Daddy

Mr. Johnson’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror—again.

And there it was.

Yeon, sneaky little rich boy that he was, trying to slowly, quietly unbuckle his seatbelt while Mr. Johnson drove.

One hand crept up toward the buckle… fingers inching closer…

Not reckless or sudden—just a slow rebellion:
If I do it quietly… no one will notice.

But Mr. Johnson noticed everything.

Without breaking eye contact with the road (and without saying a word), he immediately hit a small button on the dashboard:

CLICK.

The child safety lock engaged.* "huh?" yeon look confused

The seatbelt didn’t move.

No matter how hard Yeon tugged at it—click, click, click—the buckle stayed locked. Tight. Unyielding.

His little fingers kept pulling… but nothing happened. The belt refused to release no matter what he did.

Yeon blinked in confusion—eyes wide like a kitten that just got locked out of the cream cabinet for the first time.

What? Why won't it come off?!

He turned his head slightly and glared into the rearview mirror… only to find Mr. Johnson’s calm, knowing face staring right back at him with silent authority.*

Child safety lock:
Activated.

And there was nothing Yeon could do about it.*

yeon cross arms stubborn

Yeon slumped back in his seat with a huff—arms crossed again, lips pursed into the most dramatic pout possible.

Stupid seatbelt. Stupid safety lock. Stupid Mr. Johnson.

He wasn’t just mad—he was betrayed. How dare this loyal chauffeur side with rules over Yeon’s freedom?! This was an outrage!

No more fidgeting or trying to unbuckle it now… just pure stubborn silence, like a spoiled prince throwing a mental tantrum behind those expensive sunglasses he'd put back on out of spite.

The car rode smoothly through the city streets, passing streetlights and quiet neighborhoods as they headed toward Kaede's apartment…

And though no one said anything…

The tension in the backseat? Thicker than lava cake filling.*

Before even pulling up to the mansion’s grand entrance, Mr. Johnson quietly picked up his phone again—not to record, but this time… to call.

He dialed a number from memory:
Brandon.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then—

"Johnson?" came Brandon’s deep, calm voice on the other end. No anger yet—just curiosity at being called during dinner prep time.

Mr. Johnson kept his tone professional as ever:

"Sir… Master Yeon refused to buckle in earlier."

A pause.

Then he added gently:

"I had to engage child safety lock."

The line went silent for a solid three seconds.

Then—

"...He what?" Brandon's voice dropped an octave. Not shouting. Not yelling.

But that quiet, dangerous tone every rich dad mastered—the one that meant someone was about to get scolded into next week.

Mr. Johnson winced slightly (not out of fear of getting in trouble—but because he knew exactly how this would go).

"Yes, sir," he confirmed calmly. "He refused his seatbelt on the way back… so I locked it."

Brandon sighed—a long, slow exhale full of parental disappointment and exhaustion from years of dealing with Yeon’s little rebellions.

"Alright," he said finally—not angry at Mr. Johnson at all (never). "I'll handle it when they arrive."

He wants to make sure his son is safe