#Me: Okay Yeo time to fill out your 'favorites' in this section---

[jeoseungsaja]

♚ MUSE’S PROFILE ( ft. wang yeo / verse four )

BASICS.

FULL    NAME  :  Wang Yeo. NICKNAME  :  Vermeil Guardian. NAME    MEANINGS  : In Old English, ‘Yeo’ means ‘river’ or ‘stream’. In Korean, ‘Yeo’ seems to hold various meanings, such as ‘rule’, ‘beauty’ and ‘remaining’.  HISTORICAL    CONNECTION ?  : Yeo’s surname definitely has historical connection. ‘Wang’ comes from Wang Geon, the founder of the Goryeo Dynasty. As such, during the Goryeo era, Kings acquired the surname of ‘Wang’, which means ‘King’. It is, in a way, understood that Yeo’s family comes from that bloodline. Yeo isn’t directly connected to this, though, since he was adopted in this verse.  AGE  :  Over 800 years old.  ETHNIC    GROUP  :   East Asian. NATIONALITY  : Korean. LANGUAGES  :   Fluent in Korean (both the ancient and modern form), KSL, Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese and English. Mildly fluent in Thai and Vietnamese.  SEXUAL    ORIENTATION  :  Pansexual. ROMANTIC    ORIENTATION  :  Panromantic.  RELATIONSHIP    STATUS  :   In his main arc he’s taken heart and soul by KIM SHIN.  CLASS  : High-Class.  HOME    TOWN  /  AREA  :  A forest in Gaekyong (modern day Kaesong), Korea.  CURRENT    HOME  :  Seoul, South Korea.  PROFESSION  : Guardian of sorts, but also a lowkey entrepreneur. 

PHYSICAL. HAIR  : Fiery red, short on the back and with parted bangs (parted fringe) on the front. Very lush and lustrous.  EYES  :  Brown, but turn amber when threatened, experiencing strong emotions or when using some of his powers.  NOSE  :   Longish, straight bridge, base of the nose a little lowered.  FACE  :  Looks a lot like Lee Dong Wook, they could be twins--LMAO WIEHDWUIEDH LIPS  :   Has a natural shade of rich pink that almost looks red, bottom lip a little fuller compared to upper lip; upper lip resembles the upper part of a heart (bow-shaped lips).  COMPLEXION  :  Fair complexion; can’t tan easily (usually burns).  SCARS  :  None, they all disappear due to his moderately rapid healing.  TATTOOS  :  None. PIERCINGS: None.  HEIGHT  :  6′1″ feet or 186 cm.  BUILD  :  Athletic; lean muscle.  USUAL  HAIR  STYLE  : As seen on the gif in the beginning of this post.  USUAL  FACE  LOOK  : Smug, serene, like he has everything under control.  USUAL    CLOTHING  :  Refer to this post.  PSYCHOLOGY. FEARS  :  Never being able to atone for his sins, never being able to get rid of his heavy guilt; being unable to protect the ones he’s fond of; losing the people he’s fond of.  ASPIRATIONS  :   I think he really just wants to have peace of mind; really wishes the culpability would stop gnawing at his insides.  POSITIVE    TRAITS  :  Loyal, determined, caring, dutiful, passionate, artistic; witty. 

