I interrupt this segment to bring to my readers an advertisement: this story has reached the final round of chapters, and as such I've written a brand new story you may (or may not) be interested in: It's entitled 'In Love With A Legacy', and is a darker, angstier, and bolder story than this one. If you're into torturing yourself with heartbreak and plot twists at every turn, click right here for the link! Otherwise just ignore me ;-; But that's it for this shameless promo! Onto Chapter 19~

Loathe as Jihoon was to admit it, but Zhang Yuejun was—without a doubt—a beauty.

She had almond-shaped eyes, rich in toffee nut color, delicately underscored by lush, sweeping lashes. Her hair was tucked rather messily into a bun, thin strands falling out of their hairpins and onto the sides of her face, enriching the atmosphere of effortless grace. Her nails were varnished salmon pink, lips tinged with red, fair skin pale and as smooth as porcelain. Barely-there makeup was dusted lightly onto her cheekbones, giving her complexion a flawless, dewy finish.

Had Jihoon not been in love with Kuanlin, he would’ve asked for her digits straightaway.

“And you’re here, because…?” he began. They were seated across from each other at the Little Byeongari, curious patrons milling indiscreetly about them. “I don’t recall having set an appointment.”

“I find there no need for that,” she exclaimed, waving his concerns away. “I’m here to ask of you a minor favour.”

“We best friends now, or what?” Jihoon mumbled. “I don’t shell out my services for free.”

Yuejun propped both elbows atop the still-empty table, eyes blinking at him in rapid-fire motions.

 “Have a go at the menu,” she offered. “My treat.”

Jihoon swallowed nervously, his interest piqued by the tempting proposal.

“Is the dessert section off-limits?” he ventured.

“Of course not,” Yuejun shook her head. “Go ahead and order every single item on the menu, if you’d like. I won’t mind.”

Jihoon’s left hand shot up into the air, calling the attention of the waiter by the door, who nearly jumped right out of his skin.

“Anything you’d like, sir?” he approached, pen and paper in-hand.

“I’d like Set 2, please,” he said. “And I’ll have the tteokbokki with a little extra spice.”

“Kuanlin tells me you’re weak against spices,” Yuejun said, observing the waiter depart with a baffled expression. “Have I misinterpreted the information?”

“You haven’t,” Jihoon shrugged. “I am, however, in dire need of the perfect diversion. Away from whatever it is you have to request of me, just in case it messes with my head.”

“You’re his roommate, aren’t you?” Yuejun inquired, cutting directly to the chase.

“His?” Jihoon repeated. “Park… Park Woojin’s?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, gaze soaring upwards, caught in a dream-like trance. “Park Woojin’s.”

“I don’t like that expression,” Jihoon grimaced. “You aren’t a secret admirer of his, are you?”

“An admirer, yes. Though I hardly think it necessary to keep such thing a secret.”

“I… I’m not sure how best to respond to this,” Jihoon admitted, rattled by the startling discovery. “I hadn’t envisaged this scenario taking place within a lifetime. Or two. Or a hundred.”

“Kuanlin tells me you know him best,” she pried. “Is this information correct?”

“Should I be proud of that? Besides… I was under the impression he was dating in secret. You… you wouldn’t happen to have been his lover the entire time, would you? He’s worn this necklace for a week now, and I still happen to think it’s from his girlfriend.”

Otherwise, my flagrant display of jealousy over your engagement to Kuanlin will have regressed into a shameful disappointment.

“Does it… does it come in the shape of a crescent?” Yuejun inquired, fidgeting awkwardly in her seat,  weight shifting from one leg to the other.

“A croissant?” Jihoon echoed imprecisely. He tapped lightly at his stomach, the mouth-watering aroma of freshly-baked bread wafting through the air and permeating through his senses.

 “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He shrugged.

 “It is from me!” Yuejun squealed in delight. “Ahh… He remembered.”

The waiter returned to their table, this time around with a basket-full of bread.

“Complimentary focaccia bread,” he announced. “The olive oil and parmesan are sitting in the condiment rack.”

