The tension in the neighborhood didn't decrease after Junseok's warning—it grew sharper.
Fear didn't make people kinder.Fear made them unpredictable.
The gossip woman stayed quiet for now.Not because she felt guilty—but because she was scared.
The sewing shop owner said nothing for two whole days—which was worse than yelling.
His mother felt it.
Every time she stepped outside, she gripped the stroller tighter.Every little sound made her jump.Every shadow made her nervous.
But something else was happening too.
Something brighter.
Something stronger.
On the fourth morning, Mirin called again.
Her voice was practically glowing.
"Mrs. Seo! The new wallets you delivered? SOLD. OUT. AGAIN."
His mother gasped."S-Sold out… again?"
"Yes! They're becoming a trend—people are posting about them online. We even had someone ask if you could make a special limited edition color."
His mother covered her mouth, shaking with happiness.
"I—I can try… I'll try my best…"
"You're doing more than your best," Mirin said. "My father and I are very impressed."
Before ending the call, Mirin added softly:
"Oh, and… don't worry about your neighborhood. If anyone causes trouble, tell us. We'll protect our supplier."
His mother cried silently after hanging up—this time from pure, overwhelming joy.
She hugged her son tightly.
"We're… we're doing it," she whispered. "We're really doing it…"
The toddler climbed onto her lap, leaning into her warmth.
Yes.
They were rising.
But rises always triggered reactions.
Jealousy.Fear.Hate.
And it was only a matter of time before something snapped.
That afternoon, while she worked, he walked up to her sewing table and placed a small piece of fabric on her lap.
She looked down.
"You want… this one?"
He nodded.
Then said clearly:
"Pretty color."
Her needle almost slipped.
"Y-You're speaking so well today…"
He gave her an innocent smile.
She wiped tears from her eyelashes."Every day… you surprise me…"
She hugged him again, long and warm.
On some level, she knew.
She knew he wasn't normal.She knew he understood far more than a toddler should.She knew he wasn't just mimicking words.
But she didn't fear it.
She embraced it.
Like a mother embracing a miracle.
But miracles made enemies jealous.
And jealous enemies grew bold at night.
That evening, distant yelling echoed through the hallway.
The sewing shop owner.
"You idiots! Why aren't customers buying!?""They want HER wallets!""She stole everything from us!""Do you expect me to live off scraps!?"
A crash.
Another.
The teenage boy's voice cracked as he yelled back,"She didn't steal anything! YOU failed!"
A slap.
A cry.
His mother froze at the sound, spoon shaking in her hand.
The toddler simply stared at the door.
Not in fear.
In warning.
The shop owner was becoming unstable.And unstable men made dangerous choices.
Something bad was coming.
Everything happened after midnight.
The building was quiet.
Too quiet.
His mother had fallen asleep on the floor while sewing, her head resting against the wall. The toddler dozed in her lap… until he heard footsteps outside the door.
Slow.Unsteady.Malicious.
Not the boy.
The father.
His breathing was heavy… and ragged… like someone drunk or furious.
A soft scratch hit the door.
Then another.
His mother stirred, half-conscious. "Mmm…?"
The toddler sat up.
Scratch.Scratch.Scratch.
Like fingernails.
Or a key.
Trying to find a way in.
His mother's eyes snapped open.
She covered her mouth to hold back a scream.
More scratching.A muttered voice.
"…ruined me… ruined… she ruined my life…"
The sewing shop owner.
Drunk.Broken.Desperate.
And dangerous.
He could break the lock.He could kick the door.He could hurt her.
His mother hugged him tightly, shaking like a leaf.
"S-Shh… shh, baby… don't make a sound…"
But he wasn't scared.
He was thinking.
Fast.
This wasn't about survival now.
It was about control.
And he could affect that—even as a toddler.
He slid off her lap and crawled toward the door.His mother grabbed him—"NO—!"
But he shook his head.
Then he did something shocking:
He crawled to the sewing table, grabbed the metal ruler with both tiny hands, and slammed it loudly on the floor.
CLANG!
Silence.
The drunk man froze outside.
Another loud CLANG! followed.
His mother's heart stopped.
Another loud CLANG!—this time accompanied by his toddler voice:
"Go!"
The man outside stumbled.
"What—? Who's—?"
He banged the door once with his fist.
The toddler repeated:
"GO!"
And this time, he growled it with a deep, unnatural intensity—something no baby should be able to do.
The hallway fell silent.
Breathing stopped.
The man muttered something incoherent… then staggered away.
Faster than he came.
His mother collapsed, sobbing into her hands.
He crawled back into her arms quietly.
She held him, crying hard now.
"I almost lost you… I almost… I can't… I can't lose you…"
He placed a tiny hand on her cheek.
She kissed his forehead with trembling lips.
"You saved us…" she whispered.
But inside, he whispered a different truth:
This is only the beginning.They crossed a line tonight.I won't forgive them.Not now.Not ever.
The next morning, while she cleaned the floor, he sat quietly in the corner with a scrap of paper.
He drew lines.Circles.Paths.
A toddler drawing?
No.
A map.
His first strategy.
At two years old.
He wasn't strong.
But he was smart.
And one day, the sewing shop owner…the gossip lady…this entire hateful building…
Would regret ever trying to break his mother.
Because he wasn't a helpless child.
He was a general growing in the shadows.
And the world was slowly, quietly, beginning to realize it.