As soon as Kim Sooro tucked the wildflower behind his ear, his entire demeanor shifted.
He started shaking his shoulders and strutting like a wannabe gangster, playfully acting like some back-alley street punk trying to look cool—but with a flower on his ear, the effect was more comedic than tough.
The four of them—Jihoon, Sooro, Taeyeon, and Chunhee—strolled back to the house like they'd just returned from a picnic, not a chore.
And the moment they stepped foot inside the yard, the rest of the cast froze mid-task and looked up.
Their expressions? Pure disbelief.
Not only were the flowers behind their ears absolutely ridiculous, but the fact that these four had clearly been out there relaxing while everyone else was chopping, grilling, and sweating over dinner only made it worse.
It was like a cartoon moment—everyone's foreheads metaphorically stamped with three black lines, the universal anime sign of being speechlessly done with someone's nonsense.
Still, they gave up on confronting them. What was the point?
Well—everyone except Jihoon seemed to get the memo.
As dinner prep got into full swing, Jihoon wandered around the yard like a supervising manager. Hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded, he offered occasional "advice" without lifting a single finger.
He told Jaeseok how to scrub radishes properly, gave Daesung unsolicited fire-starting tips, and even stood near the meat grill with a serious face, nodding like he was inspecting a Michelin-starred kitchen.
But his hands? Spotless.
Not a single speck of flour or oil.
In stark contrast to everyone else, who had clearly been working their butts off.
Eventually, his stroll brought him near Hyori, who was prepping ingredients alongside Yejin and Taeyeon.
Unknowingly, Jihoon had just stepped into enemy territory.
Hyori didn't even look up. She just snapped.
"YAH!! Lee Jihoon!! If you're not going to help, then get out of my sight! Don't just loiter around pretending to supervise—you're making my head spin!"
Jihoon blinked for half a second, caught off guard.
But then it clicked—she had essentially given him a free pass to do nothing. With a slow, shameless grin, he plopped down right beside the women like he was exactly where he belonged.
From that moment on, Jihoon didn't touch a single ingredient. He transformed into a full-time sweet-talker, delivering flattery like it was part of the meal prep.
"Wah… How are you three so beautiful and talented? Seriously, this is peak wife material right here. If any man marries you, he's basically hit the jackpot."
Taeyeon and Yejin giggled, clearly entertained. Hyori rolled her eyes—but even she couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
The compliments were obviously exaggerated and dripping with cheek, but they worked. The girls laughed, the tension lightened, and Jihoon somehow escaped doing any actual work.
Meanwhile, the male members were not so amused.
Jaeseok paused mid-radish scrub, staring in disbelief.
Daesung sighed so dramatically it could've been part of a K-drama.
Even the camera crew exchanged looks behind their lenses—how could this be the Jihoon? The genius director? Korea's cinematic prodigy?
When word got out that Jihoon was guest-starring, expectations had soared.
They thought they'd get a mysterious auteur, maybe the quiet, brooding type who sees poetry in soup steam and metaphors in firewood.
Instead, they got a flower-wearing, compliment-slinging rascal with the work ethic of a lazy housecat and the social finesse of a street magician.
Then, as if deciding to lean into the chaos, Hyori grinned and turned to Taeyeon.
"Taeyeon-ah! Sing your debut song—the one Jihoon wrote for your group!"
Taeyeon lit up. "Ne, Hyori sunbae!" she replied brightly, no trace of hesitation.
She stood, and right there in the middle of the yard, began singing and dancing as if the stage were beneath her feet.
Her performance was vibrant and full of charm. Even those still cooking paused to watch, clapping along with genuine smiles.
For a moment, it felt less like a shoot and more like a family gathering celebrating something special.
When the final note ended and the applause faded, Hyori turned back to Jihoon, who remained comfortably seated beside them, as if he were on a vacation, not a shoot.
She gave him a long look, then smirked. "How does this guy write so many great songs when he's this lazy?"
Jihoon didn't flinch. He just shot her a look and rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning back like a man unbothered by public shaming.
Daesung chimed in next, unable to resist the moment. "Our company president loved Jihoon's song, too!" he said excitedly.
Since Jihoon, Taeyeon, and Daesung were the same age, they had a casual vibe—though Jihoon, being the oldest by a few months, had originally asked Daesung to just call him by name.
Then, switching to an exaggerated imitation of Yang Hyunsuk's gravelly voice—a talent that came with every YG artist contract—Daesung launched into a hilarious impersonation:
"SNSD's debut song? Masterpiece. Legendary. This group, they'll sound different every year when they sing it—age just adds flavor."
"It's a pity Jihoon-ssi isn't part of YG. If I had Jihoon on my left, and G-Dragon on my right... I'd control the future of Korean music. You'd have to get my permission before listening to any new song!"
Everyone burst out laughing, including the crew. Even Jihoon chuckled and gave Daesung a playful bow, acknowledging the fake praise on behalf of the real Yang Hyunsuk.
As the sun began to dip, dinner finally came together. The cast sat down together—laughing, chatting, and clinking metal chopsticks against bowls.
It had the feeling of a family meal during Chuseok or Lunar New Year.
That night's menu: grilled whitebait and hearty pumpkin rice, cooked inside whole pumpkins.
Jihoon, who had been grumbling about hunger for hours, perked up like a kid when the food was ready.
He and Taeyeon happened to sit next to each other, and their pumpkin was placed between them, steaming and fragrant.
He opened the lid dramatically, letting the warm aroma hit his face. Taeyeon leaned in with curious eyes.
"Yah! Your head's practically inside the pumpkin! How am I supposed to eat like this?" Jihoon teased, gently pushing her forehead away as if guarding his portion.
Taeyeon let out a mock gasp and smacked him lightly on the back.
"YAH! Lee Jihoon!!" Jaeseok shouted in mock outrage from across the table. "How can you treat Taeyeon like that?!"
The rest of the group joined in, half-joking, half-scolding him.
Jihoon, finally "shamed," turned thoughtful for half a beat.
Then, in pure Jihoon fashion, he flipped the pumpkin lid upside down, scooped a tiny spoonful of rice onto it, and handed it to Taeyeon like a royal offering.
"You're an idol. You have to keep your figure. Just eat this much," he said, hugging the rest of the pumpkin possessively.
Taeyeon rolled her eyes with a playful smile. "You're going to explode from overeating. I'll laugh at your funeral."
There was a reason Jihoon teased her so much.
From the start of filming, he had been carefully setting a tone—subtle but deliberate. Online speculation had painted SNSD as arrogant, mannerless rookies.
Jihoon knew how damaging those perceptions could be.
So through humor, teasing, and casual interactions, he let the public see something else: Taeyeon and her members weren't cold or stuck-up—they were warm, funny, and grounded.
It wasn't just variety entertainment. It was narrative correction, disguised as banter.
Around the table, everyone ate together, laughing between bites.
Like family.
Like the cameras weren't even there.
Just a mismatched group of artists, idols, and entertainers sharing a meal under the soft glow of dusk.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Daoist098135 and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]