Jihoon tore through the bread, ravenous in hunger before the waiter could step even a foot away from them.

“Of course Woojin remembers,” Jihoon exclaimed, in between bites of crumbly focaccia. “He kisses that pendant goodnight before tucking it under his pillow. A measure of good luck, he claims. Now a part of me thinks he’s forgotten you’re a fansite master, not his fairy godmother.”

“Can he get any more perfect?” Yuejun sighed.

Jihoon stuck his tongue out in mock disgust. “Uhh, yes. He can.”

“Do you think… I might have a chance with him?” she asked. “I may not be his type to begin with.”

“Trust me,” Jihoon snorted. “You’re everyone’s type.”

“Even yours?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Yuejun giggled, reaching over the table to pinch his marshmallow cheek. “You’re kind of cute, Jihoon-ah. Can’t blame Kuanlin for having fallen into your aegyo trap.”

“I don’t have aegyo,” Jihoon insisted. “I’m abandoning the concept from this point onwards.”

He nodded to himself in reassurance, resolute in his desire to foster a manlier image.

As of late, his peers were accustomed to spurning him because of their ‘softie’ perception on his character, even though Jihoon was, as a matter of fact, stronger in physique than half the class combined.

It’s high time I remind them, Jihoon thought. Of why precisely they’d have it wrong to mess with me.

And on top of that, it’s time I let Kuanlin know.

That I’m more than capable of protecting him, too.

Because now, I’m…

“…his boyfriend?” Yuejun spoke up, spanning the barrier into his thoughts.

His surprise broke Jihoon out into hiccups.

“W-what?” he stammered. “Whose… whose boyfriend?”

“I’d asked if you’ve made it official,” Yuejun reiterated. “Your relationship with my fiancé, that is.”

“That fiancé thing,” Jihoon grimaced. “Still breaks me into hives. Stop calling him that, already.”

“Alright, I get it,” Yuejun laughed. “Besides, I—“

Yuejun cut her exclamation short, transfixed by the figure sashaying past the door, his fingers running coolly through windswept hair.

“There goes Park Woojin,” Jihoon grumbled. “And his capitalism walk.”

Woojin spotted them by the wall moments later, gliding their way with a syrupy smile plastered onto his face.

 “Hello there, princess,” he greeted.

Jihoon blinked, floored by the nickname. “Which one of us are you addressing, exactly?”

“Oh?” Woojin exclaimed. “You’re here too, Jihoon-ah? Sorry, didn’t see you there. Your shirt’s blending in with the sofa.”

Jihoon scanned the table for any sort of knick-knack to chuck at Woojin’s forehead. His fingers found the bread, tossing it instinctively through the air before Woojin clamped it skilfully and gobbled it whole.

“Thanksh, Chihoon-ie,” he exclaimed, eyebrows wiggling at his roommate sportively. “I wash famished.”

Yuejun claps both hands together, charmed by Woojin’s demonstration of high-caliber reflexes.

Woojin flashed her a triumphant grin, petting the crown of her head with affection.

“You’re looking good in that dress,” he winked. “The paisley print’s interesting. I love it.”

“I love you too,” Yuejun whispered, sensible thought deserting her at Woojin’s touch.

“Ehh?” Wooji blinked. “Did I hear that correctly, or have I forgotten to clean out my ear canal with a cotton swab?”

“Both,” Jihoon exclaimed. “You’ve already met her, but… ahh, further introductions are aptly in order. Woojin-ah, meet Zhang Yuejun. She operates under the alias Moonshine.”

“Pretty name,” Woojin shrugged nonchalantly. “Reminds me of—“

Woojin froze on the spot, stunned by his cognizance of Yuejun’s identity.

“MOONSHINE?” he gaped at her, half-munched flakes of bread threatening spill-over before Jihoon reached out in alarm to force his mouth closed.

“The one and only,” Yuejun beamed at him proudly. “I’m… I’m a fan of yours. Very much so.”

Woojin nodded robotically, still in a daze.

