Choi Kang-woo gestured toward the height requirement sign, his tone perfectly matter-of-fact.
“You can ride it once you’re tall enough to get into school.”
At his words, Han Jiho pouted. “Then what are we supposed to ride?”
Seeing how adorable he looked, Han Na-Eun smiled brightly and pointed to the carousel. “How about that? The pictures come out beautifully there, too.”
The children, instantly captivated by the brightly spinning ride, took off toward it.
“Don’t tell me I have to ride the carousel, too,” Choi Kang-woo muttered. “At my age?”
Han Na-Eun looked up at him. “If you don’t want to, the kids and I will go on our own. You can just take our pictures.”
Choi Kang-woo hesitated. It felt childish, but he realized that riding together might actually offer a sliver of that date-like atmosphere he’d been missing.
“I’ll ride. It’d be a handful for you to manage both of them alone, and it’s risky to let a five-year-old ride unsupervised.”
“It’s not risky. They hold on tight, and I just have to give them a stern warning not to climb down.”
Regardless, all four of them climbed onto the carousel. Soon, the music swelled, and the platform began to rotate. As the horses rose and fell, the children cheered in excitement. Choi Kang-woo watched Han Na-Eun’s face on the opposite side of the carousel and smiled.
“Having fun?”
“I am. How about you, sir?”
“Me? It’s alright. Worth a ride, I suppose.”
Truth be told, it felt far better than he expected. It wasn’t a high-octane thrill, just a slowly spinning circle, but he had never imagined doing this as an adult. Being here felt strange, and beside him, Han Na-Eun was radiant. Watching her face as she looked at the children was refreshing—he found he never tired of it.
“What is it? Do you want to go another round?”
Choi Kang-woo hadn’t even noticed the ride had stopped; he had been staring blankly at Han Na-Eun. Perhaps because he was still holding the monkey balloon, he heard a few bystanders whispering.
“Look at the balloon that man is holding. It’s huge.”
They were even snapping photos. He hadn’t expected it to come to this.
“Should I keep holding this?”
“Shall I take it? Please, give it to me.”
Han Na-Eun reached out without hesitation, but as he moved to hand it over, he felt as if every gaze would shift toward her. He didn’t want that.
“I’ll hold it. But why aren’t those two looking at the balloon anymore? They begged me to buy it for long enough.”
“It’s ours now, that’s why. They’re relieved.”
After that, the four of them rode one more attraction—the spinning coffee cups—and decided to break for kimbap.
“There are so many restaurants here; why go through the trouble of packing food?”
Han Na-Eun laughed at his comment. “Just try a few bites of the street food later. Once you do, you’ll realize how much better the kimbap I packed from home is.”
They unpacked the food and fruit, settling at a communal table. The moment Choi Kang-woo took a bite of the kimbap, he nodded in quiet agreement.
Was home-cooked kimbap always this delicious? Had he ever eaten it this enjoyably before?
He had lived his life without ever touching such things. When ordering office lunches, he usually defaulted to high-end catering, and as he prioritized protein-heavy meals, he’d never had a reason to visit a snack bar. Naturally, he never made it at home, either.
But Han Na-Eun’s kimbap was savory, refreshing, and indescribably good. Perhaps because she had packed them small for the children, Choi Kang-woo found himself popping two at a time into his mouth.
“Is it good?” Minho asked.
Han Jiho laughed. “My mom’s kimbap is really tasty.”
“This one has anchovies, that one has beef,” Na-Eun explained. “I found that kids actually prefer the anchovy ones more than I thought.”
People put anchovies in kimbap these days? Regardless, it was all excellent.
“Later, if we get hungry while playing, let’s grab some snacks. Maybe some butter-grilled squid.”
Seeing Han Na-Eun list off treats so naturally was fascinating. Are kindergarten teachers always this well-versed in the taxonomy of children’s snacks?
Amidst the cacophony of the amusement park, Choi Kang-woo and Han Na-Eun chatted while waiting for the children. Han Na-Eun covered her forehead slightly, glanced at him, and flashed a mischievous smile.
“By the way, sir, are you brave?” she asked, stifling a laugh.
Choi Kang-woo tilted his head, puzzled. “Why the sudden inquiry into my bravery?”
His eyes were filled with curiosity. Han Na-Eun shrugged, turning her gaze toward the crowd. “They say there are surprisingly many men who are terrified of the roller coaster. The type who board confidently only to look more exhausted than the women when they get off.”
Choi Kang-woo’s eyes widened; he clutched his chest. “You don’t think that’s me, do you? Me?”
“……”
He looked flabbergasted. “What kind of person do you take me for? I’m a former Marine. A Special Forces operative.” He looked at her with total self-assurance.
Han Na-Eun smiled softly. “Then I suppose you aren’t afraid of the roller coaster at all?”
He grinned, brimming with confidence. “Need you ask? I’ve done HALO jumps.” He shrugged, flashing a playful, arrogant smile.
Han Na-Eun burst into laughter. “I seeee.”
Her teasing tone left him feeling strangely wronged. Listening from the side, Minho tugged on his hand.
“Can Uncle ride the roller coaster?”
“Of course. I can ride it. But I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like it.”
“Why don’t you like it?”
How should he explain? Should he tell them he wouldn’t waste energy on such useless things? It seemed pointless.
“Just because.”
Han Na-Eun laughed again. “We came to the amusement park to burn off energy. We’re going to play here until the kids run out of steam.”
The children showed no sign of stopping, to the point where the adults were the ones flagging. Just as they were about to leave, Han Jiho spotted an automatic sticker photo booth labeled “Life Shot.”
“Mom, a picture!”
Taking Jiho’s hand, Han Na-Eun looked back at Choi Kang-woo. “You haven’t taken pictures like that lately, have you?”
“Why ask the obvious? I’ve never even been to a place that has them.”
“Let’s try it this time.”
As they approached the booth, they were met with an array of accessories: sunglasses, colorful wigs, and headbands.
“Let’s match with these.” She picked out headbands with round, cute ears.
“You want me to wear that? Do you think this suits this face?”
Before he could argue, she swiftly placed the mouse headband on his head. Looking at the perked-up ears in the mirror, she looked satisfied. “We look like a family of squirrels. Hurry up and take it.”
Inside the cramped booth, the four of them had to press together to fit into the frame.
“Let’s make funny faces!”
Jiho stuck out his tongue. Minho frowned. Han Na-Eun widened her eyes in a playful expression. They cycled through five shots, smiling brightly, and once they selected their favorites, the sticker photo printed.
“It came out better than I thought.”
Looking at the photo—their four faces packed tight into the frame—a sudden tightness swelled in his chest. Choi Kang-woo couldn’t put a name to the emotion.
“It turned out well. Should we put it in a small frame?”
“Yes!”
“Why do you need so many supplies? Do we have to buy a frame, too?”
“I have plenty at home.”
“I’ll have to peek into your room later, Na-Eun. See what’s hidden in Ms. Han’s drawer.”
“Everything is in there—glue, scissors, colored pencils, markers, adhesives, frames, ribbons, too. There’s even more at the kindergarten. My specialty is origami.”
Choi Kang-woo nodded. Just then, as they began to move from the entrance toward the zoo, he stopped.
The path was lined with broadcasting equipment. Large cameras were fixed on tripods, surveying the surroundings as the production crew moved in a frenzy. Cables snaked across the ground like thick vines, and lighting equipment shimmered brilliantly even under the afternoon sun.
“Looks like a broadcast is filming.”
“So it seems. That does appear to be the case.”
Choi Kang-woo dismissed it, uninterested.