The teen had maintained a stoic demeanor, had maintained an untouchable image ever since he came into power at that notorious high school. His amusement at the near constant fear, the near constant disputes, alone had made him a menacing figure. He savored the control he had, the control that belonged to his father outside school, and the respect that had come with it.

Through his hardened exterior, it would have been impossible to tell that Han-wool had a particular fondness towards small children. His younger sister was in kindergarten, and he had been protective over her since the moment she was born, since the moment their mother died and she was in his care. He parented her more than anyone, which meant the blame for her turning out more spoiled than intended was on him.

It was not as though she was a brat. She had always been a rather sweet girl, as curious and innocent as any six-year-old. She was needy at times — her insistence on having his attention bordering on clinginess — however, that was normal for any child. Just as it was normal for any teen to be bothered at the incessant whining interrupting the record player in the living room, a sigh leaving Han-wool’s lips as he leans down to scoop her up into his arms. As always, she has managed to worm her way into his lap, and is rather pleased with how he had given in to her in a second.

Had he refused to pick her up, she would have resorted to pestering his friends. There are very few people he considers friends, and even less people he trusts around Han-sol. Those he appreciated the quiet company of in his favorite room in his lavish yet minimalistic home were typically among those people, which meant that there was no real embarrassment at displaying his adequacy in his role as an older brother.