Daniel's POV.
The poster, almost as big as a manila paper, featured a famous Korean group called BTS. Instead of explaining her spending, Nikki bragged about getting exclusive merchandise, acting like it was some grand achievement. She went on and on about their "comeback" and "concerts," as if I cared.
I'm an otaku who loves 2D characters. 2D is life, and I have zero interest in the drama of 3D people—real or not—so I couldn't care less about her idols.
"Nikki, I don't know them, and I don't care about the importance of your tarp," I said flatly, turning to leave.
"What?! Seriously, Kuya? They're super famous, and you don't know them? Are you even human?" she exclaimed, her voice hitting a high-pitched note of genuine shock.
Her words stung, as if I wasn't a real person for not knowing her idols. She treated me like I was clueless about the world.
"How pathetic, Kuya. You've been holed up in your cave with your cartoons for so long, you don't know what's happening in the real world," she said, shaking her head with fake pity.
"It's not that I don't know about those dancing, singing Korean guys—I'm just not interested in those pretty-boy, arrogant types," I retorted.
She kicked my shin—hard—furious at my insult. It hurt, but I couldn't hit her back; I'm her older brother, after all. Still, what a disrespectful kid!
"I won't let a weirdo geek like you badmouth BTS! You don't know anything about them, so you have no right to judge!" she snapped.
She marched to her poster, proudly gesturing to the guys as if she were presenting royalty. "They're not just handsome and husband material—they're total performers, talented in so many ways. They went through a lot to get where they are, so you have no right to diss them!" she added, her eyes sparkling with that intense fan energy.
One by one, she pointed at the guys, introducing them like I was supposed to take notes.
"Listen up, Kuya, these are my husbands: the gorgeous V, Jungkook, Jimin, RM, Jin, J-Hope, and Suga. Kyaa! They're the members of BTS, my husbands!" she squealed, pointing at each one in turn.
"You're really fangirling hard over them, huh," I said, unimpressed. I leaned against her doorframe. "You realize they don't know you exist, right? At least my characters are consistent. Your 'husbands' will probably get into a dating scandal by next week."
"Whatever! At least they're real people!" she shot back, sticking her tongue out. "Now get out of my room! I have a bridge to learn!"
"Fine, just keep the volume down, or I'm taking the power cord next time," I warned, finally heading back to my room to try and reclaim what was left of my sleep.
Nikki stood there, head held high, proudly rattling off her idols' accomplishments—their sold-out concerts across the globe, the worldwide acclaim for their music. She bragged about how far BTS had come, comparing them to legendary boybands like Westlife and One Direction that once dominated the music scene.
She spoke with such enthusiasm, like she was their manager pitching her star clients. The morning light caught the glossy surface of the posters on her wall, making the faces of those seven guys shine. I'm not sure if she noticed the utter boredom on my face—I had zero interest in her stories about those 3D idols. It was maddening to think how obsessed she was.
Tsk, I never imagined I'd have a sister who's completely nuts for pretty-boy idols.
"Husbands"? She had the audacity to call them that when they don't even know she exists. They probably couldn't care less that there's a Nikki Muntingbato out there, yet she claims they make her heart race. She's worse than those girls who throw themselves at their crushes, only to be ignored.
Poor little sister.
"It doesn't matter if they know me or not, Kuya. I love them, and I'm happy just watching them and hearing them sing for me," Nikki shot back, crossing her arms over her BTS shirt.
"Tsk, they're not singing just for you—they're performing for millions of girls who fall for their charming antics. Honestly, they don't care about you or any of their fans. They wouldn't even blink at your funeral, so why waste your money and energy on them?" I argued, leaning against her doorframe.
Nikki's face twisted into a scowl, and she launched into a heated defense of her idols. I fired back, saying those guys were making her act recklessly, like she wasn't the proper Filipina girl she should be. Fans of Korean boy groups often don't realize how overboard they go with their obsession.
I've seen it online—girls screaming their lungs out, cursing, practically collapsing from excitement while clutching their idols' photos like they're possessed. It might be fun or just an expression of their feelings, but honestly, it's not a good look—shrieking and going wild over guys. In street terms, it's kind of malandi in guys' eyes like mine.
And then there are those girls who go too far, shouting things like, "Get me pregnant, Suga!" or "Take responsibility for our kid!" or even "Take my virginity!"—words that make you lose all respect.
"You need to think carefully, Nikki, before you get caught up in that behavior. You're ruining yourselves over guys who have nothing to do with your lives," I said, my tone dropping to a serious hum.
"People don't care about your perspective as a fangirl, Nikki. They only see and hear what's in front of them. And you know what they think of girls like you, screaming and swooning over guys like lunatics?"
"Even if you're not like those girls, you'll still be judged because you're part of their group."
I stepped closer, placed a hand on her head, and urged her to stop idolizing those guys for her own good. As her older brother, I care about her, and I don't want people judging her harshly. But I didn't stop there—I went after her obsession with K-dramas, saying they push girls like her to chase boyfriends and start flirting at school.
I explained that the sweet words in those shows might sound nice, and the idea of a prince-like partner is thrilling, but the real world doesn't work that way. The floor of her room was cluttered with K-pop magazines, a stark contrast to the reality of the dusty street outside our window. Not everything aligns with what we want or expect in love.
"I'm not bitter, Nikki, but in the 3D world, there's no such thing as forever. It's full of lies and complications, made worse by things like pride and differing standards, especially when it comes to love," I said.
Maybe I went overboard, but I was saying it for her sake—not just to annoy her or trash K-dramas. I'm not bitter about love, I swear. I'm not.
"You're still young, Nikki. Focus on your studies so you can have a good future. Drop the K-pop and K-dramas—they're just bad influences for someone like you," I said, sounding a bit smug.
I didn't notice her face flushing red with anger as I spoke. Suddenly, she raised her foot, stomped on mine with all her weight, and shoved me back.
"Arrgghh!" I yelped, clutching my foot.
She darted to her bed, climbed up, and faced me, hands on her hips, pointing at me as she let loose. "Mind your own business, you weirdo geek!" she snapped.