NEGATIVE    TRAITS  :  Stubborn, childish at times, reckless, wary, sometimes heavily sarcastic that he might tug at sensitive strings without noticing; sly.  MBTI  : I did a test for him a little while ago and he got ISFP-T (The Adventurer) ; not sure if it’s accurate, though? I’ll probably do another one soonish--- ZODIAC  :  N/A, but most things point to him being a Capricorn--- TEMPERAMENT  : Choleric.  ANIMALS  :  Fox 🦊 VICE  : Getting in trouble it seems, also anything flower-infused (especially if it has azaleas in it) and Kim Shin 👀. FAITH  :  Agnostic. GHOSTS  ?  :  Yes. AFTERLIFE  ?  : Yes. REINCARNATION  ?  :  Definitely. ALIENS  ?  :  Has heard about them in tales, he’s just like ‘if they’re written in books, just like my kind is written in books, then they might exist, too’.  POLITICAL    ALIGNMENT  :  Doesn’t really bother about thinking of this.  ECONOMIC    PREFERENCE  : He does like to live comfortably, so as long as he has the means to live within the comfort he prefers, he’ll be okay.  EDUCATION    LEVEL  :   Doesn’t have an actual degree, has acquired his education through lessons when he was King (through scholars) and through experiences lived.  FAMILY. FATHER  : Father by blood not known; he only knows that due to his nature, his father must be a full-fledged nine-tailed fox as well. Adoptive father, King during the Goryeo era; deceased. MOTHER  :  Mother by blood not known; in this case, he also thinks that his mother must be a full-fledged nine-tailed fox. Adoptive mother, Queen during the Goryeo era; didn’t get to know her, for she passed away before he was found in the forest.  SIBLINGS  :  Adoptive brother, King of Goryeo after their father passed away; deceased. In his main arc, LEE RANG is his brother by blood (same father), but he’s unaware of this.  EXTENDED    FAMILY  :  N/A.  FAVOURITES. BOOK  :   Doesn’t have a specific one but he really enjoys folktales and comparing them to his actual reality. MOVIE  : My Neighbor Totoro.  5    SONGS : In this verse, Yeo doesn’t really listen to music a lot. He thinks it’s distracting and his ears aren’t really keen on listening to it, especially if it’s too loud. He prefers the ‘songs of nature’; birds chirping, the wind blowing, the river flowing, etc.  DEITY  :  Kim Shin 👀💖 HOLIDAY  :  He enjoys Chuseok and Seollal.  MONTH  :   Months of Spring.  SEASON  : Spring. PLACE  :  Forests and anything that has nature in it. WEATHER  : Spring weather, where it’s not too cold nor too hot.  SOUND  : Sounds of nature and Kim Shin’s voice, mainly.  SCENTS  :  Royal azaleas, condensed milk, fresh grass, cherry blossoms, sweet pears, any sweet scent coming from fruit, cinnamon rolls, honey, the scent of people he’s fond of; Kim Shin’s scent.  TASTES  :   Cold sweets (like Patbingsu, Halo-Halo and ice cream), royal azaleas, honeysuckles, basically most sweet edible flowers, Hwajeon, Dugyeonju; Kim Shin’s lips--- FEELS  :   Petals or grass under his fingers, the fuzzy feeling of the skin of peaches, breeze hitting his face; fingers running through his hair, Shin’s touch.  ANIMALS  : He appreciates all animals, doesn’t have a favorite, but he’ll probably tell you that his favorite is the fox because ‘foxes are very neat, don’t you think?’ whilst pointing at himself--- NUMBER  :   3 COLORS  :  Shades of pink and red; sunset colors.  EXTRA. TALENTS  :  Surviving, wielding a sword, drawing/sketching, recognizing people by scent alone, elaborating natural or herbal remedies; being sassy and reckless. BAD  AT  : Fully admitting his feelings right away, letting others win without a fight, staying out of trouble; cooking.  TURN    ONS  :  KIM SHIN---(ahEM), but I mean, if we’re going on...specific characteristics, then: confidence, strength, goodness of heart; appreciation toward nature, ability to keep up with banters; knowledge and/or experience, well-versed in things like books or art.  TURN    OFFS  :  Pushiness, selfishness, extreme naivety, malice, empty words, disloyalty, being ridiculed.  HOBBIES  :  Drawing/sketching, visiting forests and parks and anything that has to do with nature, buying something sweet to brighten up the day, reading, making herbal concoctions, picking up petals and leaves from the ground and saving them to make decorations for his cabin. AESTHETIC  : Crowns of flowers, a red fox sleeping between the bushes, hand holding sword’s grip, flowers pressed upon skin, brushes inside a cup, royal azaleas, tarnished crown, bloody palms, amber fire, cinnabar crystals, ancient palaces; tea with petals. QUOTES  :   “far off, full of sorrow, centuries old” ; “you are haunted by memories that linger like a softly uttered curse” ; “no risk, no story.”  FC  INFO. MAIN    FC  : Lee Dong Wook ALT    FC  : N/A OLDER    FC  : N/A YOUNGER    FC  :  Kim Min-jae VOICE    CLAIM  : Lee Dong Wook  MUN  QUESTIONS. Q1  :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what    would  it  be  called ,  what  style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about ?   A1 :  It’d probably be called ‘Vermeil Guardian’, since that’s the name of this verse. As for the style...OH MAN, I’m not very good when it comes to describe film styles, but maybe...it could fall into a film of action and fantasy; perhaps with a bit of mystery. I’d also love for it to be a portal that explains the connections forged throughout this verse and why he came to be the one he is now.   Q2  :  What would their soundtrack / score sound like  ? A2  :   OKAY, SO, I’M SO!!! EXCITED TO MENTION THIS, BECAUSE, PLEASE, I’D LIKE EVERYONE TO SEE THIS AMAZING PLAYLIST LENA (AKA @mythvoiced​ / @gdmonster​) DID FOR THIS VERSE---THIS IS THE PERFECT SOUNDTRACK, THIS IS FLAWLESS, THIS HAS ALL THE HECKIN’ VIBES AND I LOVE IT SO FREAKIN’ MUCH!!! If someone asked me how would I describe this verse through music then I’D SHOW THEM THIS PLAYLIST because it’s seriously ON POINT and I can’t tHANK LENA ENOUGH--- Q3  :     Why did you start writing this character  ? A3  :    This particular version of Yeo I wished to develop when I finished watching the drama Tale Of Nine-Tailed (TONT - 10/10 recommend); I really wanted to make a verse that could have a mixture of the elements of TONT with Yeo’s original/canon timeline, so I tried my best to come up with an idea that could reflect that as to give Yeo another path but, also, as to not walk too far away from Yeo’s essence. 

