The weekend market in their old Seoul neighborhood was noisy in the kind of way that made everything feel alive. Vendors shouted prices in competing tones, trying to lure customers with discounts, deals, or pure desperation. The cold air carried the smell of roasted chestnuts, frying batter, steaming fishcakes, and freshly chopped herbs.
His mother walked slowly through the crowd, holding him close against her chest. The baby carrier was old, the straps faded, but she held it with the tenderness of a person holding their entire world.
She didn't say anything, but he could feel her heartbeat—
Fast.Uneasy.Full of hope and fear tangled together.
Because today…was her first step toward trying something on her own.
No boss.No middleman.No underpayment.Just her work.
And his idea.
She found a small empty space between a vegetable stall and a stand selling pirated CDs. It wasn't much—just a small spot where nobody bothered to stand. But for a struggling single mother with one handmade bag of wallets, it was perfect.
She carefully spread a thin cloth on the ground, smoothing out the wrinkles as if presenting something sacred. Then she placed the fabric wallets on top—six in total.
Six chances.
Six hopes.
Six fragile dreams.
He watched her crouch down, adjusting each wallet so they looked presentable. Her fingers shook slightly. She had never done something like this before. She had always worked in the background, silently stitching clothes for others, never daring to sell something of her own creation.
She sat down behind the tiny display, clutching her hands in her lap.
He saw what she felt:
What if nobody buys?What if nobody even looks?What if I fail?
In her world, failure didn't hurt pride.
Failure meant hunger.Eviction.Shame.
She couldn't afford failure.
And that fear was suffocating her.
He studied her face from her arms, watching the shadows in her eyes. His mother was strong, but she had been beaten down too many times by life and poverty. Her hope was fragile—like cold glass.
He needed to help her.
Even if he was just a toddler.
People walked by.Dozens.Hundreds.
No one stopped.
Some glanced.Most ignored her completely.
That was the way life treated the poor—Like they were invisible.
His mother bowed her head every time someone walked by, hoping her humility alone would soften the world.
It didn't.
Minutes turned to an hour.
Her shoulders drooped.Her eyes dimmed.
Not a single wallet sold.
The cold wind brushed her thin sleeves, and she rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them while pretending not to tremble.
He could feel her heartbeat again—
Faster now, but not from hope.
From fear.
We need the rent…We need money…Just one sale…Please… just one…
His tiny fingers tightened around the edge of her sweater.
She whispered to him, fragile as cracking glass,"It's okay… Mama will try again…"
But her voice said something different.
"It's not okay. I'm scared."
He made a decision.
He lifted one of his small hands and reached toward the wallets on the ground. His mother blinked, confused.
"You want that?" she asked softly.
He shook his head.
Then he tapped the wallet again—Then clapped loudly.
The sound caught a passerby's attention—a middle-aged woman carrying shopping bags.
"Oh? What's the baby excited about?"
His mother blushed. "Ah—he just likes the colors."
The woman leaned down, curious now, and picked up one of the wallets.
She flipped it over, examining the stitching.
"This is very nice… Did you make these?"
His mother hesitated. "Yes."
"How much?"
Her voice came out shaking. "₩2,000…"
The woman blinked. "…That low?"
His mother panicked."I-I can make cheaper—"
"No," the woman interrupted firmly. "This is worth more. I'll buy two."
His mother's eyes widened, lips parting in shock.
She wasn't used to hearing value in anything she made.She wasn't used to being praised.She wasn't used to someone believing her work was good.
Her hands trembled as she accepted the money.
The woman smiled. "Your son has good taste. Such a smart baby!"
She waved and walked away.
His mother stared at the bills in her hand for a long moment.
She whispered, voice cracking,"I sold something… I actually sold something…"
Her tears came slowly—not of sadness,but of disbelief.
She hugged him tightly, burying her face in his soft hair.
"You're my lucky charm…" she whispered.
He rested his head on her shoulder.
Lucky charm?No.
This was strategy.
The beginning of everything.
After the first woman, two more customers stopped.
One bought a wallet for her niece.Another complimented the stitching.
Small things.
Tiny sales.
But to his mother, each one was a miracle.
Each one was proof that she wasn't worthless.That she wasn't invisible.That she was capable.
By midday, four out of six wallets were gone.
His mother held the money like it was treasure.
Her eyes sparkled with a new light.
Hope.
Real hope.
Something he had never seen on her face until today.
A hope he would protect with everything he had.
But the world isn't kind.
And hope always attracts envy.
Late in the afternoon, the teenage boy from the sewing shop passed by. He spotted her small display and frowned like someone had insulted him.
"What's this?" he snapped.
His mother stiffened. "Just… something I made."
"You're not supposed to be selling on your own," he sneered. "My dad depends on your work. If you start doing this, he'll cut you off."
His mother immediately bowed her head, submitting out of fear.
"I'm sorry… I just needed a little extra…"
The boy scoffed loudly and picked up one of the remaining wallets.
"This looks childish."
He tossed it back onto the cloth with intentional disrespect.
The baby in her arms watched silently—
Eyes cold.Mind calculating.
This boy would become a problem.
A noise.A competitor.A future enemy.
And the boy wasn't done.
"Don't get any ideas. If you think you can survive without my dad's work, you're stupid."
His mother shrank into herself, trying not to shake.
He felt his tiny fists curl.
In both his lives, he hated bullies—especially those who preyed on the poor.
And when the boy sneered and turned his back—
The toddler leaned forwardand bit his arm.
Hard.
"OW! What the hell?!"
His mother gasped. "Oh my God—I'm so sorry! He didn't—he doesn't know—"
But everyone in the market turned.
The boy held his arm, glaring.
The baby stared back—
Expression blank,Eyes sharp.
The boy hesitated, a chill crawling up his spine.
Because for a moment, he didn't see a toddler.
He saw something older.Darker.Dangerous.
He backed away.
"This isn't over," he muttered.
And he left.
By the time the market closed, his mother had sold all six wallets.
Every.Single.One.
And when she counted the earnings in her hand, she began to cry—silently, her shoulders trembling.
Not from pain.
From relief.
From pride.
From the realization that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't trapped forever.
She hugged him close and whispered,"You made mama so lucky today… I love you… I love you so much…"
He rested against her chest, listening to her heartbeat.
Not luck.
A plan.
A beginning.
A first spark that would one day turn into an inferno.
This was the day a broken mother felt hope again.This was the day a reborn man took his first economic step.
And the world had no idea what was coming.