You've Got Guts!
Maximilian Shama, seventy-eight this year in Korean age. Or Max for short—a strict old codger whose life was suddenly filled with both joy and frustration.
Max had harbored one dream for ages: "I want a pretty, cute daughter—a daughter!"
The more macho the man, the more such fantasies he nurses. A house full of dark, burly boys? One of him was plenty. And so, Max had desperately longed for a girl, persuading his wife endlessly and trying his damnedest time and again. But he never succeeded.
One day, he came to his senses and realized he had four sons and nothing else. The shock of it... But reality doesn't bend to wishes.
If they were born boys, they had to be men who matched or even surpassed their father. With that philosophy, Max was a stern patriarch to his sons. In fact, the eldest three took after him perfectly—dull as dishwater.
But the youngest... "D-Daddy... I'm scared of ghosts and can't sleep..."
Only Vita, the baby of the family, didn't take after him. Max still remembered that night when his youngest came crying to his parents about ghosts.
He'd nearly melted at the cuteness back then but held firm. "What kind of boy fears ghosts? Back to bed with you."
It wasn't just that once. Vita was always the sensitive type—teary-eyed, brimming with emotion. Adorably cute in looks and actions, neighbors sometimes asked if he was a girl.
"My kid, but Vita's just so cute. So pure."
Yes, if only he'd been born a girl... Why had heaven sent him a son when he craved a daughter so?
Max regretted it inwardly but steeled himself. Not a girl? Fine. Then be a proper man—a splendid one. Sensitive boys don't win girls' hearts. Time to toughen him up.
"Listen, Vita. A real man doesn't accept defeat as normal. He gets pissed about it. In any field, always outdo the rest—that's a true man."
"Yes, Daddy!"
Thankfully, his youngest took the lessons to heart. As he grew, he became manlier, his competitive streak sharpening. A proud, upstanding guy.
But one thing Max hadn't foreseen: his strictness made his youngest fear him. And that kid was his hope, the cute one!
"Mommy, Mommy." His wife Emma got obedience, but he'd never once heard "Daddy." How could that not sting? A father's dignity prevented complaints.
Then one day, that youngest came home as a daughter.
Pathetic as it sounds, Max trembled when he heard. "Vita... a daughter?"
Yes, that's what you were meant to be. No anomalies, the doctor assured. Worry mingled with secret joy.
Clutching the ID for the name he'd dreamed up for a future daughter—"Bianca Shama"—Max's eyes welled up. "Finally... I have a daughter..."
That was Maximilian Shama himself.
"Daddy, I hate you...!"
No need to explain the shock of those words just now. For a split second, Max's heart plummeted, guilt crashing over him like he'd committed some grave sin.
"Wh-what...?"
Me...? Hate me?
"Daddy, I really hate you...!"
The final blow landed. Yet even then, his daughter was too cute. Her voice calling him "Daddy" filled him with ecstasy. She was the apple of his eye now, and with that, Max crumbled in defeat.
"Ah, no... Daddy was all wrong...!"
He had no idea what he'd done wrong, but he surrendered anyway.
"Everyone, dig in."
The table groaned under the feast.
"Carlyle, you must be exhausted from the long trip."
"Not at all, Mother."
Even letting the boy into the house after yielding a step, Maximilian Shama wasn't thrilled. Tch, 'Mother'? Cheeky bastard.
Thick-skinned as they come. Sure, handsome enough, but what good's a pretty boy?
Guys like that... know their looks and coast on 'em.
To Max, Carlyle Schultz was just a thief eyeing his pure daughter. He'd caved to her killer plea to let him in, but no favors here.
"Ahem—"
Clearing his throat, Max drew eyes and grumbled. "The food tastes off today."
Because of this intruder?
"Then don't eat."
His bowl was snatched away. Max panicked at his wife's retort. Wives were scary. He folded.
"No, dear, it was just talk..."
"Then have some soup. You saying that for the kids?"
"Ahem, uh..."
Maximilian Shama was whipped by his wife. Macho men go soft for their women, right? It wasn't just her anymore—now he watched daughter Bianca's reactions too.
Peck, peck...
The meal stayed quiet awhile. Max sensed both his daughter and wife focused on him. Still, as head of the house, he got respect.
Chest puffing, he resolved: Unwilling as he was, duty called for conversation.
Having surrendered to daughter and wife already, he asked, "So... you're dating?"
"Yes, Father."
Low, serious voice. Manly, but too smooth—annoying.
"Handsome, aren'tcha."
Pretty boys charm and break hearts. Max swallowed the rest.
His wife was glaring daggers.
"Thank you, Father."
"Not praise."
This much was fine.
"Oh... I see."
One jab, and the fool looked deflated. No way I'm giving my daughter to a dope like you.
Too pure, too cute, too lovable for him.
"Not praise? What then?"
