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“I had no idea my son was so good at art.”
More than a decade before, Suho was only in kindergarten, and Jinwoo was stifling his laughter at the drawings his son had created. No other five-year-old could be so good at drawing ants. The sketchbook was filled with dark crayon strokes, and among them, one figure stood out—a detailed picture of Beru, drawn with particular care.
Maybe I’ll send him to art school, Jinwoo thought, already considering a career path for his son. However, he suddenly noticed a sharp gaze from beside him and quickly wiped the smile off his face.
Jinwoo cleared his throat, and Haein gave a quiet chuckle as she watched her husband switch gears in an instant. But her face soon turned serious, and she addressed him in a firm tone.
“This isn’t something to laugh about. Take a look at the last page.”
“The last page?”
The final page of the sketchbook contained a completed drawing courtesy of the five-year-old Suho, entitled “My House.”
“Suho says that a big version of you is inside that dark spot on the ground,” Haein said. “Does that remind you of any— Why are you laughing?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking of something funny.”
Jinwoo was...
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