The private office was too big.Too quiet.Too polished.
Everything in it felt like it didn't belong to someone who made mistakes.Or hesitated.Or regretted anything.
The toddler took it all in from his mother's lap — the marble floor, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the books organized too perfectly, the expensive leather chairs.
And of course…
Kang Dojin.
He was sitting across from them now, hands folded, expression unreadable.
But his eyes?Those were busy.
Studying the toddler the way investors study stocks they want to buy.
Dojin leaned back slightly.
"Hana… you're looking well."
Her throat locked.That wasn't a greeting — it was a test.
"Th-Thank you," she whispered.
He nodded slowly, eyes softening just enough to be confusing.
"It's been a long time."
"…Yes."
"Years."
"…Yes."
"Why didn't you contact me after his death?"
Her breath hitched so hard the toddler could feel her chest shake.
"I… I didn't think you'd want to see me," she whispered.
"Why not?"
Because you're too powerful.Because you belonged to a different world.Because she'd spent her entire marriage watching her husband carefully hide anything connected to Dojin.
But she couldn't say that.
Instead:
"…I didn't want to bring trouble."
Dojin let those words hang in the air for a moment.
"To me?" he asked quietly."Or to yourself?"
Her lips parted.
"I don't know," she whispered.
He leaned forward.
"And now?"
She froze.He wasn't asking about the past anymore.
He was asking about the present.About fear.About the child she held so tightly.
Her hands trembled again.
"…I don't want trouble for my son."
There.
The truth.
"Your son," Dojin repeated softly.
His attention returned to the toddler — this time with sharper focus.
"What's your name?"
His mother panicked internally.She clutched the toddler tighter, whispering:
"It's okay, you don't have to answer…"
But the toddler simply blinked once.
Calm.Innocent.
And said nothing.
Dojin raised an eyebrow.
"He understands me," he said softly."That much is clear."
Her breath stopped."No, he—he's just—!"
But Dojin wasn't listening to her excuses.
He tilted his head slightly, studying the child.
"You're quiet," he murmured."Like your father."
The toddler held his gaze.
Steady.Cool.Adult.
And in that moment, something shifted in Dojin.
His expression changed — just a tiny twitch in the muscle near his eye.
A realization.
This child wasn't ordinary.
He wasn't reading the room the way toddlers do — copying adults, reacting randomly.
He was measuring it.
Measuring him.
And Dojin saw it.
"Let's talk alone," Dojin said.
His mother stiffened.
"A-Alone? No—he stays with me."
"Of course," Dojin said gently. "I didn't mean he should leave. I meant…"
He glanced at the driver, who bowed and stepped out.
The office doors closed softly.
Now it was just the three of them.
Dojin folded his hands.
"I won't waste time, Hana. I need to ask you something very important."
She swallowed.
He waited until she met his eyes.
"Were you planning to raise him alone forever?"
Her eyes widened.
"I—what do you mean—?"
"You didn't tell anyone about his father. You didn't tell me. You didn't tell the family. You cut everyone out."
He leaned forward.
"Why?"
Her fingers clutched the toddler's clothes.
"Because that world," she whispered, voice trembling, "was too big. Too cold. Too dangerous. I didn't want him swallowed by it."
Dojin didn't react for a moment.
Then he sighed.
"Hana… I don't blame you. But you should've told me."
Her voice quivered.
"You wouldn't have cared…"
His expression hardened.
"That's where you're wrong."
Silence.
Cold.Sharp.Dangerous silence.
Dojin looked past her, toward the window, as if watching a memory only he could see.
"Your husband…" he began slowly, "didn't simply 'pass away'."
Her breath caught.
The toddler's eyes flicked upward.
Dojin continued:
"There were… circumstances."
"W-What circumstances?" she whispered shakily.
Dojin's jaw tightened.
"Things I wasn't allowed to tell you. Things he didn't want you to know."
Her heart dropped.
"Dojin… what happened to him…?"
He looked at her then — and for the first time, his eyes weren't cold.They were bitter.
"He died because he refused to return to the life he left."
Her blood ran cold.
"You mean… someone caused it?" she whispered.
Dojin didn't answer directly.
Which was an answer on its own.
Dojin looked at the toddler again.
"Your father was brilliant," he said quietly. "Too brilliant. People hated that."
The toddler's hand twitched.
Just a tiny movement.Barely visible.
But Dojin saw it.
His eyes sharpened instantly.
And that was when he asked something that almost broke the mother's heart.
"Hana," he said softly, "has your son shown any signs that he inherited that brilliance?"
Her breath hitched.
She opened her mouth—
Before she could speak, the toddler gently grabbed her sleeve.
A small movement.But precise.
A warning:
Don't say anything.
Her voice cracked as she lied:
"N-No… he's… he's just a normal baby…"
Dojin didn't look convinced.
Not at all.
But he let it go.
For now.
He stood slowly.
"Hana," he said, "I want you to consider something."
Her heart pounded.
"Consider what…?"
He looked at the toddler with the kind of gaze reserved for valuable things — priceless things.
"Let me help raise him."
Her entire world stopped.
"N-No, absolutely not—!"
"Hana," he said calmly, "I'm not asking as a businessman. I'm asking as someone who loved your husband like a brother."
But the toddler didn't buy a single word of that.
He saw the truth behind those calm eyes:
Dojin didn't want to help raise him.He wanted to shape him.Mold him.Influence him.Possibly control him.
Because people like Dojin didn't invest without expecting returns.
And a child this intelligent…was a long-term investment.
His mother hugged him tightly.
"I won't let anyone take him," she whispered.
Dojin's expression didn't change.
But something flickered long enough for the toddler to feel it:
Challenge accepted.
The meeting ended without resolution.
But as they left the building and the car door closed, the toddler looked out the window one more time.
Up at the glass office.Up at the man watching from the top floor.
Two minds.Two worlds.Two futures.
Intersecting because of one man they both lost.
But the toddler knew something Dojin didn't:
This time, he wasn't a powerless adult dying alone.He was a child with a second life, a brilliant mind, and a mother worth fighting the world for.
The war hadn't started yet.
But the first move was made.