The front door of the Lee residence didn't just open; it slammed with the weight of three years of unrequited love being flushed down a metaphorical toilet.

"I'm home," Jun-ho grumbled, kicking off his sneakers into the shoe rack, some would say with a bit more force than necessary.

"Keep it down, dumbass!" A sharp, high-pitched voice drifted from the living room.

Jun-ho sighed, rubbing his face. This was Su-bin, his middle-school-aged sister and the self-appointed dictator of their household. Since their father was often tied up in late-night corporate meetings, Su-bin had developed a personality that was 10% student and 90% terrifying landlord.

He walked into the kitchen to find her sitting at the table, surrounded by open textbooks and a mountain of empty snack wrappers. She didn't look up from her workbook, but her nose wrinkled. "You smell like failure and cheap convenience store bread. I take it the rooftop confession was also a disaster?"

Jun-ho froze, his hand halfway to the refrigerator handle. "I didn't say I was going to do that today."

"You put on the 'expensive' cologne—the one Dad got for his birthday that smells like a sandalwood forest—and you've been practicing your 'cool guy' stare in the hallway mirror for the last three days," Su-bin said, finally looking up with a deadpan expression. "So, what happened? Was it a teacher? Or did Min-ah unnie finally realise you're a dork?"

"It was the new guy," Jun-ho muttered, grabbing a cold bottle of water. "The one from France. Han Si-woo."

"The handsome one?" Su-bin’s eyes lit up with a treacherous glint. "Somi-unnie sent me a photo. He looks like he belongs on a billboard. You never stood a chance, Oppa. It’s like a bicycle trying to race a Ferrari."

"He’s not a Ferrari," Jun-ho snapped. "He’s a bicycle with a fancy paint job and a weird accent. And he’s not even French! He’s Korean!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she shrugged, returning to her math problems. "By the way, Dad called. He’s coming home early. He said he’s bringing 'special guests' for dinner. An old university friend and her sons. You’re supposed to help me clean."

Jun-ho groaned. "Special guests? Now? I just want to lay in the dark and listen to sad ballads."

"Too late. The vacuum is in the hallway. Move it."

An hour later, the house was suspiciously clean. Jun-ho was dressed in a clean sweater, his hair pushed back, looking every bit the "model son" his father expected during social visits. His dad, Lee Jung-sik, was in the kitchen humming while checking the braised short ribs.

"Jun-ho, check the table again! Is the kimchi centred? First impressions are everything," his father called out.

"Dad, it’s just a friend from college, right? Why are we acting like the President is coming?”

"Not just a friend," Jung-sik said, emerging from the kitchen and wiping his hands on an apron. "It’s Mrs. Han. We were in the same study group twenty-five years ago. She recently moved back from Europe after her husband passed away. It’s been a hard time for her, so I want them to feel welcome. What do you know?"

Jun-ho’s stomach did a slow, sinking somersault. Mrs. Han? Moved back from Europe?

"Dad," Jun-ho started, his voice trembling. "What is her son's name?"

Before his father could answer, the doorbell rang.

Jung-sik hurried to the door, pulling it open with a wide, welcoming grin. "Ah, Kyung-hwa! It’s been too long! Welcome, welcome."

"Jung-sik, thank you for having us," a soft, elegant voice replied.

Jun-ho stood in the hallway, paralysed. Behind the woman stood a familiar, tall figure. He was wearing a charcoal-coloured turtleneck that probably cost more than Jun-ho’s entire wardrobe. Beside him was an even taller young man—sharp-featured and looking bored—who could only be the older brother, Min-Seok.

But Jun-ho only had eyes for the younger one.

Han Si-woo stepped into the entryway, clutching a box of high-end bakery tarts. He looked up, his eyes meeting Jun-ho’s. For a heartbeat, Si-woo’s polished "Parisian" mask slipped, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock.

"You," they both whispered at the same time.

"Oh! You boys know each other?" Jung-sik laughed, clapping Jun-ho on the shoulder. "That’s right, Kyung-hwa, I forgot to tell you! My Jun-ho is in the same class as your Si-woo!"

