Chapter Text
The early autumn sun of September spilled over the courtyard of Little Bean Kindergarten like ribbons of molten honey.
The air was thick with the scent of powdered milk, jasmine fabric softener clinging to brand-new uniforms, and the unmistakable chorus of sniffles from children not quite ready to loosen their grip on their parents’ hands. Amid the cheerful chaos, something subtle shifted—an unseen axis tilting, as though fate itself had decided to begin turning.
Sunbeam Class was unusually restless that morning. Ms. Min entered the room holding the hand of a very small creature.
His name was Eom Seonghyeon. Four years old. Newly moved from a quiet suburb to the heart of the city.
If anyone ever needed a definition of purity, they could simply look at him.
He stood there in a lemon-yellow uniform, short overalls revealing calves pale and soft as though dipped in fresh cream. His skin was so fair that faint veins traced delicate lines beneath his temples. Every breath made his rosy, bun-round cheeks puff out and sink back in gentle rhythm.
His eyes were large and glossy, like twin dark grapes filmed with a mist of uncertainty. He hugged a light-brown teddy bear backpack tightly to his chest, as if it were the final fortress protecting him from this unfamiliar world of children barreling across the room in thunderous bursts of energy.
Raised in a model, academically inclined household where speech was measured and manners carefully polished, Seonghyeon did not cry or wail. He simply stood very still. When Ms. Min introduced him, he offered a soft, nearly inaudible greeting before retreating to a corner near the wooden bookshelf. There, he folded in on himself and sat quietly, small as a stray kitten who had lost its mother.
His presence was like a cool breeze drifting through the stuffy classroom. Even the children busy constructing Lego towers paused, hands suspended mid-air, just to stare.
In another kingdom of the same room—the soft-mat play corner—Ahn Keonho reigned supreme.
Keonho did not resemble the frail four-year-olds often depicted in parenting brochures. Thanks to an adoring older sister and parents firmly convinced that healthy children should be delightfully plump, Keonho possessed an impressively solid build. His round belly stretched proudly beneath his T-shirt, and whenever he laughed, his eyes disappeared into crescents so tight that one might wonder if they had fled the country entirely.
At this very moment, Keonho was deeply engaged in an important task: savoring a green fish-shaped gummy candy he had smuggled in his pocket that morning. He took a bite. Sweet, chewy bliss flooded his mouth. Satisfaction rolled through him so completely that he nearly wiggled his round little hips.
Then a new scent drifted into his awareness—baby powder and milk candy.
Keonho looked up.
The half-eaten gummy nearly slipped from his fingers.
Within the domain of the preschool overlord, an angel had appeared.
He stared at Seonghyeon.
Inside the mind of a four-year-old usually occupied by sausages and superheroes, a tremendous worry suddenly formed. He observed the way Seonghyeon curled into himself, the slender neck, the tiny hands clutching backpack straps for dear life.
Why is he so small? Keonho thought gravely. If the wind outside blows too hard, he’ll float straight into the sky. And if those bigger Sprout Class kids run past and bump into him, he’ll dissolve into thin air!
The heroic instinct—carefully nurtured by weekend superhero marathons with his father—surged to life.
Keonho made a decision.
Planting his palms against the mat, he summoned all his strength to hoist his substantial body upright.
Wobble. Wobble.
Each determined step made his round belly jiggle in rhythm. He marched toward the corner where the tiny radish sat in silent confusion. The other children watched curiously; Keonho was famously selective about playmates. Usually, he preferred enjoying his secret candy stash alone.
Stopping in front of Seonghyeon, Keonho did not bother with subtlety. He thrust forward the hand still faintly sticky from sugar. In his palm lay the half-eaten fish gummy—missing one bite, yet still perfectly delicious.
“Don’t be scared!” Keonho declared. His milk-soft voice carried a slight lisp, but it rang with the unmistakable authority of a senior classmate.
“I’m Keonho. Ahn Keonho!”
Seonghyeon startled, wide eyes lifting to take in the solid figure blocking out the light before him. He shrank back slightly, about to whisper something—but Keonho continued before he could.
“From now on, you can borrow my belly to lean on. It’s super soft. No one will bully you. If anyone teases you, I’ll bump them with my belly and send them flying into the hallway!”
To demonstrate, Keonho patted his round stomach proudly. Thump. Thump.
Seonghyeon looked at the gummy candy. Then at Keonho’s crescent-shaped, utterly sincere smile.
The fear inside him began to melt, replaced by a warmth he did not yet have words for. Though his family had taught him to be reserved and never accept things from strangers, this plump deity of gummy candy did not feel like a stranger at all.
Seonghyeon gave a small nod and extended his pale little hand.
But instead of taking the candy, he unconsciously grasped a fold of Keonho’s shirt—as though he had found an anchor in a vast, unfamiliar sea.
“I’m… Seonghyeon…” he murmured.
From that moment on, a new order was established in Sunbeam Class.
Keonho honored his promise with unwavering dedication. He became a tail in the truest sense—or rather, a fiercely devoted bodyguard.
When milk was handed out, Keonho stationed himself firmly in front of Seonghyeon to prevent accidental collisions. During recess, he marched ahead to clear the path, his wobbling yet valiant stride causing other children to instinctively part to either side.
Under the golden glow of dismissal time, two very small shadows stretched long across the playground.
And somewhere between a borrowed belly and a half-eaten gummy candy, a kingdom quietly found its princess.