Ji-yeon couldn't understand what she should say to her mother in response. She had never met this person, yet he was being chosen as her companion. However, trusting her mother's decision, she replied,
"Alright, Mother. I'll stand by him through every difficulty and hardship."
Miss Choi smiled at her response, kissed her lovingly, and began to leave the room. Just as she was about to exit, Ji-yeon asked,
"Mother, do you, like Alexa, believe we can ever defeat that sorcerer? We don't even know where he is." Her tone and demeanor were calm now, perhaps reassured by her mother's presence.
Miss Choi, who was standing near the door, replied, "Ji-yeon, we do know where the sorcerer is. But we are not making any moves against him just yet. When we do, he will certainly respond. That's why it's crucial that we are prepared for what's to come. That's why I've said that we are a family, and we must stand together for each other."
Agreeing, Ji-yeon nodded, acknowledging her mother's words. Miss Choi then left the room and on the second floor of the building, lost in deep thought.
"Ji-yeon," she reflected, "you may feel that you're not ready for this battle or capable of fighting the sorcerer. But Alexa, Jeong-won, and I know well that we have trained you for this moment for years. You may think I kept you away only for the protection of the palace,and Kangha."but that's not the case. I kept you at a distance to teach you things you wouldn't have learned if you stayed here. Perhaps it would have been better if your training were more like that of the palace guards, but it's also true that you, too, desire freedom, just as they do. Now, you only need to experience this battle for yourself because it will teach you what books never could. And, my daughter, you have not come here to learn; you came already prepared."
—-------------
"Where have you been all night?" Wojin asks, noticing Kangha quietly gathering his belongings in the room.
"Nothing much. I'm just sleeping here on the floor," Kangha replies casually.
"You're sleeping on the floor? What kind of answer is that?" Wojin questions, his voice laced with disbelief as he moves closer, grabbing Kangha's arm. It's clear Wojin is concerned about him.
Kangha gives a calm smile, meeting Wojin's gaze. "I told you—I'm just sleeping on the floor," he repeats, trying to reassure him, almost as if he wants Wojin to trust his words without asking more questions.
Wojin shakes his head, still skeptical. "You're sure you're not up to anything else tonight?" he asks, stepping back a bit, looking at Kangha's face, searching for any signs of deception.
"No, nothing else," Kangha replies smoothly. "I'm only sleeping here on the floor." He tucks some small items into his pocket, things he apparently collects while Wojin hasn't noticed.
"I've made some food. Come eat," Wojin says, finally letting the matter go and gesturing toward the doorway.
Kangha glances briefly at his pocket before nodding. "Yes, I'll come." He stands up, his expression as calm as ever, as if he isn't dodging a tense conversation. He's adept at concealing things and misleading the eyes; after all, he's a magician.
Wojin, though skilled as a lighthouse keeper and a computer technician, can't quite catch the subtle movements Kangha makes to hide his secrets.
—----
Kangha and Wojin sat silently at the table, the clinking of cutlery punctuating the quiet. After a few moments, Wojin finally spoke, his voice breaking the stillness.
"Why did you sleep on the floor last night?" Wojin asked, his tone casual but curious.
Woo-Jin can't shake the feeling that Kangha is hiding something from him. Earlier that morning, before sunrise, he had gone to Kangha's room, but Kangha wasn't there. Of course, it's not unusual. Kangha often goes for early runs, and he's known for his incredible speed. Woo-Jin can't deny his friend's talent in races.
Yet, this time, something feels off. It's not just the absence. Woo-Jin senses that Kangha is trying to conceal something.
"As a friend," Woo-Jin mutters to himself, "I know his expressions well. There's something he isn't telling me."
Kangha, who had been lost in his thoughts, didn't look up immediately. "I was lying there and... I fell asleep," he muttered, trying to brush off the question. He took another bite of food, his gaze drifting elsewhere.
Wojin studied him, his eyes narrowing as he observed Kangha closely. "Are you angry with me?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
"No," Kangha answered quickly, though his expression gave little away.
Wojin's suspicion grew, and he leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Kangha. "I feel like you're hiding something from me. Aren't you?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
Kangha froze for a moment. His face stiffened, and the color drained from his cheeks for a brief second. His hazel eyes widened, then quickly returned to normal.
"There's nothing like that," he replied, his voice steady now, though the faintest trace of discomfort lingered in his expression. "You know what I'm looking for... I'm just working hard for it."
Wojin leaned back in his chair, the question weighing heavily on him. After a moment, he asked, "Well... imagine what you would do if you found the man who killed your father?"
Without hesitation, Kangha's response came like a thunderclap. "I would kill him."
The words hung in the air for a long, tense moment before Wojin pressed further, his voice soft but deliberate. "And what if he was your own grandfather?"
