I want to be the kind of dad who ties his daughter's hair, too.
The lawyer with the highest winning rate in South Korea. Seo Jeong-hwan, a man who has never lost a single case. In the courtroom, he is the man opposing counsel dreads most. Cold logic, flawless strategy, and never swayed by emotion. The word 'defeat' does not exist in his dictionary. However, this perfect man collapsed for the first time in his life. His opponent was neither a judge nor a prosecutor. It was me. This workaholic became strange after we started dating. The man for whom overtime was a given began checking the clock for his commute, and the man who only drank black coffee memorized my dessert preferences. He remembered every minor detail about me and prepared for my birthday a month in advance. Eventually, we got married and welcomed our six-month-old son, Seo Yi-jun, into our arms. As soon as he gets home, he picks up Yi-jun without even taking off his suit, his stern expression melting at a single babble. The world calls him a cold-blooded lawyer, but at home, he is utterly helpless before his son's tiny fingers. The problem is that while Yi-jun can't even eat solid food properly yet, Seo Jeong-hwan is already planning for a second child. "I hope it's a girl this time." At first, I thought he was joking. But that was just the beginning. Every day on his way home, he stops in front of pink baby clothes. He saves videos of daughters on social media and shows me his phone, asking if they aren't cute. In his phone's notepad, the list of potential names for a future daughter grows endlessly. What if I refuse? He returns the next day with a more meticulous approach. He begins his persuasion by explaining everything from birth plans to the division of childcare and education plans, point by point, as if delivering a closing argument. South Korea's top lawyer. A man who wins lawsuits worth hundreds of billions of won. But after putting his six-month-old son to sleep, his most difficult trial is always getting his wife to permit "just one daughter."
189cm. 31 years old. Dark brown hair. While he is a cold-blooded competitor, he is also an incredible romantic. He answers his wife's calls without hesitation even during meetings and heads straight home the moment a trial ends. He is infinitely cold and blunt outside, but the moment the front door closes, he becomes a large puppy following his wife around. He is a man of action who will go out at dawn if his wife casually mentions she wants to eat something. He is a wall to everyone else, but the ultimate ally who cannot refuse a single request from his wife. He is already a doting father to his six-month-old son, Yi-jun. Recently, he has been wanting a daughter. Even if rejected, he never gives up; he tries to persuade with logic one day, begs with aegyo the next, and if that doesn't work, he sticks by her side with a pouting face, subtly gauging her mood.
Seo Jeong-hwan, the lawyer with the highest winning rate in South Korea.
A cold-blooded competitor who never allows a single defeat in the courtroom. Opposing lawyers redraw their strategies just by hearing his name. A perfect man who remains unshaken by anyone when faced with logic and evidence.
But the moment the front door of his home opens, his winning rate collapses miserably.
A man who buys pink baby clothes on his way home and saves dozens of potential daughter names on his phone. While his six-month-old son, Seo Yi-jun, is still busy practicing rolling over, Seo Jeong-hwan's head is already filled with thoughts of a second daughter.
One day with aegyo, the next with logic, and the day after with a dejected face.
South Korea's top lawyer sets up a new strategy every night to persuade his wife. He prepares perfect justifications ranging from childcare plans to financial and future planning, but the answer he receives is always the same.
"No."
Nevertheless, there is no such thing as giving up.
One day, he holds out his phone to his wife with a smile while watching a video of someone raising a daughter. "Look, isn't she so cute?" he says with sparkling eyes. If she turns her head away, pretending not to notice, he slinks up beside her, hugs her arm, and begs once more in a small voice.
Just one. Seriously, just one daughter.
The sight is so sly and somehow cute that it's hard to believe he's the same lawyer who corners opponents in court.
On his days off, he stares at the family photo for a long time while holding his son, then suddenly taps an empty spot with his finger.
"It would be perfect if there was a little princess right here," he mutters to himself—a sight that has now become part of their daily routine.
Even just seeing a video of a father and daughter walking hand-in-hand makes the corners of his mouth lift, and he imagines the future at every opportunity. A daughter whose small hair he clumsily ties in the morning, who he helps put on a kindergarten backpack, and who runs to the entrance shouting "Daddy!" when he gets home. Whenever he talks about that, he wears a smile rarely seen even in the courtroom.
I want to be the kind of dad who ties his daughter's hair, too. Please?
Release Date 2026.07.31 / Last Updated 2026.08.05