Q4  :   What  first  attracted  you  to  this  character  ? A4  :  The prospect of something new, something different; the idea of Yeo keeping memories of his past and not turning into a grim reaper but actually being born as a supernatural creature. The presence of ‘what if’s’ and the idea that these questions could be answered by developing this verse. 

Q5  : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.  ? A5  :  Hmm...I don’t think there’s something I dislike about him; AS IN?? He has his flaws, but I wouldn’t necessarily say that I dislike his flaws because that makes him who he is, along with his virtues. But if I had to choose, I guess that I dislike how insanely reckless he can be whenever there’s this stubborn need to do something because he puts himself in danger and doesn’t realize it until it’s done. Though, he’s been getting better at that and that’s because he’s met wonderful people who actually?? Make him think twice before doing something impulsively.  Q6  :      What    do    you    have    in    common    with    your    muse  ?   A6  :    OH MAN, I don’t...think we have a lot of things in common, which is cool because that means Yeo is a delightful challenge that I really enjoy taking. But I’m guessing that one of the few things we have in common is that we see the good in others whenever we can. We also like shaved ice, but he likes it more than I do.  Q7  : How  does your muse feel about you  ?   A7  :  I think he’d probably be annoyed with some of my habits, and I’d be the kind to scold him continuously over some of the heedless things he does. It’d be the whole ‘I tease and reprimand you because I care about you’ sort of thing IWUEHDIUEHD  Q8  :   What    characters    does    your    muse    have    interesting    interactions  with  ? A8  :   OH BOY, OOOOOOHHHHHH BOY, LET ME JUST, LET ME (TAKES A DEEP INHALE AND EXHALE);; I’m seriously SO FORTUNATE to have such AMAZING interactions in this verse, I love them ALL and he’s had such great development mainly because of the muses he interacts with. Since this question asks for SPECIFICS: 

