The night after the attack was long.
His mother hardly slept.Every time he shifted in her arms, she jolted awake.Every sound in the hallway made her flinch.
But the toddler?
He didn't fear the sewing shop owner anymore.
The man had shown his true weakness—and broken men were predictable.
The real danger wasn't him.
It was the man watching from the shadows.
Kang Dojin.
And the past connected to him.
The next morning, sunlight filled the apartment.
His mother placed him on a blanket with toys—plastic rings, stacking cups, a soft puzzle.
But he ignored all of them.
Instead, he crawled toward her sewing receipts—small slips of paper listing fabric costs, zipper prices, thread amounts.
He picked one up.
His mother panicked slightly."Baby—don't chew that!"
But he didn't chew anything.
He looked at each line.
Then he made tiny tapping motions with his finger.
tap tap tap
Like someone doing mental calculations.
She froze.
He was calculating.
At two years old.
He looked at her and pointed at the total number on the receipt.
Then at the wallets sitting on the table.
His mother blinked in confusion.
"You… want to show me something?"
He pointed again:
The cost numbers
Then the wallets
Then he tapped the floor twice
Then pointed upward
As if saying:
Cost down.Value up.
Her lips parted.
"Are you… talking about money?"
He nodded.
Her heart thudded painfully.
A tiny whisper escaped her:
"…That's impossible…"
But he wasn't done.
He picked up another receipt, placed it next to a green wallet, then pointed at the brown wallet.
She watched carefully.
He tapped the brown wallet twice.
Then tapped the green wallet once.
Her eyes widened.
"You're saying… the brown one sells more?"
He nodded.
Her breath hitched.
This wasn't baby play.
This was analysis.
Pattern recognition.Market prediction.Product differentiation.
His talent wasn't just intelligence.
It was economic instinct.
Meanwhile, across Seoul, Kang Dojin sat in a quiet office reviewing newly gathered information.
His assistant handed him a folder.
"We found more about the artisan's past. About her family.And… about the father."
Dojin flipped through the first page.
Stopped.
His expression darkened.
The assistant whispered nervously:
"Sir… does it match what you suspected?"
Dojin didn't answer.
But he closed the folder slowly.
Thoughtfully.
"This child…" he murmured, remembering the toddler's sharp eyes."…he isn't just bright."
He stood and walked to the window.
"He looked at me like a man who had seen the world already."
"Sir, he's just a toddler—"
"No."Dojin's voice was low, certain."He's something else."
The assistant swallowed hard.
"What should we do next?"
"Keep watching," Dojin said."Quietly."
He tapped the folder.
"And find the remaining records about the father.There's still something missing."
That afternoon, while his mother prepared lunch, someone knocked.
Not a loud knock.Not angry.
A soft one.
She hesitated.Checked the peephole.
The teenage boy stood there.
Not his father.
Just the son.
He looked exhausted—eyes red, face pale.
She cautiously opened the door.
"H-Hello…?"
He bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For everything my father did."
She blinked.
"I… I don't blame you," she said softly. "This isn't your fault."
He held out a crumpled paper bag with trembling hands.
"He wanted to give you this.Before he left."
Her heart stopped.
"…Left?"
The boy nodded.
"He packed up today and went to his brother's place outside Seoul. The landlord forced him out. He won't bother you again."
Relief washed over her shoulders.
But the relief vanished when she looked inside the paper bag.
Inside was…
A broken wallet.Her design.Ripped apart.
And a note:
"This is what happens when you take from others."
Her legs nearly gave out.
The teenage boy whispered:
"I don't agree with him. I just didn't want to throw it away.I thought… you should know what he left."
His mother nodded weakly."T-Thank you…"
He bowed again and left.
She closed the door slowly.
Hands shaking.Heart racing.
She sat on the floor and covered her mouth.
The toddler crawled to her and placed his small hand on her knee.
She whispered:
"Why do people hate us so much…?"
The toddler looked at the broken wallet.The ripped stitches.The torn fabric.
Symbolic.
Petty.Cruel.Small-minded.
But also… predictable.
And weak.
He said softly:
"He gone."
She wiped her tears.
"Yes… he's gone…He can't hurt us anymore…"
But the toddler thought differently:
He was just the first enemy.Not the last.
Later that evening, as she inspected her materials, she sighed.
"I have to buy new fabric… but the prices keep going up…"
She whispered it to herself, not expecting a reply.
But the toddler answered.
Softly.Clearly.
"Buy… more."
She froze.
"Buy more…? But that's expensive…"
He tapped the rolls of fabric.
Then showed three fingers.
She tried to interpret it.
"Three rolls…?"
He shook his head and showed five fingers.
"Five…?"
He nodded.
"Five rolls? That's too much—"
He pointed at the receipts again.
Then pointed at the wallets.
Then tapped the floor once:
"Big."
Her lips parted.
He wasn't saying "buy more."
He was saying:
Buy in bulk.Reduce cost.Increase profit.
She whispered in awe:
"…You think I should… buy in bulk so the cost per piece goes down…?"
He nodded once.
Calmly.
She stared at him with a mix of fear and wonder.
"You… how do you know this…?"
He didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
Not yet.
But she held him tightly and whispered:
"You're not just smart… you're… something special…"
She kissed his forehead.
"For you…I'll be brave.I'll grow.I'll learn."
Her voice trembled.
"I'll build a real future."
The toddler leaned into her.
Because that was exactly what he wanted.
Exactly what he planned.
When night fell and the apartment darkened, his mother finally picked up the message from Dojin again.
She hesitated.
Then whispered something she never said aloud before:
"…If he knows about your father…I don't know if I'm ready."
The toddler opened his eyes in the dark.
His mother didn't know the truth yet.
But he was beginning to understand:
His father wasn't ordinary.His father wasn't random.His father was someone tied to power.To the past.To Dojin.
And once the truth came out…
Their peaceful life would never be the same.