My angel will judge me.

part 26

Wang Ji burst through the door like a storm. Mrs. Kim moved to follow, hand out as if to soften his edges, but he hardly noticed; his eyes were already hunting the apartment for the one person who always made trouble.

"Yibo!" he roared.

A tiny figure by the console barely looked up — until the voice hit. Yibo’s face snapped to attention, then flattened into an innocent puppy expression as he realized who had returned. "Deda!" he chirped, trying the tone that usually melted the older man.

It didn’t work.

Wang Ji’s expression was all steel. He crossed the living room in two long strides and stopped in front of his son. "What did you post online about me and Mrs. Kim?" His voice was low and coiled with cold anger. "How am I supposed to handle the press now? Do you know how tired I am of cleaning up after your pranks?"

Yibo’s smile wilted. For a second he looked startled — he hadn’t expected Wang Ji to find out so quickly. "I — I didn’t think you’d see it so fast," he blurted, scrambling for damage control. "It was just a prank, Deda. Just a joke."

"Just a joke," Wang Ji repeated, each word an icicle. Mrs. Kim opened her mouth to intercede, but his glare pinned her quiet.

Wang Ji’s breath came out slow and sharp. "I’m done," he said flatly. "I’m tired of excuses. I’ve decided — you’re going to Korea."

The words landed like a blow. Yibo’s eyes went huge. "What? No — I’m not going anywhere! I’ll stay with you. Please, Deda, don’t be mad. It was only—"

"It was only childish," Wang Ji finished. "Too childish. You’re too reckless." He reached out, took the controller from Yibo’s hands as if it were a dangerous toy, and set it down. "Take away his passports, his phone, his cards, everything. Make sure he can’t run."

Mrs. Kim hesitated, then moved to obey. Yibo’s face flushed; indignation and panic warred in him. "You think I’m going to run? Why would I run? I didn’t mean real trouble — it was to stir things up at Wei Wuxian’s place, not cause you a scandal!"

Wang Ji’s voice softened, but only an inch. "I know you. You love drama. But this time it touched other people’s lives. My reputation, Kim’s name… it’s crossed the line."

Yibo’s protests turned louder, childish, edged now with real fear. "You can’t send me away. That’s not fair! I only wanted to make them nervous. Why are you being so harsh?"

Wang Ji looked at his son for a long, hard heartbeat — the boy who had always been a storm in a small frame. In that long silence there was annoyance, but also something softer: worry, and the tiredness of a man who cares so fiercely he scares himself with the intensity.

"You’re my son," Wang Ji said finally. "I know you better than anyone. You think a little stunt is nothing. But sometimes a little stunt burns down a lot more than you expect. Two days — Korea. Boarding. You’ll be back when you learn to stop starting fires."

Yibo’s protest dissolved into sputtering fury. "Boarding school? Me? No! I’m not a child to be shipped off!"

Mrs. Kim, having gathered the passports and cards, met Yibo’s glare with a professionally pitying look. "This is for your own good," she said softly. "Calm down and let us handle it."

Anger thrummed in Yibo’s chest, hot and sharp. He had meant only mischief, a jab at Wei Wuxian to stir the pot — not this. Not exile. Not humiliation.

He stamped his foot, voice raw: "You can’t just decide my life like that!"

Wang Ji’s reply was quiet but absolute. "I’m your father. I can. And I will, until you learn the cost of your games."