“Holy smokes,” he whispered. “You weren’t supposed to be this attractive.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to blockade his nasal passage before it bled uncontrollably.

Jihoon scowled at the both of them in turns.

“Hey Woojin-ah,” he said, elbowing his roommate lightly. “This is the part where you prostrate yourself before the gods of fortune, appealing for the luck to pass onto your children. Not everyone gets to marry a goddess, you know.”

“Stop it,” Woojin retorted, socking him mildly in return. “I have yet to figure out child support. Not that I, uhh… have thought of getting married before, or anything. ”

He and Yuejun blushed in perfect concurrence, heads turning slightly away from each other.

It was Jihoon’s turn to gape.

“I don’t believe this,” he muttered. “I’ve had more progress in brokering a marriage between the both of you this morning, than I have on the English essay I’ve been working on for weeks.”

“Ahh,” Woojin exclaimed. “How’s that coming along?”

“Great,” Jihoon sighed in defeat. “I now have a title for the paper. I’m onto the next step, swimmingly enough.”

“Writing the actual paper?” Yuejun inquired.

“No. Figuring out whether to use Arial or Times New Roman.”

“Palatino Linotype, my friend,” Woojin suggested, seating himself next to Jihoon. “The professionalism of the typeface detracts effortlessly from the actual content. Tried and tested.”

“This is why I love you, sometimes,” Jihoon grinned.

“Love you more, babe,” Woojin teased, pressing a stealthy kiss onto his cheek.

Jihoon recoiled at the sensation, wiping at the moisture by his lip in alarm. “Hey! That was uncalled for!”

“Cherish it,” Woojin shrugged. “I ain’t giving out any more of those, at least in the foreseeable future. Aren’t I right, princess?”

He flashed Yuejun another charming wink.

“Ahh,” Yuejun blushed. “I wanted one too.”

“This escalated much too hastily for my tastes,” Jihoon observed. “Though I should’ve known things would turn out this way. You do make advances towards anyone and anything with a beating heart, after all.”

Moments later, their light quibble was interrupted by the arrival of Jihoon’s food, a bowl of extra-spicy tteokbokki, a plate of samgyeopsal, five kinds of banchan, and two helpings of steaming hot rice.

“Wrong,” Woojin whispered, eyeing Jihoon’s food. “I’m making advances towards your breakfast, too. Nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Shoving you onto the floor won’t stop you?” Jihoon asked, threatened by Woojin’s motion towards the wooden chopstick container. “Yuejun paid for this. Ask for permission.”

“No need,” Yuejun replied in haste. “Woojin-ie can have everything he likes.”

“And that includes you,” Woojin winked a third time over.

“Have at it then,” Jihoon sighed. “I’d rather eat my fill than get between the both of you.”

“You ordered a set for two, all by your lonesome?” Woojin demanded then. “Yuejun-ah, you help yourself too.” He handed Yuejun a set of chopsticks, and Jihoon, from where he sat, could see in his mind’s eye the sparks flying from where they touched skin-to-skin.

“But wait,” Woojin narrated. “There’s more.”

The waiter returned a third time, this moment around with a massive cantaloupe, sliced neatly in half, the flesh partially scooped out to make way for shaved ice and a dizzying array of sugary toppings. To Jihoon’s left he set a pitcher of lemonade on the table.

“Kuanlin should’ve been here to see this,” Woojin clucked. “His fat Shiba stuffing itself silly with food.”

“Don’t,” Jihoon warned. “He thinks I’m on a diet, still endeavouring to chisel out the abs he likes, far too much for his own good.”

“Speaking of your abs-enthusiast,” Woojin ventured, turning his attention to Yuejun, who was already picking at the melon balls on Jihoon’s monster-sized bingsu. “Aren’t you supposed to be engaged to him? Kuanlin, I mean.”

“We have to act, then,” Woojin said. “And we have to act now.”

“How are we to do that?” Jihoon asked, already in snappish, high-strung bundles at the mere thought of having to thwart an affair so momentous.

He stuffed bountiful servings of rice into his mouth, a paltry attempt at stress-eating the pressure away.

