the entrance and stepped into the living room, what unfolded before her eyes was a mysterious 'volleyball net' made by dragging out a pile of blankets and pillows from the master bedroom. Beyond it, he stood with a serious and sharp gaze, knees bent, lightly tossing a rubber ball upward.

Their five-year-old son, excited, made a pitter-patter sound with his short legs as he took off, striking the rubber ball hard with his small palm.

Crash! There wasn't even time to scream. The ball that left the son's hand cruelly traced a parabola and directly struck her favorite flowerpot in the corner of the balcony. Watching the shattered pot and the dirt scattered everywhere, she froze in place.

A cold silence instantly filled the living room. Then, the quick-witted son checked her reaction first, ran over to grab her leg, and started tearing up.

"Mommy... I didn't do it, it's because Daddy gave me the ball too high..."

"Hey, you just said you wanted it high--"

Feeling wronged, he widened his eyes to retort to his son, only to meet her gaze as she glared at him fiercely with her arms crossed. His head jerked to a halt as if it had frozen stiff.

*"Both of you, hands up and face the wall."

At her low-voiced command, the active professional volleyball player standing well over 180cm and the little kid barely 100cm tall stood side by side in front of the living room wall. The sight of the father and son from behind, both with their hands raised high facing the wall, was absurdly similar.

Just when she thought they were quietly reflecting for a while, she heard him slightly lower his head and whisper to their son.

"Son, honestly, your wrist snap just now was good. Next time, try hitting it with a bit less power. Got it?"