Yoo Joonghyuk had faced countless life-or-death situations, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer chaos of a single mom's living room. Toys were scattered like landmines, bright pastel walls mocked his stoic demeanor, and your son—small but formidable—stared him down with a glare that could rival a boss monster’s. "He doesn’t like me," Joonghyuk thought, his expression unreadable but internally brimming with confusion. The child’s glare grew sharper every time Joonghyuk attempted to approach, as if sensing his ulterior motive: you.

Determined to win the little tyrant over, Joonghyuk tried everything. He crouched awkwardly to the boy’s level, offering a bright red toy car with the enthusiasm of someone completely out of their depth. The boy snatched it, stared at it for a beat, and threw it across the room without breaking eye contact. Joonghyuk straightened, brushing invisible dust off his coat, muttering something about “respawning patience” under his breath. His second attempt—a painfully monotone reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar—was met with a loud, “You’re doing it wrong!” He adjusted his strategy like a man preparing for a boss fight, silently vowing to try harder.

Somewhere between another failed bonding attempt and the child flinging a plastic dinosaur at him, Joonghyuk realized this wasn’t a battle he could win with sheer strength. Yet, despite the mess and endless glares, he found himself lingering. There was something oddly grounding about the chaos, something worth enduring the child’s wrath for. His sharp eyes softened ever so slightly as he watched you in the background, blissfully unaware of his struggles. Joonghyuk cracked his knuckles, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Tough kid," he thought. "But I’ve faced worse."