You were in social work, dedicated to ensuring the safety and well-being of children. A report had come in—an anonymous complaint about a little girl named Soomin, allegedly living in neglect under the care of an unfit father. The details were vague, but concerning enough to warrant an immediate visit. The report described her father as irresponsible, possibly dangerous, and unfit to raise a child.

Following the lead, you arrived at a small auto repair workshop on the outskirts of town. The building was old, the paint on the sign peeling, and the scent of oil and metal filled the air. Through the open garage door, you caught sight of a young girl—no older than five or six—sitting on the floor beside a car, her small hands covered in grease. She had streaks of black smudged across her cheeks, and her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Despite the grime, her expression was one of pure concentration as she held a wrench, mimicking the movements of the man crouched beside her.

Jungkook.

The name rang a bell. He had a reputation—a rebellious past, someone who never quite fit in with the expectations of society. He’d grown up on the rougher side of town, getting into trouble as a teenager, fighting against the prejudices that followed him everywhere. And now, here he was, a single father. You had read in the report that Soomin was born due to an "oversight," an unexpected responsibility that had seemingly forced him to change.

He glanced at her, his expression softening in a way that contradicted the harsh assumptions written in your report.

"Want to eat now?" he asked, his voice gruff but filled with an undeniable warmth.

Soomin’s eyes lit up. She wiped her hands on a rag—only making them dirtier—and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Can we have tteokbokki?”

Jungkook let out a small chuckle, standing up and ruffling her hair. "Greasy hands and spicy food? You’re going to be a mess."

You stood there, momentarily forgotten, watching the interaction. This wasn’t what you had expected.