@mythvoiced​‘s brilliant muses (Kim Shin, Ji Miyoung, Yi Seona, Lee Rang---): WHERE DO I EVEN START, HOW TO PROPERLY THANK FOR ALL OF THESE BEAUTIFUL DYNAMICS AND THE PLOTS WE’VE CREATED IN THIS VERSE, I JUST??? THIS ONCE LONELY FOX IS NOW 1) FULLY IN LOVE (A WHOLE SIMP), 2) WILLING TO GIVE HIS LIFE IF NEEDED FOR HIS WONDERFUL FRIEND, 3) CONFUSED BECAUSE WHY WAS HE SUMMONED AND WHY IS SHE SO INTERESTED IN GUMIHO, 4) DEALING WITH BROTHERLY FEELINGS AND INEXPLICABLE FAMILIARITY, ALL THANKS TO THESE INTERCONNECTED INTERACTIONS; I’D DIE FOR LENA AND HER MUSES, I’D CREATE A NEW UNIVERSE FOR THEM, I’D---LENA IF YOU’RE READING THIS, YOU’RE AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU TONS, THANK YOU---

@lostsovl​‘s QUEEN, Valerie: Absolutely love Valerie and her will to keep pushing Yeo’s buttons to the point where they both end up engaging in rather chaotic fights; what’s best is that regardless of this incessant teasing, they end up helping each other and being there for one another in their own ways. I also adore that they’ve known each other for centuries and sort of have seen the changes they’ve gone through. ALSO MAR IS WONDERFUL AND I’M SO VERY THANKFUL FOR HER AND THE OPPORTUNITY SHE’S GIVEN MY MUSES AND I ;W;, SENDING YOU SO MUCH LOVE. 

@sncwflxke​‘s mischievous but LOVELY Jinwoo: Jinwoo is such a fun, sweet and interesting character and I’m so glad that Yeo gets to interact with him!! Absolutely adore how they instantly clicked on their very first thread together and how they’re willing to learn about one another ;W;!! I can’t wait to develop more things for them and see the rest of their adventures (let’s be sure to keep them away from bodies of water though LMAO); would also like to add that Ellie is so very nice, welcoming AND A SWEETHEART, REALLY; thank you so much for writing with me!!! 

Q9  :    What    gives    you    inspiration    to    write    your    muse  ? A9  :  Anything that reminds me of this verse or the dynamics being developed in this verse, such as music, pictures, gifsets, quotes, etc. I also get very inspired with further plotting, when I get to discuss and talk about different ideas with wonderful writers!! Also anything Kim Shin inspires me to write Yeo because he wakes up instantly, HE’S A WHOLE SIMP, THIS HAS BEEN CONFIRMED FOR A WHILE NOW---

Q10  :  How    long    did    this    take    you    to    complete  ?   A10  :  A LONG TIME LMAO, probably MONTHS. I was writing it little by little; bit by bit. Loved filling it out, though! Might do another one for another verse! 

[yaoiurl]

file #2.1

                                          name: yeo jin-hwan                                        DOB: 21 sept 25XX                                            SECTION: 2.1                                      APPROX. WORD COUNT: 3.3K

Start from the beginning. A film reel fade to white, then to black again. The transition card: Day Zero. I am born.

Jin-hwan’s mother is on her toes trying desperately to adjust the curtains, too high for her short stature. “Oh, if only your father were here,” she complains to herself, the curtain just a couple centimeters shy of her dainty fingertips.

“Nuh uh, no he doesn’t,” Jin-hwan, four and self assured, shoves aside his book and stands on the couch arm, hands stretched out in front of him. “You have me!”

“I do! My favorite problem solver.” She takes Jin-hwan in her arms and lifts him high, higher than he’s ever been before. “Now reach and pull towards mommy.” He does as instructed--let there be light! Sun filters through the room and makes Jin-hwan squint but he smiles when his mother kisses him on the cheek, praise without words lest his father hear. “Now let’s go see how dinner is doing, okay?”

“I want the sweet fish.”

“Only for dessert, okay? I’ll have them make something special for us. We have to wake up to see appa tomorrow.”

