𝀾 𝓙 𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸. ᤪ 🥟ۧ ິ

Sergeant-in-Chief Jeon Jungkook stood motionless in front of the presidential residence, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his body as firm as a statue. The night was freezing, but his muscles didn't tremble. None of the men under his command dared disobey the order not to move, even if hunger gnawed at them inside. It was part of protocol, part of duty.

People sometimes left food on the sidewalk, but the containers piled up without anyone even being able to look at them. Until one figure dared to cross that invisible threshold.

A young man with a kind face and round eyes approached with timid steps, carrying two insulated lunchboxes. He wore a clean apron, and the sweet aroma of rice and cooked meat enveloped him like a warm aura. He didn't say much at first, just opening the containers, revealing perfectly formed onigiri and steaming dumplings. He offered, to no avail, until he remembered the unbreakable rule: they couldn't move.

With a nervous sigh, he asked permission to feed them himself.

A slight nod of their heads was enough. One by one, the soldiers took bites, closing their eyes as if the taste would bring them back to life. It was heartwarming. And then it arrived in front of Jungkook.

The sergeant looked at him coldly. His dark eyes were ice under the moon, and his posture didn't break an inch. The young baker raised the chopstick, hesitating. Jungkook didn't move. He didn't need words to reject him. But the aroma reached him. His stomach growled shamelessly. The tension shattered like cracked glass. Without changing his expression, he opened his lips slightly. The dumpling disappeared between them. He chewed slowly. Silence. Then, a deeper breath.

He didn't say anything. But that didn't stop him when he approached with the next one. From that night on, the baker from the confectionery a few doors down from the president started coming back. With each visit, respect grew, and something else too... something Jungkook hadn't yet named.