The car ride back felt longer than it actually was.
His mother didn't speak.Didn't look up.Didn't breathe properly.Her fingers trembled on the toddler's tiny hand the whole way home.
She wasn't just overwhelmed.
She was breaking.
By the time they reached their apartment building, she could barely unlock the door.The keys slipped from her hand twice.On the third try, the toddler reached out and steadied her wrist.
Only then did the lock turn.
The moment the door closed behind them—
She collapsed.
She slid down the wall to the floor and buried her face in her hands.
Her breaths came out in short, shaky bursts.
"Oh god… oh god… what am I supposed to do…?""He wants to raise you—he wants to take you—he thinks he has the right—""What if he finds out how smart you are… what if he thinks you're some… asset…?""What if he sees your father in you…"
She couldn't finish another sentence.
The toddler crawled into her lap, his warm forehead pressing against her chest.
It was the only thing grounding her.
She hugged him so tightly he could feel her heart pounding like a trapped bird.
"I can't lose you," she whispered."I can't… I can't…"
He held onto her shirt with tiny fingers.
He didn't cry.
He didn't tremble.
He watched with quiet, steady eyes—old eyes in a small body.
He understood her fear.He understood her pain.He had lived it before, alone, in a room like this.
Not this time.
Later that night, after she finally calmed down, she took him to the kitchen to make porridge.
But something felt off.
She kept glancing toward the window.
The hallway.
The door.
Her instincts were screaming at her.
More than once, the toddler felt it too.
A presence.Not inside the room.But near.
Close.
Like someone was standing just beyond their world, listening for cracks in it.
When she went to hang laundry outside the window, the toddler saw it—
A shadow across the alley.
Not moving.Not shifting.Just… waiting.
Someone was watching.
Not a neighbor.Not the gossip woman.
Someone else.
Someone with patience.
Someone with purpose.
Someone who didn't want to be seen.
He looked up at his mother.
"Mama," he whispered, barely audible.
She turned.
He pointed at the window.
She looked.
And saw nothing—the shadow had moved.
But the fear didn't leave her face.
She pulled the curtains closed immediately.
She whispered,
"…We're not safe."
The toddler agreed silently.
Not with Dojin.Not with the neighborhood.Not with the past resurfacing.
And now?
Someone else was entering the story.
Two blocks away, a man lowered his binoculars and sighed.
"So the kid looks normal," he muttered."Hard to believe he's the son…"
His partner lit a cigarette.
"You saw Dojin's car.You think he'd get personally involved over a normal baby?"
The first man grunted.
"HQ wants confirmation. That's all. Says the boy might be important."
"Important how?"
The man shrugged.
"No idea. But someone high up is interested. We just have to watch."
The cigarette smoke curled into the cold air.
"But if Dojin is looking too…"He spat on the ground."…this job's gonna get messy."
The toddler didn't know who they were yet.
But he would.
Soon.
When his mother put him down on the blanket to rest, the toddler didn't rest.
He crawled to the window.Quietly.Slowly.
He tugged the curtain open just enough—not wide, not obvious—just a narrow slit.
A slit that would show a tiny movement.A reflection.A shifting shadow.
If someone was still watching,they would react.Even slightly.
Even the best observers flinch when their subject suddenly looks back.
And the toddler waited.
A minute.
Two.
Three.
Then—
There.
A small, subtle movement near the alley corner.A slight adjustment.A body shifting position.
Someone was out there.
Someone who didn't expect a toddler to be this aware.
He dropped the curtain.
Trap successful.
Not caught…but identified.
His first move in this new game.
A small one—but effective.
Later that evening, his mother was folding clothes when she suddenly said:
"I need to budget this month carefully… We have orders, but the fabric costs went up…"
Without thinking, the toddler pointed at the receipts.
Just like before.
Then pointed at the calendar.
Then tapped twice.
Bulk purchase.Twice a month.Cost optimization.
It was instinct.
An economic reflex.
But she wasn't looking at the receipts.
She was looking at him.
Her face froze.
Her fingers trembled.
"Baby…" she whispered, "how did you…?"
He saw it—that brief terror in her eyes.
Terror that someone else might see this one day.
Terror that someone like Dojin might understand what he was.
He quickly reached for his stuffed toy and pretended he was pointing at that.
Her breath slowly steadied.
She exhaled shakily.
"…You scared me," she whispered."You're too smart… too fast…"
She hugged him tightly again.
And he let her.
Because he understood now:
The greatest danger wasn't men like Dojin.
It was being discovered too early.
As his mother finally fell asleep—exhausted, overwhelmed, emotionally drained—the toddler sat awake beside her.
Listening.
Thinking.
Planning.
Someone was watching the building.That meant two possibilities:
They wanted the mother.
They wanted the child.
Or they wanted both.
He wasn't going to let any of them succeed.
Not like his past life.Not again.
He looked at his tiny fists.
Helpless now.
But not forever.
He whispered a silent vow to the darkness:
"Touch her… and I won't forgive you."
In this life, he wouldn't wait for power.
He would build it.
Piece by piece.
One step ahead of enemies that didn't even know who they were dealing with.