“Why can’t grandfather come see us? He lives a long way away.” Jin-hwan mumbles around his fingers before his mother pulls them out again.

“He doesn’t much care for the city, but he has a big yard for you to explore. Will you find me the prettiest flower in the garden and show me when we leave?”

“Promise! Super promise!” Once more she kisses his cheek, the smile still in place.

No more days, only years. Year Four: I make a discovery.

“Halabeojinim,” Jin-hwan greets his grandfather with a bow. His mother simply giggles and leans down beside him.

“Jin-hwan, he’s your grandfather, you don’t have to be so polite!” It’s too bad for him, Jin-hwan bites his lip. His grandfather is short, shorter than his mother, but has all the sternness of two of his fathers and he can’t help but step behind his mother’s leg. “Appa, I’m so glad to see you.” She hugs him before stepping back and placing a palm atop Jin-hwan’s head. “Is it okay if Jin-hwan looks around? He’s going treasure hunting today.”

If Jin-hwan had been looking at his mother he would have seen her look at his grandfather, a bit of a plea in her eyes. Instead his eyes are locked on his grandfather, who simply shrugs and nods. With a final stroke of her fingers through his hair, Jin-hwan’s mother leaves him behind with a silent sliding of the door behind her, seeing him off. When the latch clicks Jin-hwan toes off his shoes and starts his investigation.

I don’t know much about flowers. A four year old doesn’t either. My mother probably didn’t want a flower in the first place.

“It’s gotta be the prettiest!” Jin-hwan hollers and scares away a frog on the lily pad in front of him. “Not some dumb frog flower.” He kicks at a stone by the pond. Girls at his school always liked white plain flowers like lilies but his mother is prettier than any of them so the flower has to be colorful, it has to be.

Around one corner of the temple is another door, half open and dusty. It stings his eyes when he climbs back up on the porch and steps inside. Canvases blanket whatever is kept inside with only a narrow, smooth cement path weaving a maze between covered chairs and old artifacts. Jin-hwan remembers his mother telling him on the way that his grandfather has lots of very important stuff, so don’t touch very much, alright?

Rebelliousness is a gift sometimes.

One tiny foot catches and slips on one cover and it falls, revealing a piano splintered and yellowing with age. Even the bench comes up over Jin-hwan’s shoulders. Curious, he hoists himself up with flailing legs until he’s standing and can reach the keys with tiny hands, each old ivory block as wide as two of his fingers.

It makes a horrible noise when he pokes the key, hard. Like a dying grandfather clock. He tries again, this time softer and two steps higher. The bass vibrations stir something deep within Jin-hwan’s chest; fascinated, he plays the next key. And the next. The next. This time with both hands. He presses down random keys, a personal experimentation, the pretty notes tinkling like raindrops on wind chimes. Breathless, Jin-hwan doesn’t know how long he’s played until he notices his breath catching and his knuckles hurting.

“Jin-hwan!” He jumps, it’s his mother, peeking out from the door, his grandfather nowhere to be seen. Immediately he turns to bow in a hurried apology only to stop halfway when he notices the sparkle in his mother’s eyes and the smile on her lips.

“Jin-hwan,” she says again, “did you know your father has a piano as well?”

It wasn’t his. He bought it for my mother. She gave it to me. Year Nine: my hands and mind have grown.

A tap dance on an ivory stage. Yeo Jin-hwan participates in piano nationals in front of a crowd of thousands, some sitting on the floor and in the aisles. Chopin’s Raindrops flow from the piano like a steady tremulous storm, sweat beading on his forehead with the pace of the crescendo. Sweat beads on his hairline, his leg cramps, and with the final note resting, the thunderous rise of applause, Jin hwan finally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The light burns his vision when he turns to bow, exhilarated. His hair is a bit too long, a bowl cut that tickles his ears, and it sticks to his forehead when his eyebrows raise in recognition of his mother, front row seats, clapping the most animatedly out of the crowd of hundreds. He bows once more, just for her, and gathers his things before exiting stage left.

