But at least he was better now. Thinking back to the heated mudslinging before the presidential election earlier this year, I remembered how he sat frozen on the couch, his expression so stiff I thought he'd had a stroke.

  Maybe this “person-drink” question was really too hard for him. Time for a smarter approach.

  “Okay, Dad, if your daughter had to turn into a drink, which one would you want her to be?”

  “What kind of nonsense is that? Why would I want my daughter to turn into a drink?”

  My dad was nothing if not loyal.

  “Fine. If there had to be a drink in this world that represented your daughter, which one would you pick?”

  I rephrased it again.

  His face flickered with blue, green, and yellow hues from the TV screen.

  “Vitasoy,” he finally said, shoving another piece of cake into his mouth.

  “……”

  I fell silent.

  A long pause.

  Then the commercials came on.

  “Why aren't you asking me why you're a bottle of Vitasoy?” Dad snapped back to reality and looked at me.

  “I don't want to know.” I still hadn't recovered from the shock. My soul was practically floating out of my body.

  “It has to be Sanyang’s Vitasoy,” Dad added.

  “Huh?” I was still dazed, unable to process any more surprises.

  “Only Sanyang’s authentic Vitasoy is worthy of being my daughter,” he emphasized.

  “I can't listen to this! I can't!” I shrieked, covering my ears and running upstairs, completely rejecting any connection between myself and a bottle of Vitasoy.

  Next up: my brother.

  “Hey, if you had to describe me as a drink, what would it be?”

  I patted my brother on the shoulder, encouraging his rarely-used brain to start working.

  “You lovesick girls and your silly personality tests… So pitiful, really. You'd be better off watching some political debates with Dad. At least you'd learn how to crack sarcastic jokes. Ooooohhh~~”

  He let out an exaggerated sigh before dramatically rolling himself up in his bnket and howling.

  Like he had any room to talk.

  This was the same guy who, back in middle school, genuinely believed he was a ninja. He spent his days sneaking around the house, convinced he could turn invisible. At one point, he even pestered Dad, asking if our family had Japanese Iga ninja ancestry.

  And I'm the one doing childish things?

  “Just humor me, okay? Give me a drink, any drink.”

  I pnted one foot on his bnket-wrapped body and pressed down hard.

  “Heh heh heh… Since you've admitted to being lovesick, I shall grant you… Spring Liquor!” My brother wriggled under the bnket, making weird movements.

  “Spring Liquor isn't even alcohol! Take this seriously!” I smacked the bnket with a punch.

  “Alright, alright. The best drink for a lovestruck girl has to be peach juice—the kind you see in TV commercials, filled with the taste of romance. Didn't that actress, Lee Li-Chen, star in The Fruit is Ripe? That's precisely what I mean.” My brother had a perfectly serious expression.

  So serious that I wanted to commit familial homicide.

  And of course, I couldn't let my mother off the hook either.

  “Mom, if you had to give birth to a drink, what would it be?” I asked while helping her chop radishes in the kitchen.

  “Didn't your dad already say? Vitasoy,” she replied casually, covering the pot as the aroma of stir-frying filled the air.

  “Vitasoy?” I was stunned, nearly speechless.

  "If your dad wants one, I'll just give him one," Mom said, her tone sweet, but her words cruel.

  It seemed that, somehow, my brother was the one who treated me the best in this family.

  But whether it was Vitasoy or that flirtatious peach juice, at least I was sure—I wasn't just a gss of pin cold water that Ze Yu didn't like.

  But I had a feeling A-Ta was—an utterly colorless, fvorless, and unremarkable gss of cold water.

  A gss of cold water, through and through.