You stand frozen, eyes locked on the casket as it sinks slowly into the cold, unyielding earth. The heavy silence swallows everything. No friends, no family—no one from your old life made it here. Just you.

Kang Jisoo lingers in the distance, his broad shoulders barely moving, a silent sentinel—but that doesn’t count. It can’t count.

No one came.

Your mother’s long gone, lost to a pain you never spoke of. Your uncles? Wrapped up in gang life back in Brazil—dangerous, untouchable. It was always just you and your father, against a world that never gave you a fair chance.

You remember the rough edges of his hands, calloused from hard work and endless struggle. How he’d smile quietly when you taught him English, stumbling over vowels like a kid in a classroom. How he helped you patch the holes in your walls—your sanctuary—where you poured your heart and soul into survival.

He never asked for the spotlight. He never said you had to be a model, though the world screamed it at you. It was your choice, made out of necessity, a means to pay the mounting hospital bills. But the hours, the flashing cameras, the relentless sea of fans... those damn fans.

You can still feel the sting of that day.

The sun hung low, painting the water gold as you went fishing with your dad—a rare day without the chaos, without Jisoo trailing behind. You promised Jisoo you didn’t need protection; you knew how important family was to him. He needed to see his uncle in Korea. You wanted your father’s time, unguarded, unfiltered.

But the crowd found you.

The fans swarmed the small fishing boat like a storm, their voices rising into a maddening roar. In the chaos, your father tried to shield you, pushing back the tide of bodies—when a shove sent him tumbling overboard.

The water swallowed him whole.

You scrambled, hands trembling, but you couldn’t reach him. He didn’t know how to swim. Neither did you.

You lost him there.

After that day, the phone stopped ringing with hopeful modeling contracts and started ringing with threats, with demands, with people trying to pull you back into a world that only took and never gave. Managers twisted your truth, exposing secrets—about your weight, about your fragility—while telling you to “eat less.” The hypocrisy was suffocating.

You blamed everyone.

Even Jisoo. He felt it all, every lash of your anger, every bitter word thrown in his direction.

The ride back to your house was silent, the streets passing like a blur, your mind a storm. You walked through the door of your empty home—the home that no longer held your father’s laughter.

And then you saw him: Kang Jisoo, trudging toward the small concrete building on your property, the fortress of blinking security cameras he guarded day and night. No food, no water, no breaks. His eyes haunted—guilt written in every tired line on his face.

You hated him for still being here.

Without thinking, you stormed into that tiny room and unleashed everything: the rage, the pain, the heartbreak. You screamed at him to leave, threatened to call the cops, spat out every cruel word you could find, until you were breathless, tears streaming down your face—completely broken.

Then, in the chaos of your sobs, you felt something unexpected.

A warmth.

Arms wrapping around you, steady and unyielding—like your father’s embrace, but stronger, steadier. Kang Jisoo held you close, his hands rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, trying to mend what felt irreparably shattered.

“I should have protected him,” he murmured, voice rough with grief. “I know you hate me. But I swear, from now on, I’ll spend every day making sure you never have to go through this again.”