His phone, meanwhile, buzzed noisily against the table, alerting him to an incoming notice from an anonymous caller.

“Begin with taking that call, perhaps?” Yuejun suggested, voice hushing forbiddingly into a baleful whisper.

“How come?” Jihoon asked. “You recognize these digits?”

“Of course I do,” she nodded. “I’ve had the very same number sequence engrained into me, the past couple months alone. Take it, Jihoon-ah. He won’t approve of you wasting his time.”

Jihoon gulped down his rice, swiping lightly at the phone screen. He held it against his ear, unsure of what to expect.

A silvery voice spoke over the phone, taking Jihoon entirely by surprise. Both his timbre and accent were vaguely familiar, reminding him distinctly of Kuanlin’s manner of speech.

“Hello?”

“Is this Park Jihoon speaking?”

“Yes, that would be me… sir.”

“Excellent. The name’s Lai Ter Chien.”

Jihoon stilled in deathly quiet, caught in breathless respite.

“I arrived in Seoul this morning, for a shareholder meeting with foreign investors. I do have time left in the day before the assembly is underway, and as such, I’d like to set an appointment before it commences this evening.”

All of Jihoon’s knowledge on sentence construction flew promptly out the window, head spinning lightheadedly in woozy circles of bewilderment.

“App...appointment,” he echoed blankly. “You’d like… to set an appointment. Sir?”

“Yes,” the voice spoke, growing veritably in discontent owing to the listlessness of Jihoon’s response. “It has come to my attention, Park Jihoon, that you’ve been in close contact with my son since his enrollment at... Mireu, was it? Hence, the invitation. I’d like to know more about you. The crowd Kuanlin walks amongst, after all, is of prime importance to the company as a whole.”

Jihoon’s hand descended the table onto Woojin’s lap, searching out his hand for the stability of comfort. Woojin rested a palm against his, eyeing him with genuine concern.

This is it, he thought.

The moment of truth.

If I meet with him, what am I to expect?

He’s a wealthy tycoon, with hefts of knowledge on diplomacy and arbitration up his sleeve.

How am I to negotiate with a businessman, who knows exactly what he wants, and how exactly to procure it?

“Two can play at his game, Jihoon-ah,” Yuejun reminded him. “Or five. You have the both of us, and Kuanlin on your side.”

Cogs turned apace in Jihoon’s brain, a do-or-die plan formulating roughly in his stream of consciousness.

“I understand, sir,” he responded. “I’ll make time for the meeting today.”

“Brilliant, Park Jihoon,” Kuanlin’s father exclaimed.” I await our encounter, then. Pray you won’t disappoint.”

“You alright, hyung?” Kuanlin inquired, having strolled with Jihoon towards the Outdoor Plaza during their practice break, after yet another fruitless discussion on their non-existent song. They were sitting by the flowerbeds, casually sunbathing before the skies were awash in the shadows of eventide.

He extended an arm over Jihoon’s shoulder, pulling him in to land a kiss upon his cheek. “Hyung. What’s up with the long face? You look as if you’re regretting every single life-decision you’ve made all at once.”

“So maybe I am,” Jihoon replied blankly. “Maybe I am regretting having let myself fall in love with you.”

“We aren’t already back to this, are we?” Kuanlin sighed forlornly. “Something must’ve triggered this… so spill, hyung. Otherwise, I’m kissing you until you’re out of breath.”

Jihoon shifted weights, turning at an angle towards Kuanlin in order to rest more comfortably against him. “Hmm. I’d rather take the kiss.”

Kuanlin let loose a chuckle, the soft trill of blissful laughter awakening the butterflies in Jihoon’s stomach. “Out here in the open?”

“Why not?” he murmured, absently tracing a finger across the curve of Kuanlin’s jawline. “Your father’s about to annihilate me a couple hours from now, anyway. I’d like to live my life to the fullest, before that happens.”

“I’m sorry,” Kuanlin said. “But did you say my father?”

“He asked for me a while ago,” Jihoon confessed. “He’s flown all the way to Seoul from Taipei.”