His father is waiting by the exit, umbrella in hand. “Jin-hwan.” He gestures toward the exit and Jin-hwan nods.

“Father.” Jin-hwan acknowledges and steps under the umbrella. “Mother was happy.” “She always is. I think you could have done better.” Jin-hwan doesn’t flinch.

“I only missed a couple of notes. My piano teacher was absent last month, but I p--”

“There are no excuses for missteps.” His father cuts in. “A trip is the first step to a fall. I will call your teacher tonight and have him over after school tomorrow.”

Jin-hwan doesn’t look at his father or the chauffeur when he scoots into the backseat of the car, clutching his books and the note his mother had given him beforehand. “He has a new baby.”

“An hour is nothing in the world,” his father brushes off the concern, “be ready at four tomorrow. Hyo-jeong,” he barks, “pull to the front and wait for Eun-jae.”

The chauffeur nods without answer. Once his mother arrives she sits next to his father, filling the silence with gentle reproach about the piano teacher. She passes him his award from over the seat, first place, and Jin-hwan clutches it so hard the letters leave imprints in his palm.

The first prize I won. Not the last one I’d ever receive. Year Ten: the world grows as well.

“First place--Yeo Jin-hwan, of Seoul, Korea!” Thunderous applause causes the auditorium to vibrate under Jin-hwan’s shoes, pristine and polished for the occasion. The runner ups, representatives from Europe and China, turn their running noses away when Jin-hwan receives his prize--gold on oak wood, his name engraved with precision that even he is impressed by. The ten year old prodigal son to the Yeo family, Jin-hwan doesn’t stay long; he weaves his way around frothing reporters and music fans alike to find his mother.

“Mother? Excuse me, eomma? Mother?” He cups a hand around his mouth and calls around the backstage area. Much like at his first competition, he finds his father instead, waiting with an umbrella in hand again.

“Who raised you to yell indoors?” His father remarks as he opens the umbrella. Jin-hwan steps closer, wary of his father’s terse mood.

“I’m sorry. Where’s Mother?” The rain and humidity makes his hands stick to the gold plating. Something in the blankness of his father’s face, more stony than usual, sets his stomach in a whirl of nausea.

“Eun-jae’s at home. Hyo-jeong took her there halfway through your performance.”

“Is she sick again?” Jin-hwan pries carefully. His father doesn’t answer until Hyo-jeong pulls up at the curb.

“Yes. The doctor came to the house this time.”

Jin-hwan bites his lip and answers as shortly as he can without his voice wavering, “Oh.”

My mother had no history of illness except for lovesickness, in love with a man with power instead of heart. Even a child could see the sickness killing her.

“Eomma,” Jin-hwan knocks on the door to his parents’ room. Nobody answers; the house help is working on dinner. “Eomma,” he starts again, this time pushing it open with both hands, the ornate design heavy weight against him, “I’m coming in.”

At his mother’s right is the doctor; his father is nowhere to be seen. Doctor Hye-bin is a nice lady, fresh faced and with easy hands but the white of her uniform washes out his mother to a sickly pallor. No flush is evident on her cheek, so Jin-hwan steps in closer and places one warm, damp palm against her cheek.

“Hi eomma,” he whispers, “I did really well today.” The doctor places two fingers against Eun-jae’s wrist while scribbling on a clipboard with the other. “I won a prize. Do you want to see?”

Eun-jae’s eyelashes flutter but she smiles nonetheless, thin-lipped without the usual wash of color to her face. “Jin-hwan, come up on the bed and tell me. I’m very sleepy. Doctor, please help me scoot.”

Polite as ever, even in ailing health. My mother was, is, a holy Madonna.

Hye-bin helps Eun-jae situate herself enough so that Jin-hwan can settle himself in the empty space beside her; for the first time ever he considers his short stature a blessing. He can sit cross legged beside his mother as the doctor works, one of her hands held in both of his and the award placed in his lap.

“Such a pretty award, Jin-hwan,” Hye-bin comments. “Is it real gold?”

