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Chuck can wash his hands directly in front of Kalinda.
That is an attitude, and also a habit that best suits his nature.
After putting his hand on his sister's head, he had endured for a long time before going to the bathroom to wash his hands away from her sight.
This is family love and care.
But now that the cards were on the table, and his sister was still being so mischievous, he naturally couldn't indulge her anymore.
So Chuck dodged Haley's hand and warned her with his eyes.
"Don't be shy."
Haley's eyes sparkled with mischief, she giggled, and reached out to grab Chuck's hand again.
Chuck's expression sharpened, and he dodged.
Haley stopped pretending and increased her efforts to catch Chuck, as if she was determined to touch his hand to see if he would go wash it afterward.
Chuck kept dodging.
The siblings chased each other from the bedroom to the hallway, then into a pink bedroom. Haley, out of breath, collapsed onto her bed, lying on her side with her head propped up by her hand. She looked at Chuck, "How are you so good at this?"
"You're not bad either. Have you been training?"
Chuck's breathing was steady, showing no signs of intense exercise. Looking at his sister on the bed, he asked curiously.
Haley's attempts to grab him were clearly those of someone with professional grappling training.
"I can tell you have," Haley smiled. "But I'm not as good as you."
"Because you haven't been beaten up as much," Chuck said honestly, surveying his sister's bedroom.
As a detective, quickly assessing one's surroundings is essential.
"..."
Haley's smile paused, then widened. "You want to hit me? How many more times?"
"I'm not trying to hit you."
Chuck looked down at his sister's face, understanding her meaning and frowning. "You want to be hit by me. Why?"
"Will being hit by you make me as strong as you?"
Haley shifted her position, now lying flat on the bed, her hands behind her neck, looking up at Chuck curiously.
"It depends on natural ability."
Chuck looked at her. "Most people just get beaten to death."
He recalled that his predecessor had been taken to a special training facility in the mountains of Colorado as a child. There, his father hired a former Navy SEAL instructor who trained him relentlessly. At one point, even the instructor couldn't stand it and suggested they ease up and let him recover, but his strict father refused. He even complained that the instructor's training wasn't harsh enough and demanded he use all available methods.
In his father's view, this world was dangerous, and his son, with his condition, needed to be strong enough to survive on his own.
Besides, his son couldn't interact normally with others, so adapting to physical contact was like adapting to bright lights and loud noises. Being hit and hitting others are both forms of physical contact.
After changing instructors repeatedly and training in almost every major combat discipline available in America, he finally achieved mastery.
But this was due to his predecessor's natural talent. If it were someone else, they would most likely be permanently injured after such intense training at such a young age.
"I've also found instructors to train with, and I've researched various fighting techniques online, but I'm still far behind you."
Haley said frustratedly, "I guess it's all just theory and talk. But that's not surprising. Those instructors don't dare actually hurt people, so how can you really learn? Can you teach me properly?"
"Why?"
Chuck didn't refuse outright, but simply asked for her reasoning.
"Do you think this world is safe?"
Haley rested her chin on her hands and swung her feet.
Chuck remained silent.
As someone who once specialized in accounting and now worked as a detective, in just a few years he'd witnessed the dark side and rampant corruption in this dangerous American landscape.
Safety?
That was wishful thinking, an illusion easily shattered.
"Can you always stay with us and protect us?"
Haley pressed.
"I need to talk to Chief McGrath," Chuck said after a moment's thought.
"It's best not to," Haley said, sitting up and shaking her head. "Like most people, he's completely oblivious to how dangerous the world really is and clings to the illusion that nothing bad will ever happen to his family. How could he possibly bear to see his precious daughter getting beaten up in training? If you insist on telling him, either he'll reluctantly accept it—he's already stressed enough with his job, don't make things harder for him—or he'll refuse and one day when something bad happens, we'll be helpless. What do you think?"
"Bald is more distinguished than balding."
Despite Haley's persuasive argument, Chuck ignored her rambling.
"Then why don't you shave your head... Fine?"
Seeing her persuasion fail, Haley lowered her head, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she muttered, "You're my brother, you have the final say."
Chuck nodded and turned to leave.
"Hey, where are you going?"
Haley called out, jumping out of bed as she saw Chuck leaving.
"To unpack and talk to Chief McGrath," Chuck said.
His time was limited. If it weren't for the lingering emotions from his past and the bonus of 10 points in both physical and mental attributes that the police chief had given him when he introduced little Sheldon, he wouldn't have wanted to stay for several days.
Now that he was planning to train his sister and strengthen her self-defense skills to relieve some of his concerns, he had to move quickly.
"Wait, you're a detective, and I heard you're pretty good at it. What do you think of my room?"
Haley called out.
"Nice disguise," Chuck said without turning back, and left.
Haley surveyed her bedroom. The main color was pink. A large bed sat by the window with rumpled covers. A teddy bear sat on the nightstand, along with a delicate bedside lamp and a hamburger-shaped phone. Next to it was a bean bag chair and a desk cluttered with textbooks and fashion magazines. There was a framed family photo and a silly photo of her and her best friend that she found hilarious. The walls were covered with the latest pop star posters and funny memes, and so was the ceiling.
"This is clearly the bedroom of a bright and cheerful girl. How is it a disguise?"
Haley muttered, touching her chin thoughtfully. "Is it too obvious?"
Just then, the police chief shouted from downstairs, his voice tight with suppressed anger: "Haley!"
"How did that brother move so fast... Coming!"
Haley snapped back to reality, grumbling, then shouted a response, composed her face, and ran downstairs.
Mother Bran was busy in the kitchen, unmoved by her husband's sharp calls for their daughter, only occasionally glancing at her son Chuck, who had been lost to them and finally found again.
"Dad," Haley said as she came downstairs, giving Chuck a look that said, "I told you so." Then, walking over to the police chief, she put her arm around him and called out with a grin.
"What did you say to your brother?"
The police chief was furious and unconvinced. He gently pushed the young girl away and sternly said, "If you're looking for trouble, don't bother your brother. I've got plenty of time, and I've really been wanting to get some exercise lately."
(End of chapter)
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