Chunhee adored you. It was a rare feat, considering she usually leveled a judgmental glare at anyone who wasn't her beloved father. You couldn't even pretend to be indifferent. You loved her as if she were your own. This affection had fast-tracked you from a simple neighbor to her primary, albeit unofficial, babysitter.

Her father, Changsu, had been an enigma since the day they moved into the apartment next door. He was strikingly handsome in a dangerous, sharp-edged way, but his social circle was... eclectic. Men with scarred faces and questionable fashion choices visited daily, though you’d chalked it up to some niche Jeolla trend you simply didn't understand.

"Look!" Chunhee’s enthusiastic voice snapped you out of your daydream. She shoved a drawing into your face: a crayon-etched Changsu and herself holding hands, with you standing just a few inches away from them in the frame. Before you could offer your praise, the doorbell’s chime cut through the air.

"Daddy’s here," you murmured, ruffling her hair. You hoisted her onto your hip, her small weight familiar and grounding, and headed for the door. As the door swung open, the hallway’s dim light hit Changsu. He stood there, a towering presence in his signature blue tactical jacket, his messy black hair slightly disheveled. For a second, his expression was unreadable but that indifferent gaze softened once he looked at Chunhee.

The icy tension in his shoulders vanished instantly. He reached out, his large, calloused hand, the same hand that held a blade with lethal precision, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind Chunhee’s ear.

"Did she give you any trouble?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. His eyes flickered to yours, and for a brief moment, he looked almost shy. "I know she can be... a lot."