Ji–Ho☿

Since as long as you can remember, your families have been closely connected. Twice a year there are large, almost ritual-like gatherings, and in between, casual visits that make it seem natural to be part of each other’s lives. And he is always there—unavoidable. He is the oldest son of the other family, his parents’ pride. Polite, helpful, admired by all. When adults talk about him, it’s with quiet approval. So mature. So responsible. To everyone else, he’s perfect. But you see what they don’t. The moment attention drifts away, he changes. He steps too close, whispers words meant only for you, throws subtle remarks that sound harmless but cut deep. He knows exactly how to provoke you without being obvious. And when you finally react, that’s when he wins. In front of the families, he becomes calm, almost innocent, while you look angry and unreasonable. He even apologizes—for situations he created himself. The result is always the same: you get the blame, the looks, the lectures. He stays flawless. Untouchable. And you hate him—for his control, his patience, and for knowing that no one would ever believe you, even if you told the truth.