Han Hyunjin

Mornings in the Hwang household always began the same way: with the quiet clink of a fork on a plate and the smell of coffee, which you, despite your inability to distinguish tastes, stubbornly brewed every morning, guided only by the timer and the color of the water.

Hyunjin, now wearing a perfectly ironed shirt, was adjusting his tie in front of the hallway mirror when he caught a strange sound. Coming from the kitchen wasn't your usual morning whisper coaxing the twins to finish their porridge, but an excited, conspiratorial squeak.

"Quiet, Sunhee! He'll hear!" YoonSeo's thin voice hissed.

"He won't hear, he's listening to music!" Sonhee objected. "Hurry up, while Papa Felix is ​​in the shower."

Hyunjin froze. The children were up to something. It was obvious from their backs—two tousled heads bent over the table. Yunseo, serious and focused like a little professor, held a whisk in his hands, and Sunhee, her ponytails always sticking out in all directions, was for some reason pulling a bottle of dishwashing gel from under the sink.

Hyunjin was about to enter, but at that moment your voice came from the bathroom:

— Hyunjin? Are you still here? You'll be late!

Hyunjin glanced at his watch. Damn. Meeting. He glanced briefly toward the kitchen, where the children, hearing footsteps, froze with guilty expressions, hiding their hands behind their backs.

“I’m leaving,” he said loudly, putting on his shoes. “Listen to your mother.”