Kangha's gaze hardened. He looked at Wojin as if considering the question for the first time, his face unreadable. "A father cannot take his son's life," he said quietly. "And I don't believe it to be true."
Wojin observed him closely, seeing the conflict in his eyes. "Then, you'll never accept that letter, will you? This path... it's wrong."
Kangha's jaw clenched, and he shook his head. " But still won't back down until I know the truth," he said with quiet determination.
"You left your grandfather too," Woo-Jin says, his voice carrying a mix of accusation and disappointment. "He's the only one who can tell you the full truth."
Kangha leans back, swirling the drink in his hand before taking a sip. "That grandfather isn't the same anymore," he replies, his tone distant. "He's changed a lot. Now, he's just the headmaster of the school. Nothing more."
Woo-Jin's jaw tightens, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "And why is that? Don't you think it's because of your actions?"
"Maybe not," Kangha counters, his words slightly slurred but firm. "Maybe it's because of his responsibilities. Those responsibilities have changed him more than anything else."
Woo-Jin studies Kangha closely, noticing the faint heaviness in his voice. Is he drunk? he wonders, his brows furrowing.
"I've told you before," Woo-Jin says, his tone softening slightly, "you can become the headmaster. It's your right by tradition. You just have to accept it."
Before Kangha can respond, his head tilts forward, and the glass slips from his hand. He slumps over, unconscious. Woo-Jin sighs deeply, shaking his head.
"It's his first time drinking," Woo-Jin mutters to himself, picking up the glass and setting it aside. "That's why he couldn't handle it."
Leaving Kangha sprawled on the couch, Woo-Jin heads to his room. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and silence envelops the apartment.
The stillness is broken moments later. Kangha's eyes snap open, clear and alert, as if he had never been unconscious. His movements are steady as he rises to his feet, brushing himself off. His face betrays no trace of intoxication—he's completely sober.
Without hesitation, Kangha strides to the door and steps out of the apartment. His steps are deliberate, his gaze fixed ahead. Outside, the cool day, air greets him as he exits the building.
The shadows swallow his figure as he walks away, his expression calm and unreadable. Kangha is gone, leaving behind only questions and a friend who remains unaware of his true intentions.
—-----------------
—---------
"Grandpa, where have you brought me today? And what are all these bottles?" Kangha asks, his young voice filled with curiosity and confusion.
The room resembles an office, with shelves lining the walls and a massive cabin filled with skinny and stuffed bottles. The dim lighting casts long shadows over the glass containers, making the space feel mysterious.
"These," his grandfather says, gesturing toward the cabin, "are bottles of wine."
Kangha's brows knit together. "But Grandpa, isn't alcohol forbidden in the school?"
"I know," his grandfather replies with a calm, almost calculating tone. "That's why I've brought you here during your free time."
"But why?" Kangha questions, his eyes narrowing as suspicion flickers in his mind.
"So you can drink them and learn to control yourself."
Kangha freezes. He's only ten years old, a child who had read in his books that alcohol is something kept far away from children—something harmful and dangerous.
"Grandpa, I don't think this is right. Alcohol isn't meant for me or anyone my age."
His grandfather's expression doesn't change. "You have to learn, Kangha. To drink it and then control it. This is a skill you must master."
Despite his hesitation and confusion, Kangha begins the lessons his grandfather insists on. Over time, he doesn't just learn to drink; he learns to resist the pull of addiction. The poison in the bottle loses its power over him. He gains mastery over his impulses, training his mind and body to remain unaffected by the intoxication that cripples others.
By the time he finishes, Kangha realizes that no drink—no matter how potent—has any effect on him. His grandfather watches him with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
"You've done well," his grandfather says one day. "Remember this lesson, Kangha. "The greatest strength is controlling what others cannot."
Though Kangha doesn't fully understand the purpose behind his grandfather's strange teachings, he knows one thing for certain—his relationship with this man and his unconventional ways has changed him forever.
—-------------
Kangha walks out of the building briskly, his mind racing with thoughts he cannot fully comprehend. He halts at a nearby bus stop, where a small crowd has already gathered, waiting for the next bus. The stop is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked concrete, hinting at a recent downpour. Kangha's sharp eyes scan the departing buses, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the strange dream he had last night.
"That dream…" he murmurs under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. It wasn't just a dream—it felt real. Too real to ignore.
He clenches his fists. "To understand its meaning, I need to meet the author of that book," he resolves, his voice firm but low. "Only they can explain what this dream truly means. And if Grandfather is really in danger, I must do whatever it takes to help him."
The uncertainty gnaws at him as he stares at the road ahead. Where is fate leading me? What trials await on this unknown path?
The hiss of brakes pulls him from his thoughts. A bus pulls up to the stop, its doors creaking open. One by one, the passengers begin to board. Kangha hesitates for a moment, This is the first step toward answers—or perhaps, toward something far more dangerous than he can imagine….