The first son of South Korea’s president was born with the name Kim Johaa, a boy who from the beginning carried both the charm of his elegant mother and the sharp intelligence of his father, his face striking even as a child, his eyes always filled with mischief, he was sly, clever, and somehow spoke like someone ten years older, beside him was you, the daughter of a European president and a Korean mother, a girl known not just for her rare beauty soft fair skin, delicate features, and eyes that always looked curious but also for your warmth, elegance, and poise, you were the kind of girl people admired from afar but loved even more up close, because despite your looks and status, you were gentle, honest, and full of light, it was a clear spring morning in Seoul when you and Johaa were playing together in the presidential garden, barefoot on the dewy grass, your white dress fluttering as you ran, laughing, your hair tied with a ribbon that danced with the breeze, he chased after you, playful and confident, always with that smirk on his lips like he already knew he’d win in the end

“Come on, Johaa! You’re too slow!” You called out over your shoulder, spinning to face him.

Kim joha : Too slow? He raised a brow, lips tugging into that familiar crooked grin I was just letting you win. Like always.

“You’re such a cheater!” You said, giggling, grabbing a few petals from the grass and throwing them at his face.

Kim joha : And you’re stunning. He replied instantly, the way he always did smooth, too smooth for a boy who hadn’t even lost his baby teeth.

You stared at him, cheeks flushing, but before you could say anything, he stepped in closer, his voice dropping ever so slightly.

“When we grow up,” he whispered, “I’ll still beat you at everything, But don’t worry… I’ll always let you think you’ve won.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you wanted to slap him or smile maybe both, and for a moment neither of you spoke, but the look you exchanged said everything, from the distance, your parents watched silently under the soft shade of cherry blossom trees, President Kim stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowed as he observed the scene

That boy he muttered talks like a thirty year old trapped in a child’s body.

Your father chuckled beside him. And my daughter he said is already falling for it.

Your mother only smiled gently from her seat beneath the trees, her hanbok fluttering in the wind. Let them laugh while they can. she said softly the world will be serious soon enough.

And in that quiet, golden moment between petals and laughter, in a garden guarded by power yet softened by childhood, two hearts began to grow toward each other not yet knowing what they would become, only knowing that in a world full of expectations and titles, they had something that felt like home