The old man who lived by the mill was half-blind and mostly forgotten by the village. People said he had once been a scholar, long ago, but now he barely spoke, and his house was full of dust, old scrolls, and broken shelves.
To most children, the place was something to be avoided. They said the old man talked to ghosts.
But not to Ji-hyeon.
He liked the silence there.
At four years old, Ji-hyeon had started to wander beyond his home when Mira was busy. He never went far—just far enough to find new places to sit and watch. And one day, that path led him to the crooked door of the old scholar's house.
It creaked open before he even knocked.
"Come in, child," a voice rasped from within.
Ji-hyeon hesitated for a moment. Then stepped inside.
---
The room was warm and dim. Scrolls littered the floor. Candles melted into thick wax puddles. A thick, dusty scent hung in the air—parchment and time.
The old man sat cross-legged by a stack of books taller than Ji-hyeon himself. His eyes, clouded but sharp, regarded the boy with curiosity.
"You're the one who doesn't cry, aren't you?"
Ji-hyeon said nothing.
The man chuckled. "Good. I hate noise."
He reached behind him and pulled out a thin, worn piece of parchment.
"Do you know what this is?"
Ji-hyeon stepped closer.
Letters.
Curved, ancient shapes that stirred something deep within him. He didn't know how to read them, not yet—but he remembered their shape. Like a whisper from a past life.
"No," he said, softly. "But I want to."
---
And so, the old man—whose name was Teacher Gwan—began to let the boy return, again and again.
He never taught him directly. Never instructed him with patience or praise. He simply gave him old books, left him alone in the corner, and watched.
Ji-hyeon absorbed everything.
He stared at pages for hours, sometimes without blinking, until the letters began to make sense. The words rearranged themselves in his mind, like an instinct waking up.
By the end of the second week, he could read basic lines.
By the end of the month, he was writing.
---
At home, Mira noticed his changes.
"Where did you learn that?" she asked when she found him scribbling symbols into the dirt.
He only smiled.
"A friend."
She didn't press. But she started watching him more closely.
Especially when he stared too long at the moon.
Or whispered to himself in languages no one taught him.
---
And still, deep inside, Ji-hyeon waited.
Waited for the world to show signs of the magic he once commanded.
Waited for his forgotten power to awaken.
But for now, he would read. He would learn. And he would pretend to be ordinary.
Because some things were better left sleeping… until the right moment.