“He’s in Seoul?” Kuanlin burst out, jolting abruptly to attention, swivelling towards Jihoon until his face was near enough for them to kiss.

“I, uhh… yeah,” Jihoon said, eyeing Kuanlin's mouth distractedly. “If I… remember. Correctly.”

“What for?”

“Stock-broker reunion, something or other.”

“Shareholder meeting?” Kuanlin clarified. “And then he wants to meet you? After these incompetent, power-hungry investors succeed mightily in setting his temper ablaze?”

“Mercifully enough, no,” Jihoon shook his head.  “He wants me out of the way beforehand. I won’t expect things to turn out in my favour, though.”

“What are you expecting, then?” Kuanlin frowned, slender fingers brushing away the strands of hair falling gently onto Jihoon’s face.

“Maybe,” Jihoon whispered. “For him to tell me to get lost before karma hits and I choke on a brick.”

Kuanlin’s pleasant laugh made a reappearance, igniting flickers of untamed yearning within him.

“He isn’t like that,” Kuanlin whispered, gaze falling momentarily from Jihoon’s eyes to his lips.

Jihoon swallowed, eyes surveying the breadth of the Outdoor Plaza.

It was vacant, save for the both of them.

If I kiss him now, Jihoon thought. Other people won’t know. Right?

Cameras don’t exist out here in the open, either.

Unless we’re being monitored from afar.

Drones? Do these people dare?

He bit his lip, unaware of Kuanlin’s full attention resting upon him.

To hell with it.

Maybe if I take him by surprise, then—

Jihoon’s thought process was cut precipitously short.

Kuanlin took him by the waist, pressing pillowy-soft lips against Jihoon’s own.

And then, he was lost.

His mind floated adrift amongst the stars, trapped in boundless euphoria at the pleasant sensation of Kuanlin’s fingers traversing the length of his back, and Kuanlin’s mouth moving tenderly against his, begging for entrance.

Mindlessly, both hands made their way around Kuanlin’s neck, pulling him even closer, wanting more of his taste.

“Hyung—“ Kuanlin began, parting with him for air.

“Less talking,” Jihoon whined. “More kissing.”

Kuanlin’s lips crashed into his a second time over, his overwhelming scent enough to send Jihoon's thought process into dizzying spirals of blissful disorientation. Kuanlin kissed him a third time, until Jihoon let slip a sigh of content, before releasing his mouth gently, trailing kisses along his jaw, and then his neck, all the way down to the skin exposed by his collarbone.

Jihoon smiled in unmitigated pleasure, devoid of rational thought.

And then it dawned on him in all of three strikes.

Strike one: They were making out.

Strike two: They were making out in public.

Strike three: The flowerpot behind Kuanlin was levitating.

LEVITATING?

“K-Kuanlin-ahh…” Jihoon began, pushing him gently away.

“Anything wrong?” Kuanlin asked, the lip tint smeared messily along the lines of his mouth embarrassing Jihoon even further.

“You’re a phenomenal kisser, and I’d hate to ruin the moment, but… what in tarnation is that?”

He pointed a querulous finger at the flowerpot, which, much to his dismay, was still floating as if possessed in mid-air.

“I don’t recall having inhaled any hallucinogens this morning,” Jihoon whispered. “Please don’t tell me I’m the only one seeing that. Or… has your kiss driven me insane? Is that what this is?”

“My kisses are hallucinogen-free, thank you very much,” Kuanlin replied. “Don’t worry, hyung. I see it, too.”

“Approach it, then.” Jihoon challenged. “G-go on.”

“Why am I the sacrificial lamb?” Kuanlin demanded.

“Why not? If this concludes in a jump-scare, I swear I’ll—“

“FOUND YOU!” The flowerpot howled.

Thankfully enough for the both of them, neither boy was in particular, a scaredy-cat. Thus, instead of breaking into an eardrum-busting scream-fest and latching onto each other for dear life ala-Seongwoo and Daniel, they simply clamped their mouths shut and remained statue-still.