His wife's question stumped Max. Glancing aside, he saw Bianca's expectant amethyst eyes. Praise, right, Daddy?!
Those pretty eyes seemed to plead. Holding his breath unwittingly, Max coughed.
"Ahem. Need me to spell it out?"
Clueless to his flip-flop, Bianca beamed. Things were going smoother than expected. Dad surprisingly amenable.
I thought he'd hate it... but Carlyle's great, so maybe Dad sees it too.
Thank goodness, Carlyle.
Yeah, lucky.
The lovers communed with eyes—true love's silent talk.
'......'
Max watched it all: his child's happy glow, the thief's gaze full of feeling.
-Saw that, right...?
He knew what his wife whispered—what she'd omitted. Awkwardly, irritatingly so.
They're serious...
In moments, Max grasped it all.
They call age "experience." Sometimes useless, sometimes handy.
With years and wisdom, Max trusted his judgment. First impressions revealed life's path, personality.
And regrettably, Carlyle Schultz—the outright thief—gave a good one. Truly regrettable.
He'd seen his child's sincerity, the boy's too. Couldn't ignore it, much as he disliked.
Besides, his youngest wasn't blind despite softness—takes after parents.
Bringing the thief home showed parental eyes approved.
"Did you come for permission?"
Max voiced his curiosity. "If I refuse, say break up—would you?"
Daughter and thief exchanged looks. Hesitant, she was steadied by his hand-hold. Her face calmed.
Complete trust.
Absurd, yet oddly admirable. Max felt a twinge of loss but acknowledged it.
Carlyle spoke: "Sorry, Father, but we can't break up."
Even if refused. Firm golden gaze declared resolve.
"Even if you say so, I won't give up."
"Then what?"
"Bianca and I will marry alone. Right after leaving here."
Emma and Bianca startled.
"Oh my, oh..."
"C-Carlyle...!"
The women ignored, the men faced off.
"Got confidence."
"We love each other."
But Carlyle bowed. "Still, we'd prefer your blessing. That's why we're here."
Unyielding despite cold shoulder, bold words, then manners. Max smirked wryly but was slightly satisfied.
Yeah, a man needs that guts.
"You've got guts."
Chucking wryly, Max picked up his chopsticks. "Eat first. Food's getting cold."
Worthwhile or not, no easy yes. Gotta test more, find flaws.
Just watch, kid.
No one guessed his scheming; meal resumed.
Bianca sensed Carlyle scored points. Grateful for dad's generosity, she boldly picked meat for him.
"Daddy... Try this too."
"Eh, uh...?"
Dad flustered. Mom had been signaling.
Half-doubting, but...
-It's true, Bianca. Add some aegyo. He'll melt, help Carlyle.
A-Aegyo's... embarrassing, but...
"Why bother with this..."
Grumbling, but Dad looked pleased. Mom said he'd always wanted a daughter. Starting to believe.
That was real...?
It worked once; for Carlyle, she'd try.
Gathering courage: "Carlyle, you too."
Natural as bento-sharing.
'...!'
Bianca missed Dad's grin vanish.
Night deepened. Bianca sat with Mom on the living room sofa.
"What do you like so much?"
Blunt question flushed her. Mom curious—answer up.
"Well, he's kind... considerate to the bone... and, um..."
Awkward, shy. Stumbling through merits, Mom smiled faintly.
"Totally smitten."
"Not that much..."
But true. Embarrassed, she pivoted. "Oh, right—how are my... brothers?"
"Brothers" felt weird.
"Your brothers? Same as always. They knew your news but didn't believe at first."
"Figures..."
Even she'd doubt a brother turning sister overnight.
"Showed pics, and..."
Mom chuckled through tales: brothers disbelieving photos, then recognizing vibe, eyes, hair. Miffed at late notice.
"But your settling first matters. They're busy anyway."
Bianca nodded. Brothers married, jobs in far cities—rare meets, holidays only.
"New Year's soon. Stay till next week, see them."
"Mom, I..."
Sorry, but leaving early. Not dragged here end-year. Brothers not used to "sister"—might slip.
"With Carlyle around..."
No chaos. Better later, adjusted.
"I get it. Go ahead."
No need spilling all; kind Mom understood. Grateful anew.
Always thankful, but. "Anyway, daughter—why's your dad grilling poor Carlyle? Long trip."
"Yeah..."
Worried yet not. Dad and Carlyle talking privately, but she trusted.
"Still, Carlyle'll win him over smooth."
Great guy, handsome. Mom smiled warmly at that; Bianca suddenly recalled.
"Mom, be right back—room."
"Go on."
Upstairs, do-do-do. Rare peek at old room: spotless, empty-ish.
Made sense—dorm stuff cleared ages ago.
Yet reassuring. Not girly-weird... just tidy. No boy traces.
Lying, she stared blankly at ceiling. Train fatigue hit.
Blink... blink...
Eyes drooping.
Knock knock—someone tapped the door.