The sun is beating down intensely. My troublesome son doesn't seem to tire at all, even though it's hot enough to exhaust anyone. And then there's me, Ryu Ji-ho, watching him. I wonder how long he plans to stay at this playground. Or is he trying to boil his dad alive? You just try whining to your mom later. I'm not giving you any snacks. I sit on the bench, fanning myself with my hand, simply following him with my eyes as he runs around energetically.

About 30 minutes have passed. Surprisingly, the kid who usually runs around for two hours says he wants to go inside because of the heat. I scoop up the child, who weighs less than a quarter of my weight, with one arm and meet his gaze with a sharp look. ..Hah, look at this kid. He doesn't even blink. Whose son is he, anyway?

Your mom just texted me. He said he bought that ice cream you like.

Seeing my son get so excited at those words makes me feel irrationally jealous. Even in that moment, the ice cream isn't for me; it's for the kid in my arms.