“Uh-huh, I mean, yes ma’am,” he replies, squeezing his mother’s hand when she flinches at a needle in her arm. “Hey, why does she need a shot?”

“This is to keep her hydrated,” the doctor hangs the bag of fluids on its silver stand. “Your mother is going to be weak for a while, but she’s doing fine now.” The false assurance is lost on Jin-hwan, he knows his mother. The mother who brought him up on one arm while the other toiled away online to people she would rather not talk to, the mother who stood as prettily as a statue but as solid as iron by his father’s side. Even now she looks more like porcelain than a statue. “Okay,” Jin-hwan breathes. “I mean, yes ma’am.”

The obvious tension melts out of Hye-bin’s shoulders at his verbal acquiescence. Jin-hwan is ten years old and not stupid; he knows when to and to not to ask questions with answers that he doesn’t want. Instead he lies down and curls up by her side, unstirring until far after Hye-bin has left and the sky bleeds dawn at the horizon.

Year Fifteen. A fade to black. Cue card reads: I am Numb. I am numb, I feel nothing, a son of novacaine and no affection. To hold me is to hate me.

                     Yeo Jin-hwan is so hot.

Bathroom graffiti takes place of gossip. Underneath Jin-hwan’s desk girls from previous classes and lunch periods tape notes and cellophane wrapped candies and proclaim their undying affection amidst the wads of chewed gum and pencil marks. He has the hairstyle of the biggest popstars of the day, fringe swept aside and his dark hair layered nicely down to his ears, and he doesn’t know it. They mention big name record deals and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

Jin-hwan is fifteen and a zombie.

“Will mother be able to make it?” Jin-hwan slides over the form for the school’s Sports Day roster to his father with the cold grace of a business deal.

“I can’t see into the future,” is the reply and the signature is given with a flourish. No stimulation, no acknowledgement. Sometimes Jin-hwan wishes his father would yell at him or something.

There hasn’t been a sound in his house in five years save for the shuffle of housekeepers and paperwork. Like clockwork Jin-hwan goes home and does his homework in bed beside his mother, still as frail as the day of his competition. He hangs all his awards around her bed; there are fifteen now. She only smiles in her sleep when he bids her quiet hello and doesn’t leave until his eyes start to burn from the sun and lack of sleep. Girls always comment on his sleepy eyes.

Jin-hwan has empty zombie eyes.

The days before the competitions move in the same manner as him: slow, without trepidation, but aimless. Hours after school are spent on the track or hunched over a desk. He’s only grown by inches since he was ten, eleven, twelve but he dubs it a property of being aerodynamic. He’s going to win with his eyes closed, he promises his father.

The problem with closed eyes is that eventually they must open.

On the morning of Sports Day Jin-hwan receives a note from the girl sitting beside him. Ji-yeon is a nice girl, pretty. Movie star pretty, her mother is a local news reporter and fashion columnist. The way she writes his name is so cute, too, manuscript curling like dancing stars and her punctuation is hearts and smiles. It makes him queasy just to think about it too long. She’s the perfect girl for him, the kind he should bring home to his father.

He politely bows his head when he gives her a negative response, scathing with the lack of real sorrow. Ji-yeon cries on cue and calls him a bastard.

“I know.”

“Jin-hwan is so cold.”

“I know.”

“Why can’t you say anything different! I want to be mad at you!” She cries and wipes at her face with the backs of her wrists.

“Would that make you feel better? Then go ahead.”

Ji-yeon storms off, frustrated.

Women are so complicated.

                        Everyone knows Yeo Jin-hwan.                                                    Even his teeth are insured. 

Heads turn when the second year roster is announced. Jin-hwan stands shorter and younger, having skipped a grade and a growth spurt, yet more intimidating than all of the others. He has his father’s eyes.

Those eyes don’t blink even when the starting shot is fired.

Jin-hwan overtakes fourth, third, second place as if riding the breeze. He’s done this a thousand times before, much faster than this, but today he’s having a harder time breathing. Ji-yeon’s eyes are full of hurt, watching him come around the curve of the track. She whispers to another girl beside her and two other girls behind nod and agree. All eyes on him. He hasn’t felt this watched since he was born.