Gawking in silence at the little girl standing before them, a flowerpot propped atop her pint-sized head.

“Wait a minute,” Jihoon exclaimed. “Who—whose child are you?!”

“Mama’s child,” she exclaimed. “And papa’s, too.”

Jihoon and Kuanlin exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what to make of the situation.

She was small enough to hide in the flowerbeds, and was herself wearing a grass-coloured jumper, which certainly aided her in sublime assimilation into the overgrown shrubbery.

Kuanlin made the first move, sliding across the bench towards her.

“Hey there, little girl,” he greeted. “Are you lost?”

“Danbi isn’t lost,” she replied, settling the flowerpot by her feet in order to point a stubby finger at Jihoon and Kuanlin in turns. “But you were, a while ago. You too. Mister Bunnykins and Chicken Little.”

Jihoon gaped at her, scouring through his memory bank for stock-knowledge on how best to deal with children.

He gave up five seconds later.

 “You don’t happen to speak toddler, do you?” Jihoon whispered.

“I’m pretty sure she’s at least in kindergarten,” Kuanlin whispered back. He turned his attention to the little girl, who, as if by magic, now had toddler paraphernalia wrapped protectively in either arm. “Your name is Danbi. Am I right?”

“Right!” Danbi exclaimed. “Danbi is Danbi, and chicken is little. Nice to meet you, Chicken Little! How are you today?”

 “I’m confused, thank you,” Kuanlin replied, scratching his head. “Nice to meet you too, Danbi-ya.”

Danbi held up the plushie she was holding, a baby chick that likely had seen better days, its colour having dulled to a yellowish-grey. “Look, Chicken Little! This is you. You are chicken. I like you best when fried in cubes.”

“Fried in cubes?” Kuanlin repeated, Danbi’s outburst having gotten lost in translation.

“I think she’s craving chicken nuggets,” Jihoon whispered. “What now?”

“Well, at least now we know I’m the chick,” Kuanlin muttered. “And you’re the bunny.”

“Right,” Jihoon agreed. “Then again… how exactly are these nuggets of wisdom supposed to be of help?”

“Stop it with the nuggets, hyung,” Kuanlin whispered in alarm. “The innocent musings of a five-year old aren’t meant to be this frightening.”

“Danbi is seven this year,” Danbi objected, waving her stuffed bunny around in violent protest. “Six in other countries. Not sure why. Danbi hates math almost as much as she loves chicken.”

“Jihoon relates to Danbi on a spiritual level,” Jihoon nodded, making an embarrassing venture into baby-talk. “But how come you’ve made your way here? Are you lost, Danbi-ya? Shall Chick-oppa and Bunny-oppa help you find your way home?”

“It’s dangerous out here,” Kuanlin added. “The grass may break your delicate skin into rashes.”

“If you let us help you,” Jihoon offered. “We can stop by for ice cream too. And uhh… chicken nuggets.”

Danbi’s mouth widened into a doughnut-shaped hole. “Mister Bunnykins eats ice cream? What if your front teeth fall off?”

“Mister Bunnykins eats everything,” Jihoon assured. “Except for uhm, children, if that was of any concern. As for my front teeth… they’ll remain in place, thanks for asking.”

Danbi nodded, more enthusiastically than necessary for having been assured that Jihoon was, in fact, not sporting dentures.

“If we eat ice cream,” she exclaimed. “Will Magu Otter and Jin Snake be there too?”

“Great,” Jihoon sighed. “Another riddle for us to decipher. What is this, Aesop’s Fables?”

Kuanlin’s hand flew over Jihoon’s mouth, snapping it forcibly shut.

“They’ll be there,” he smiled. “If you tell us what they look like… they’ll appear just for you.”

“Or if you see them in the streets,” Jihoon added, gently removing Kuanlin’s hand from his mouth, holding it in his instead. “Feel free to call out to them, too.”

Danbi hugged both plushies to herself, gaze falling timidly to the grassy pavement.

“What if Jin Snake eats Danbi?” her stern, no-nonsense tone funnier to Jihoon than it should’ve been. “My oppa says he’s mean and likes to steal things.”