"What a wonderful coincidence!" Mrs. Han exclaimed, beaming. "Si-woo was telling me how kind everyone has been at the new school. Was Jun-ho the one who helped you with the library today, dear?"

Si-woo’s eyes flickered to Jun-ho. The shock was gone, replaced by that same, infuriatingly clever glint Jun-ho had seen on the rooftop.

"Ah, yes," Si-woo said, his voice dropping into that smooth, formal lilt. "Jun-ho was... very vocal about the library. He is a very passionate student."

Jun-ho felt like his brain was glitching. He looked at his father, who was ushering them into the dining room, and then at Su-bin, who was currently staring at Si-woo as she had just discovered a new species of gold.

"Hi," Su-bin said, stepping forward with a smile that was way too sweet to be real. "I’m Jun-ho’s sister. You must be the one from Paris. Do you speak French? Is it true the Eiffel Tower smells like crepes?"

Si-woo smiled—a real, charming one this time—and knelt slightly to be at eye level with her. "It smells more like history and old stones. But I have some French chocolates in my bag if you’d like to try them?"

Su-bin’s loyalty to her brother vanished in a puff of cocoa-scented smoke. "I like him," she announced to the room. "Oppa, why can't you be more like Si-woo?"

Jun-ho wanted to melt into the floorboards.

The dinner was a nightmare of politeness. Jun-ho sat directly across from Si-woo. Between them sat a bowl of steaming ribs and an invisible wall of pure hostility. Jun-ho really wanted to take that bowl and throw it at Si-woo.

"So, Si-woo," Jung-sik said, pouring some tea. "How are you adjusting to Seoul? It must be quite a change from the 16th arrondissement."

"It is... a challenge," Si-woo said, picking up his chopsticks with practised grace. "Everything moves so fast here. Sometimes I feel like I am standing still while the world is sprinting. But having a friend like Jun-ho in class makes me feel... protected."

Jun-ho nearly choked on a piece of radish. Protected? He looked at Si-woo, who was calmly eating as if he hadn't just declared war in the middle of a family dinner.

"That’s my Jun-ho," his father beamed. "He’s always been the reliable type. If you need anything, Si-woo—tutoring, a tour of the neighbourhood—you just ask him."

"Actually," Si-woo said, setting his chopsticks down and looking directly at Jun-ho. "I heard that the Class Representative, Min-ah, works at a cafe nearby. I was thinking of applying for a part-time job there to practice my Korean. Jun-ho, didn't you mention you wanted to work there, too?"

Jun-ho’s heart stopped. He hadn't told anyone he was planning to apply at Min-ah’s family cafe. He’d only been looking at the 'help wanted' sign in the window for weeks, trying to build up the courage.

"I... I didn't say that," Jun-ho stammered.

"Oh? I must have misunderstood your 'passionate' speech on the rooftop," Si-woo replied, his tone innocent but his eyes dancing with mischief. "Anyway, I think it would be a great bonding experience for us. Don't you agree?"

Mrs. Han clapped her hands together. "What a lovely idea! Working together will make you the best of friends."

Jun-ho looked at the "Returnee" across the table. Si-woo was smiling, but under the table, he was leaning back with a smug confidence that made Jun-ho realise that terrifying truth.

Si-woo wasn't just here to find his roots. He was here to take everything—the cafe, the class rep, and apparently, even Jun-ho’s own family.

"Yeah," Jun-ho said, his voice dropping an octave as he glared at his new rival. "It’ll be a great... bonding experience."

Beside him, Min-seok—Si-woo’s older brother—finally looked up from his plate. He glanced at the two boys, then at Su-bin, who was busy Googling 'How to move to Paris' on her phone.

"You guys are loud," Min-seok muttered, before going back to his food. He is literally not in this universe.

As the dinner continued, Jun-ho realised that his quiet, pining life had come to an end. He is no longer just a boy with a crush; he became a soldier in a two-man army, and the front line is currently eating his father’s short ribs.

This is the start of a long battle.