The next morning came far too quickly.
His mother hadn't slept at all.Her eyes were swollen, her hands trembling every time she touched the sewing machine.She kept checking the door—again and again—to make sure it was locked.
Fear lived inside her now.
Not fear of poverty.Not fear of gossip.
Fear of violence.
Fear of a man who clawed at her door like an animal.
She didn't deserve that.
No mother did.
The toddler sat quietly beside her on the floor, watching her with heavy understanding.He couldn't speak like an adult yet, but he felt something deep:
She needs protection.And I will destroy anyone who threatens her.
Even if his hands were small now,his mind was not.
Around noon, loud yelling erupted downstairs again.
The sewing shop was in chaos.
"Customers canceled AGAIN?""How do we pay rent!?""This is your fault!""You didn't innovate!""It's her fault! That woman stole our business!"
People passing by stopped to stare.
The shop owner's wife was crying.The teenage boy was shouting back, blaming his father.The machines inside sat still and dusty.
No orders.No buyers.No business.
He was losing everything.
And like every weak man—
He needed someone to blame.
His mother.
And the toddler.
By afternoon, the gossip had taken a new shape—not against his mother this time,but against the sewing shop owner.
"Did he really try to break into her apartment?""That's insane.""What a dangerous man.""You can't blame the woman. She's just working hard.""She's making good money now. Why attack her?""He's jealous."
Some people even approached his mother quietly:
"Are you okay? Did something happen last night?""You should call the police if he bothers you again.""He's losing his mind."
His mother bowed and smiled weakly, saying nothing.
She didn't know who to trust.
And she didn't want to become the center of any conflict.
But a shift had happened—
The neighborhood wasn't fully against her anymore.
Some people were beginning to defend her.
Because even strangers could see:
She was rising.The sewing shop was falling.
And in poor communities,people tend to follow whoever looks stronger.
Around 4 PM, an old man approached the apartment.
He lived on the third floor—quiet, thin, with a limp—someone most people ignored.
He knocked softly.
His mother hesitated, but opened the door.
"Ahjussi…?"
The old man bowed slightly.
"I heard what happened… last night."
Her eyes widened. "I—I'm so sorry if we disturbed—"
"No," the old man interrupted gently. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. The sewing shop man… he has always been unstable."
He looked at the toddler, who stared right back, unblinking.
"I don't like trouble," the old man continued. "But if he comes again… knock on my door. I may be old, but I won't let a drunk hurt a child."
His mother gasped and bowed repeatedly.
"Thank you, sir… thank you so much…"
The old man waved it away."No thanks needed. I lived a long life. I can handle one foolish man."
Then he leaned closer to her.
"And don't worry too much. That boutique man… the one who came? I recognized him."
She blinked. "You know him?"
The old man nodded.
"He's the son of the Han Family. Wealthy, respectable, powerful."
Her breath caught.
"He will protect you. Trust him."
The toddler's eyes sharpened.
So Junseok was THAT kind of person.
Good.
They would need that.
That night, she tried to relax by putting on a children's TV program.He sat quietly, pretending to play with a toy car.
But when she left the room for a moment, he grabbed the newspaper she left on the chair.
Large Korean characters.
He read the headline silently.
Then the subheading.
Then half the article.
Absorbing information like a sponge.
What was it about?
Economic downturn.Rising unemployment.Rent prices increasing.Possible new government policies.
Things he could use.
Things he remembered from his past life.
He flipped to the second page—
And froze.
His mother had returned silently.
She stared at him holding the newspaper like a miniature adult.
Her lips parted.
"…Baby…?"
He quickly let the newspaper fall and crawled toward her, pretending clumsiness.
She exhaled shakily, placing a hand over her chest.
"You scared me…" she whispered. "You're too smart… sometimes too fast…"
Her voice trembled not from fear—but from worry.
She didn't want people to hurt him because he was special.
He crawled into her lap, letting her hold him.
For now, he needed to hide more carefully.
The world wasn't ready.
Not yet.
While they slept, across the city, another man reviewed sales reports at his desk.
He wasn't gentle like Junseok.He wasn't kind like Mirin.He wasn't petty like the sewing shop owner.
He was calculating.
Analytical.
Sharp.
His assistant hesitated beside him."Sir, the new handmade wallets at the Insadong branch… they sold out again."
"Yes," the man said. "And the profit margin is unusually high."
He tapped the photo on his desk—a picture of one of the wallets.
"Find out who crafted this," he ordered. "And everything about them."
The assistant swallowed."Everything?"
"Everything."
The man leaned back in his chair.
"Talent like this doesn't come from nowhere. I want to know who she is… and how she produces such quality."
His eyes narrowed.
"And if there's potential…"
He smiled thinly.
"We will acquire it."
Back in the small apartment, the toddler slept against his mother's chest.
She clutched him protectively.
Outside, the hallway creaked.
The sewing shop owner mumbled drunkenly to himself.The gossip woman whispered behind her door.The jealous neighbors watched carefully.
But somewhere across the city…
A businessman was about to disrupt everything.
The toddler's instincts whispered:
A new kind of enemy is coming.Not from poverty.Not from jealousy.But from ambition.
This enemy wouldn't attack with fists.He wouldn't scratch at doors.He wouldn't spread rumors.
He would attack with:
Money.Contracts.Power.Influence.Business.
A REAL challenge.
A future boss-level enemy.
And the toddler smiled in his sleep.
Because for the first time…
This was the type of enemy he was born to defeat.