A few days after the boutique delivery, something shifted in the small apartment.It wasn't loud.It wasn't dramatic.But it was powerful.
For the first time in years, his mother hummed while cleaning.
Not out of habit.Not to calm herself.
But because she felt light—like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Hope does that.
Even fragile hope makes people breathe differently.
Late in the morning, her phone rang.
Her hands fumbled as she answered.
"H-Hello?"
A cheerful voice replied.
"Mrs. Seo? It's Mirin! Are you sitting down?"
He watched from the crib, eyes sharp.
His mother stuttered, "N-No… should I be?"
"Yes," Mirin laughed. "Because I have great news."
His mother slowly lowered herself onto the floor.
Mirin continued, voice bright with excitement:
"All twenty wallets you made? SOLD OUT. In less than two hours."
His mother's breath hitched.
"W-What…? All… all of them?"
"Yes! And people kept coming back asking, 'Where's the fabric wallet lady?' I've already displayed the second batch you dropped off yesterday."
His mother covered her mouth with both hands, tears welling.
"And… I have more," Mirin added playfully. "Three customers asked to place pre-orders. And a tourist from Japan wants to buy ten for souvenirs."
His mother shook with disbelief.
"Ten…? Pre-orders…?"
"And my father wants fifty more within two weeks. He's very impressed."
His mother broke into soft sobs.
Mirin's tone softened."You deserve this. You really do."
After the call, she leaned her forehead against the table, crying quietly but smiling—smiling in a way he had never seen in either of his lives.
He crawled to her and placed a tiny hand on her knee.
She grabbed him and held him close.
"My baby… everything is changing because of you…"
He rested against her chest.
Yes.
Everything was changing.
News travels fast in poor neighborhoods.
And fear travels even faster.
By evening, whispers spread across the apartment floors:
"Did you hear? The boutique stopped buying from the sewing shop.""They say that woman's wallets are selling better!""Customers at the market are asking for her instead.""The old shop owner is furious!"
He heard all of it.
The sewing shop, built on arrogance and cheap labor, was crumbling from a force it never expected:
Competition.Quality.Change.
And that change began with a toddler's idea.
He didn't smile outwardly—toddlers weren't supposed to.
But inside, a cold satisfaction warmed his chest.
This was economic justice.The weak gaining power.The oppressor losing control.
Across the hallway, the teenage boy slammed the door after another argument with his father. Their finances were tightening. Their customers were leaving.
And the boy knew exactly whose fault they thought it was.
His.
Good.
Later that night, as his mother cleaned the sewing table, she left a few children's books on the floor for him to "play with."
Except he wasn't playing.
He opened a book about animals—simple short words under colorful drawings:
Dog.Cat.Bird.Fish.
He traced the letters slowly with his tiny finger.
He said nothing aloud.
He never practiced out loud unless she was asleep.He couldn't expose himself yet.
But he read faster and faster.Faster than any two-year-old should.Faster than most five-year-olds.
Soon he flipped to a page with a sentence:
"The bird can fly."
He read it perfectly in his mind.
He didn't notice his mother returned to the room.
Not until she gasped softly.
His head snapped up.
She had frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, staring at him holding the book with perfect focus—not chewing on it, not flipping it randomly… reading it.
Her voice was shaky.
"…Baby… what are you doing…?"
He quickly closed the book and babbled to disguise it.
She knelt and slowly picked up the book.
"Were you… reading this…?"
Her hand trembled.
He forced himself to giggle like a normal toddler.
But her eyes were too sharp.
She wasn't stupid.Not at all.
She knew something was different.
Her fingers brushed through his hair in a mixture of confusion, pride, and fear.
"You're… so smart…" she whispered. "Too smart…"
His chest tightened.
He didn't want her to fear him.He needed her to trust him.
Before she could question him further—
A sudden knock on the door made her jump.
Not angry.Not aggressive.
Just… unexpected.
She straightened, wiping her hands nervously, and opened it.
A woman stood outside.
Old.Thin.Eyes sharp like needles.
She lived on the second floor—nosey, always watching. One of those neighborhood women who knew everything about everyone.
She leaned close with a cold smile.
"I've been hearing interesting things," the woman said in a too-sweet tone. "About you. And your child."
His mother stiffened.
"My child…?"
The woman's eyes slid toward him.
"I heard he talks early. Walks early. Learns quickly. Very quickly."
The baby locked eyes with her.
The woman tilted her head.
"Strange for a boy his age."
His mother's voice turned defensive. "He's… just bright."
The woman smiled, showing too many teeth.
"Bright children attract attention.And attention attracts problems."
She leaned closer.
"You should be careful.Some people don't like… unusual things."
His mother shivered.
The woman smirked, then walked away.
The baby watched her steps… memorizing her gait, tone, posture.
This woman wasn't dangerous.She was worse—
She was a gossip.And gossip spreads like wildfire.
If she decided he was unusual…
People would notice.Questions would rise.Whispers would multiply.
He could not afford that.
Not yet.
He crawled to his mother's lap and hugged her tightly.
She clutched him, whispering:
"It's okay… you're just smart… nothing's wrong with that…"
But he knew the truth.
Power attracts enemies.Even the smallest spark draws the eyes of those who fear fire.
This was his warning.
His abilities needed to stay hidden—until the time was right.