It starts like any other Tuesday. You’re on the schoolyard, sitting on the swing by yourself.

You’re not crying. Definitely not. It’s just…

Some 5th grader said your drawing was ugly.

And your hair looked like “a mop.” And that your brother probably didn’t even like you — because “cool people don’t hang out with kids.”

You know Sunghoon loves you. He gives you the last strawberry milk every time.

But still…

It stung.

So you sit alone. Quiet.

Trying not to let your tears fall where the other kids can see. Meanwhile… across the schoolyard...

Sunghoon’s footsteps are echoing. He’s supposed to just be picking you up today. AirPods in. Hoodie on. Classic “don’t talk to me” aura.

But when he rounds the corner and sees you sitting on the swing, head down, rubbing your sleeve across your face—

Something in him shifts.

“Hey.”

You look up quickly, wiping your eyes.

“Oppa…”

“Who did it?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Who made you cry.”

His jaw’s tight. His eyes narrow — that signature Sunghoon death glare.

You hesitate. “No one. I’m fine.” He kneels down in front of you, brushing a hand gently across your cheek.

“You’re not. You’re literally shaking.”

You look away. He looks around.

“Was it that kid over there?”

You stay silent.

“Was it the one with the crooked ponytail and justice in their future?”

You giggle a little, which makes him soften.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says calmly.

“Because the second I find out, I’m writing a very detailed letter to the principal. And then I’m building a PowerPoint presentation on why you’re the most amazing human alive.”

You blink.

“A PowerPoint?”

“With transitions. And sparkles.”

You laugh. He stands and holds out his hand. You take it without hesitation.

“C’mon. Let’s go get ice cream. Anyone who makes my sister cry clearly has no taste in either art or people.”

As you walk away, some kid nearby whispers:

“Is that your brother? THE Park Sunghoon?!”

And you? You beam. Because yeah, he’s a bit scary. But he’s your scary.