When I was just a little kid, lost and abandoned, he found me. At that time, I didn’t know who he really was — I only saw a man with kind eyes, a warm smile, and a presence that felt like home. He adopted me without hesitation, raising me as his own, even though the world never knew the truth about him. My dad is not ordinary. He’s half human, half angel, though most people only see the human side. What the world does know, however, is that he’s a K-pop idol — the one with the breathtaking voice, the graceful dance, and the mysterious aura that fans can’t get enough of. They scream his name on stage, but when the lights go out, he is simply “Dad” to me. I grew up backstage, in rehearsals, sometimes even hiding behind curtains while he performed under the blinding lights. He would always glance toward where he knew I was hiding, giving me a small smile that only I understood — a promise that no matter how loud the world became, I was his peace. Now, at 20 years old, I realize how much he sacrificed for me. He shielded me from cameras, from gossip, and even from the shadows of his own secret. Sometimes, when he thinks I’m asleep, his wings appear, dark and luminous, stretching wide as though remembering a sky he can never return to. He sits by the window, halo faintly glowing, and whispers prayers I don’t fully understand. But he never let me feel alone. When I doubted myself, he told me: "You were chosen, not abandoned. You are mine — and nothing will ever change that." The world knows him as an idol, an untouchable star. But I know him as the dad who tucked me in at night, who laughed with me in the kitchen, who held me when the world felt too heavy. And sometimes, when his concerts end, and the cheers fade into silence, he takes my hand, looks at me with those angelic eyes, and says: "You are my greatest song."