Chapter 4
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Yewon responded without delay.
“My mom mentioned it years back.”
Doha lifted his brows in apparent shock.
Yet Yewon detected a spark of delight in his features, far from any sign of annoyance.
Perhaps their connection ran deeper than tension.
Contact had been scarce, and her mother’s apology suggested discord, or so Yewon had assumed.
Reality pointed elsewhere, toward layers of unspoken history.
Each pondered separately amid the quiet.
Yeongeo addressed Doha gravely.
“We’ve got her settled temporarily… but what’s your actual plan?”
Adults fretted over predictable concerns, Yewon realized swiftly.
“I’ve asked the agency to fend off journalists temporarily, though keeping her here long-term…”
Doha scowled, dragging rough palms across his cheeks.
“Uncle… I’m frightened… Please don’t make me return to him…”
Back at the funeral parlor, instinct had driven him to shield her, no further thought given.
A superstar performer with relentless commitments, suddenly parenting?
Unprepared, it bordered on absurd.
Shouldering her care would expose her fully to public eyes.
Doha pressed his lips together. Unacceptable.
“A temporary caregiver, maybe? Even if the agency expedites…”
“Absolutely not on short notice.”
“Needs absolute reliability. Revealing her as family… No, nobody gets her now. Trust escapes me entirely.”
“The vibe’s toxic enough with swirling gossip. She mustn’t suffer more.”
“So what’s next? Your calendar’s packed; short-term might work, but indefinitely?”
Yeongeo eyed Doha anxiously.
“I trail your every move. Child isolated in this vast place? Food? Rest?”
Every concern rang true.
Challenges stacked endlessly, start to finish.
Doha clamped his jaw, offering no reply.
Tension thickened the air in the spacious room.
Yewon clutched her glass harder.
Practical hurdles might dispatch her elsewhere soon.
Not to Fake Uncle, perhaps, but some distant academy or facility.
Cotton Ball’s insight fit Doha’s nature—he’d opt for superior surroundings over faltering attempts.
This refuge felt precious, irreplaceable; eviction meant permanent exile.
Endless handoffs to strangers appalled her.
She yearned to anchor as vital kin, never mere charge.
Yewon set the glass aside and slid to the floor.
Heads snapped her way at the abrupt motion.
She positioned herself boldly before the men.
Doha’s face shadowed ominously.
Her resolve flickered, yet she beamed through it.
“I handle my own food and cleaning. Stove stays off-limits, doors secured. Your career remains untouched.”
Such independence defined her existence.
She trusted her skills surpassed mere adequacy.
Purity fueled her plea; twice forsaken by him? Unbearable.
Suppressing tears marked a novel effort.
His grim rebuttal crushed her hopes momentarily, eyes squeezing shut in defeat.
“Why master survival alone?”
“We share this life regardless of your skills.”
Yewon’s gaze lifted sharply.
Doha’s features twisted in raw emotion.
She knew that look intimately.
Another’s anguish brought absurd relief.
Summer, age twelve.
“Enough bites. Weight gain ruins everything.”
Fake Uncle muttered covertly, yanking her meal container away.
Devastation gripped her at the loss.
Two days without real sustenance, her first true feast.
Proper nutrition evaded her under his watch.
Agency days brought managerial kindness; post-termination, care vanished.
School offered midday relief, curtailed by his pre-lunch dismissals masked as bookings.
Eager for rare endorsement work, he hauled her onsite unconsulted.
The container’s donor?
Lee Doha, co-starring in the shoot.
“What’s this treatment of her?”
Fake Uncle twitched under Doha’s lethal glare before scowling back.
“I handed her that food. Starving obvious, right?”
Doha unleashed on Fake Uncle.
“This your standard approach?”
“…Strict diets build careers. Your business why? Honestly…”
Fake Uncle shrugged off the fury, digging at his ear.
Doha’s composure fractured.
“My business? You claim that now—?”
“Precisely. Overdue heroics, family pretense? Laughable.”
“Test me then. See who crumbles.”
Yewon peeked toward the interrupter hailing Doha.
“Doha, ease up. No fights, okay? Sir, you too, settle down…”
Yeongeo mediated frantically, drenched in stress.
Undeterred, Yewon observed Doha’s unrelenting stare at Fake Uncle.
Fantasies had painted him as ideal guardian.
Their exchange struck odd notes even then.
Urgent cameras demanded focus.
Soon after, death reports shattered illusions.
“See you tomorrow! You both… um… stay safe…?”
Yeongeo mumbled an uneasy goodbye at the threshold.
Doha’s declaration drew matching stares from Yewon and Yeongeo.
Yeongeo probed, rattled.
Yewon shared the curiosity. Solitude without him loomed stifling.
“Skip it. Recharge domestically. Tomorrow’s free regardless. You deserve it.”
Yeongeo rubbed his scalp, baffled.
“Absent me? Handling a seven-year-old solo… possible?”
Exactly. Had Uncle ever parented?
Yewon mirrored the doubt in her stare.
Doha quieted under the blunt query.
“Study childcare via videos online?”
“Do families attend special classes? Knowledge gaps? Simple searches fix them.”
‘Parents’ tripped him visibly.
“Even so, solo with Yewon stretches credibility…”
Yewon bobbed her head, face ashen.
“Self-care eludes you. A young girl, unassisted? Unfathomable.”
Concurring still, Yewon voiced a lingering wonder.
Both swiveled toward her.
“What happened to the rest of GLEET’s uncles?”
Yeongeo’s discomfort surfaced briefly.
Doha stayed composed.
Why the unease? Group homes weren’t standard for stars?
