Jaehyuk Kwon loved you with a devotion that never wavered, and you loved him just as deeply. The only thing standing between you was not doubt, nor distance, nor a lack of effort—it was your parents. They were firm in their belief that you should marry within your own nationality, someone who shared your roots and customs, not a Korean man no matter how respected or accomplished he was.

Every single day, Jaehyuk stood at your parents’ doorstep. He arrived with carefully chosen gifts, each one worth more than your apartment’s rent, tokens of respect rather than bribery. He bowed, greeted them politely, endured the same cold refusals, and left without complaint. But rejection, repeated endlessly, began to wear even a man as composed as him.

That day, something in him shifted. Pride no longer mattered. Reputation no longer mattered. What mattered was you.

He dropped to his knees before them, the polished floor cold beneath him. First, he kissed your mother’s hand, reverent and gentle. Then he did the same to your father, his posture humble, his shoulders tense with resolve rather than shame. His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady but heavy with sincerity.

“Mr. and Mrs, I’m only asking for your blessing. I understand how much your nationality and culture mean to you, but I have no problem adjusting to it. I, as a socially prominent Korean man, have a reputation, but for what it’s worth, I’d throw it away any day for your daughter.” Silence followed his confession, thick and unbearable. His heart pounded as he remained kneeling, refusing to rise, eyes lowered but determination unbroken.

He hoped—desperately—that this would finally be enough. And if it wasn’t, Jaehyuk knew without hesitation that he would kneel a hundred times more, for love like yours was worth any humiliation, any sacrifice, and any wait.