“Your oppa?” Kuanlin and Jihoon exclaimed in unison.

Jihoon offered Danbi his left hand, winking subtly at Kuanlin before cocking his head to the side.

We have to find him.

Whoever he may be.

“Does your oppa study at this school?” Kuanlin inquired.

“That’s Danbi’s secret,” she pouted. “If oppa finds out that Danbi’s escaped from the clinic… he’ll cry again. Danbi is tired of seeing oppa cry.”

Jihoon studied her expression for a moment, the sorrow in her eyes utterly breaking his heart.

The melancholy, the pain within them, he thought. Are thoroughly displaced.

A child her age should have the stars in her eyes, alight with hope, and a little bit of mischief.

And yet… why?

“Say, Danbi-ya,” he began. “If we stumble upon Magu Otter and Jin Snake… will you, by any chance, lead us to your oppa afterwards? If we bring his animal farm friends along, oppa may no longer cry.”

“Hyung,” Kuanlin whispered. “Otters and snakes don’t belong in animal farms.”

“Stop it,” Jihoon whispered back. “You’re ruining her childhood.”

“Magu Otter first!” Danbi exclaimed. “Magu Otter is oppa’s favorite.”

“Is that so?” Jihoon asked, beaming at her warm-heartedly.

She’s kinda cute, Jihoon thought. Makes me wish I had a sister.

“He tells Danbi sometimes,” Danbi smiled happily. “That if Danbi meets Magu Otter one day, she should tell Magu Otter how much oppa loves him.”

Jihoon blinked at her, unable to make sense of the situation.

Danbi’s oppa… is in love with Magu Otter?

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jihoon asked. “Is oppa in love with—“

“MAGU OTTER!” Danbi interrupted. “Danbi found you!”

Danbi sped past Jihoon, chanting Magu Otter’s name one skip at a time.

Jihoon carefully observed her frolicsome movements, fascinated by her persistence upon wielding both plushies as if to parade them around as soldiers would their imposing armament.

And then, she fastened herself onto Lee Daehwi’s leg, who burst into howls of shock and terror.

“Geez,” Jihoon exclaimed, shielding both ears from Daehwi’s banshee wailing. “Calm down, Daehwi-ya. Danbi won’t bite. Or at least… I think not.”

“Did you…” Daehwi began, having regained enough of his feeble composure. “Did you guys reproduce while both of us were away?”

“That’s cute,” Jinyoung noted, kneeling by the sidewalk to level himself with Danbi’s stature, which couldn’t possibly have been any more than three-and-a-half feet tall. “Hi there, kid. What’s your name?”

Danbi’s lower lip trembled fearfully in response, taking cover in the folds of Daehwi’s overhung parka.

“We found her in the bushes,” Jihoon sighed. “Disguised as an Easter daisy pot. And rather convincingly so, might I add.”

“So you’re Magu-otter,” Kuanlin exclaimed, resting a hand against Daehwi’s shoulder, the other still entwined with Jihoon’s. “Sorry, Daehwi-ya. We have no idea what to make of her either.”

“You must be Jin Snake, then?” Jihoon sniggered, flashing Jinyoung a lopsided smile. “Interesting choice of predator.”

“Jin Snake?” Jinyoung echoed, eyeing Danbi from beneath the layers of Daehwi’s parka, underneath which she’d burrowed her existence into. “What is that supposed to mean? And why am I mysteriously offended?”

“Danbi-ya,” Jihoon cooed. “Why are you hiding?”

“Come out from under there, Danbi-ya,” Daehwi coaxed, tugging lightly at Danbi’s plush toy. “Don’t you worry. Jinyoung, err—Jin Snake and I are your friends.”

“Danbi is scared, Magu Otter,” she sobbed. “What if Jin Snake eats Danbi? Danbi tastes good, too. Oppa says it’s because she’s chubby and has fluffy puff-pastry cheeks.”

“Fluffy puff-pastry…” Kuanlin repeated. “Dang. I’m getting hungry.”

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