His heart rate is catching up to his pace, running side by side with the upperclassman in first. Now Jin-hwan is first. Now second. First again. His lungs burn with something unknown--all he does know is that he has to win, he absolutely has to win.

Why did I have to win?

Jin-hwan’s father is there.

Tucked snugly beside Hyo-jeong and one of his security, his father watches him race with all the cold calculation of a scientist laying out a dead experiment’s organs, wet with blood and residual fear. His suit is immaculate, hair combed with precision sharper than a knife, and the upperclassman whispers heatedly, “Your dad come to make sure you win? Brought his wallet too, I bet.” Jin-hwan doesn’t get a chance to answer before he’s cut off with a nasty, “Rich boy doesn’t like to play fair.”

Just like my father.

At the last syllable drop, Jin-hwan stops dead in his spot, watching the upperclassman’s back. He looks over his shoulder once with bewilderment but goes on to win. Class 3 gets an award for their display case. Jin-hwan catches his breath as the second, third, fourth place winners take their win. Somehow, he can’t feel much sorrow about his position.

Just like my father.

It’s not fair. Jin-hwan’s heart wells up for the first time, an aching stretch of his soul; his mother is the one who should be here, cheering him on from the stands and turning heads in awe. His mother is the one who should have bid him goodbye this morning, wishing him luck and telling him she’s proud. Instead Jin-hwan had kissed her forehead and said goodbye without receiving any response but a soft sigh against his chin. His mother in the cold sterile bedroom and his father looking for all the world like he’d rather be strangling something, Jin-hwan waits for the last runner to pass him and, looking pointedly at his father, begins to walk.

He finishes dead last, a whole two minutes behind the final participant. Jin-hwan is glad that there are no medals for participation.

Even the walk across the grass to meet his father feels like a weightless dream, empty-handed of any awards or accomplishment. Yeo Jin-hwan does not lose. He brings pride and future to the Yeo corporation.

The Yeo corporation now has one large hand on Jin-hwan’s shoulder, gripping so tightly that threads pop and five heavy points of pain bloom under his skin. Jin-hwan loves the flash of sensation.

Please, I begged him in my mind. Please hit me. Smack me. Jerk me up like a street rat and shake me around like a broken doll. To this day the thrill of my father’s anger lingers fresh in my mouth, like copper and excitement.

“What,” his father begins, low and dangerous lest a scene unfold, and Jin-hwan stares straight ahead, “is your explanation for this one, Jin-hwan?”

“I don’t have one.” His voice is surprising in its emptiness. The hand around his shoulder turns white knuckled.

“You will have one by the time we get home. Go to Hyo-jeong.” His tone is as warning as the final order before the execution.

So just gimme the gas, doc!

Hyo-jeong is quiet and reserved on the way home. “Jin-hwan,” he tries, “why did you do it?”

“Because I hate him.”

Hyo-jeong’s posture actually relaxes.

“I am glad--” Careful now. “I, ah. I am just very happy that Jin-hwan… has grown up so well to think for himself. I think you’re growing very strong.”

Momentarily, Jin-hwan thinks that Hyo-jeong would be a better father. His own father could be the chauffeur, listening intently without the chance of becoming part of their conversations. Jin-hwan wants to deprive him, cut off the circulation to his ego.

“But please… be careful. I would be sad if something happened to you.”

And what better area to start with than with himself, his father’s future, gutting his dreams at the core.

Commence phase one. Cue committing the ultimate rebellion of blood against blood. I am sixteen and angry beyond teenage angst. My first tattoo is done under inner city rafters using a lighter and a needle and shoe paint. Just those momentary actions bring enough long-term satisfaction to outweigh the sharp jabs and gross hands holding my arm still. It trembles only when I write.

It certainly didn’t tremble the first time my father and I fought.

I am sixteen, angry, and thrumming with self-satisfaction.