Mia's POV:
Mia sat in her room, phone in hand, the glow of the screen washing over her face like moonlight. Her thumb moved automatically—likes, comments, DMs, follows. The numbers climbed by the hour. Jae-il's official Kakao account was blowing up.
She should’ve been thrilled. And part of her was. After all, she’d built this. Every caption, every filtered picture, every clever reply. It was all her. Jae-il gave her the keys to his online kingdom, and she ran it like a queen. 'I don't know much about this social media stuff, so why don't you take care of it for me, yeah?'
He had said.
And like a fool, Mia agreed. Because, why wouldn't she?
But fame was a double-edged sword, and the blade was starting to cut a little too deep.
How do you handle success?
How do you handle a sibling who’s not just good—but annoyingly, effortlessly good?
What kind of reality was this, where your kid brother was a social media darling?
She bit her lip, eyes narrowing as she scrolled through the latest batch of notifications. The fangirls were multiplying. And they weren’t just squealing teens either. If only!
The comments had shifted. What started as innocent compliments—“he’s so cute omg!! 😍”—had evolved into thirst traps in plain text. She couldn't believe there were women out there who were so... so unhinged.
Mia’s stomach twisted, the kind of twist that made her feel sick and angry at the same time.
They didn’t just like Jae-il. They wanted him.
They flirted with him.
They messaged him.
They sent photos she wouldn’t dare open.
He was fifteen. Fifteen! And half these women looked like they were old enough to rent a car. Where the hell were their older sisters? Where were their parents? Probably in the same comment section.
If it were just harmless fans, maybe she could’ve brushed it off. But this? This was different. He was drawing in aspiring influencers, self-proclaimed models, low-tier streamers looking to hitch themselves to rising stars.
They weren't admiring him. They were circling.
Like sharks in lipstick.
One in particular had messaged four times that day. Her handle was something like @sunny.eonni, her profile a disgusting feed of filters, cleavage, and fake candids. She was the kind of woman Mia hated. Too beautiful to be true. Her latest message?
“Oppa your eyes are dangerous 😘🔥 when are you doing a live again? I wanna ask you something private hehe 💕”
Mia clenched her jaw.
‘Oppa?’ Really?
This girl was either an oblivious flirt, a shameless predator, or a wolf in angel’s clothing. Either way, Mia wanted to block her on the spot. Better yet, she wanted to call her up and give her a piece of her mind. However, she didn't want to abuse her power, so she just let the message sit there unanswered.
She closed the app and slammed her phone on the desk.
What was wrong with her?
Why was she so damn bothered?
Mia leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her chest felt heavy, like she’d swallowed a brick.
She told herself it was just protectiveness. That she was just being a good older sister. That any responsible sibling would be pissed seeing their teenage brother flooded with adult attention. That anyone in her shoes would feel this churn of anger and disgust.
But the truth didn’t sit that cleanly.
It wasn’t like she wanted to feel this way.
And it wasn’t like she’d planned any of it. But somewhere along the way—between football matches and late night conversations—her little brother had become... not so little anymore.
And it was throwing her for a goddamn loop.
She wasn’t just mad at the girls.
She was mad at him, too.
Mad that he was letting it happen. That he had no idea how good he looked lately—taller, leaner, all sharp cheekbones and soft edges. That he could pull off a sudden sneeze in a snapshot and make people want him.
Jae-il.
Cool. Charismatic. Beautiful.
Annoyingly mature.
Desirable.
Mia’s breath caught. 'No. Nope. Don’t go there.'
She pushed the thought down like it was something toxic. But it didn’t stay down. It never did. That was the part that scared her the most. Not the thought itself, but the fact that it kept coming back, no matter how many times she tried to deny it.
She knew it was wrong. That was the first thing. She wasn’t delusional. She knew the boundaries, the rules, the lines you don’t cross. This wasn’t some romantic fantasy. This was real life. Her life.
And yet...
There were moments—stupid, tiny moments—that slipped under her skin. When his voice dropped as he got older. When he started wearing cologne without telling her. When he leaned in too close to show her a video, and she had to remind herself to breathe.
'It’s not him.' She told herself. 'It’s you. You’re projecting. You’re tired. You’re lonely. You’re spiraling.'
But if that was true... then why did the idea of some faceless internet girl calling him “Oppa” make her feel like setting something on fire?
Mia exhaled slowly, her fingers curling around the edge of her desk. What she needed was space. Not physical space—he was already in his own room, probably asleep.
What she needed was mental space. She needed to untangle this knot before it tightened into something worse. That's why she's been treating him a little... roughly, lately. Ignoring him. Snapping at him. Making him feel bad. Anything to remind herself that this wasn't... that it wasn't that.
It couldn't be.
"This is stupid..." She muttered. "So, so fucking stupid."
xXx
In the blink of an eye, Mia found herself sitting on the stands.
She looked up at the sky. Cloudy, with a chance of rain. Her eyes then fell on the field. U-18, the finals. Her little brother was down there, warming up. The stadium was considerably more packed than she remembered. Not enough to say it was a sell-out, but still. There was a lot of people here. More than there had ever been for any of his matches.
Because Jae-il was finally on TV, as much as a teenager could be.
He was also in the newspaper. And on the local radio station. And in a bunch of YouTube videos.
He was a local celebrity.
"It's starting!" Her mother said, from the side. She was on her left, while her father was on her right. For some reason, they didn't sit tightly together like they used to, but no one seemed to raise an eyebrow at that.
Even Su Ah was eager to watch, although she hid it under a layer of feigned boredom.
"Go, Jae-il!!!" Her father shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. "You're the best!!"
Her mother rolled her eyes.
Mia didn't react. She kept staring at the field. On one side, green and black. On the other, red and black. Jeonbuk and Seoul. Two of the biggest clubs in Korea. Everyone got into position. The tension was palpable, cut only by the whistle's shrill cry.
The game kicked off.
The stadium came to life with that sound, whilst she faded into silence.
The players ran, chasing after the ball.
And just like that, it began. Mia's gaze was fixed on the field, her eyes trained on one specific figure.
Jae-il, clad in his red and black kit. Number 9.
The game opened evenly, just passes traded back and forth, like two sides testing each other.
To Mia, it felt dull. Why not just send the ball forward and go for it? Jae-il had once told her that football wasn’t just about running straight at goal. It was about patience, about creating opportunities before striking.
She never really understood what it meant.
Fortunately, it didn't stay that way for long.
Within dozens of minutes of a back and forth from both teams, somewhere along the line, an opportunity presented itself. A perfect, well-calculated pass right as Jeonbuk's defensive wall split open. Right in that instant—
Mia watched as Jae-il controlled the ball, feinted a shot, and the crack in that wall got even bigger with one of Jeonbuk's defenders lunging in.
He rapidly closed in on the box. A burst of speed that left everyone grasping at thin air.
She watched as his leg swung in that familiar motion, as the ball sailed through the air, as the net bulged under its weight. As the crowd erupted in cheers, as her parents jumped to their feet, as Su Ah clapped softly beside her. As the scoreboard changed: 1-0. As Jeonbuk's players looked stunned, their eyes wide and their mouths open.
"Holy shit."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Because what else could you say when your kid brother pulled off a move like that?
"Holy shit indeed!" Her father boomed. "Did you see that? That was incredible!"
"I know!" Her mother responded, eyes gleaming as she clapped the loudest of them all.
The whistle blew again. The game continued. Jeonbuk regrouped and launched a new offensive. They pushed hard, and in some instances, even managed to get past Seoul's defense. Their playmaker, Kim Jun-hwan, was actually incredibly skilled. Some of his passes created chances that could've resulted in a goal, if not for the fact that Jeonbuk's strikers weren't quite on the same level as Seoul's.
The ball sailed through the air once more, going deep into Jeonbuk's side. One of their defenders was about to receive it, when Jae-il, out of nowhere, appeared to take it away.
Mia heard the girls behind her giggling. It happened every time he got the ball.
“Oh my god, he’s so fast.”
“He’s so pretty, I can’t.”
“Look at that jawline... is he really eighteen?”
She gritted her teeth. Fifteen, she almost said. He’s still fifteen.
But she stayed quiet.
What would she even sound like if she spoke up? Defensive? Possessive? Crazy? No, she'd just keep her mouth shut. But that didn't mean she had to be nice. She turned to them, her eyes narrowed, and stared at them until they looked away, embarrassed.