The door to Haemin Brokerage closed behind him with a soft click.
Jae-Hyun stood for a second under the narrow awning, feeling the warm afternoon air press against his jacket. He tucked the thin folder carefully under his arm and slipped the small white envelope, the keycard, into his pocket.
It didn't feel like anything special. Just a plastic card, a folded receipt, a few pieces of paper.
But he knew better. They were seeds. Small now. Quiet. But if he did things right, they'd grow into something no one could ignore.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack and started walking.
The sidewalks were busy in a lazy, weekend kind of way. Shopkeepers leaned against doorframes, chatting and smoking. Kids weaved between old women dragging carts behind them. A group of teenagers loitered by the bus stop, kicking an empty soda can back and forth.
Jae-Hyun kept his head down and moved with the flow, not wanting to draw attention.
The folder under his arm suddenly felt too obvious, like it was screaming look at me, even though no one gave him a second glance.
Still, a different unease gnawed at him. Not about the papers.Something deeper.
He couldn't stop thinking about earlier, the faint shimmer he saw over the receptionist's head, the lines of floating words no one else could see. The ease with which he'd understood it, accepted it, like it had been waiting for him all along.
The Eyes of God. Hae-Lin had called it a gift, a tool. But what gnawed at him was something else.
How come almost everyone he had looked at had... something? Affinity. Potential. Dormant, sure, but real.
If magic was supposed to be some rare, high-class bloodline thing, why did a tired office worker like that woman have it too?
Why had his mom shown an affinity?
The questions itched under his skin, sharp and insistent.
He needed answers. But not out here, where anyone could see him talking to thin air like some street-corner lunatic.
His feet took him automatically down a side alley he knew well, a narrow passage between two aging apartment blocks, the kind of place stray cats lounged in the shade and old bicycles rusted away quietly.
No one paid attention to alleys like these.
Perfect.
He glanced around once, twice, making sure no one was nearby. Then, under his breath, low enough that it might've just been the breeze, he said, "Hae-Lin."
A soft pulse of warmth brushed his skin. The air shimmered gently in front of him, like heat waves off asphalt.
And there she was.
Not bright. Not overwhelming. Just... there. Floating a few feet away, small and composed, as if she'd been waiting nearby the whole time.
He felt the familiar stir of nervousness in his chest, but pushed through it.
"I have some questions," he said, keeping his voice quiet.
Hae-Lin inclined her head slightly, her glow steady but soft.
"Speak."
Jae-Hyun shifted, his thumb absently rubbing the edge of the folder tucked under his arm.
"You told me about the Eyes," he started, choosing his words carefully. "I get that part. But... the people I've looked at. They all had something."
He watched her face, or what counted as a face for her, but she didn't interrupt.
"My mom. That woman at the brokerage. They all had... Affinities," he said. "Even though you said magic was hidden. Hoarded by the rich."
He swallowed, feeling the nerves tighten his throat.
"So, how is it everywhere?"
The alley felt smaller somehow, the walls pressing closer.
Hae-Lin didn't answer immediately. She floated a little closer instead, until her presence filled the space between them like a quiet heartbeat.
"It is not everywhere," she said after a moment. Her voice was soft, not patronizing—like explaining something delicate to someone willing to listen.
"But it is not as rare as you believe," she continued. "Once, long ago, magic flowed freely through many bloodlines. Over time, through war, through fear, through greed... it was pushed into corners. Bound to certain names. Certain houses."
She drifted sideways lazily, her glow pulsing with each slow word.
"Those without power forgot what they carried. Those with power pretended they were the only ones who deserved it."
Jae-Hyun let that sink in.
"So people like my mom—" he started.
"—carry echoes," Hae-Lin finished for him. "Faint, but still real."
He glanced down at his hands, flexing them absently.
"And me?" he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.
"You are not an echo," she said simply."You are a crossroads."
He frowned.
"What does that even mean?"
But Hae-Lin only smiled faintly, as if she knew more than she was ready to say.
"You'll understand soon enough," she said as she shimmered out of sight.
The sun shifted above the alley, throwing long shadows across the cracked ground.
Jae-Hyun exhaled slowly, feeling the tension uncoil a little.
He glanced toward the mouth of the alley where the late afternoon sun was pooling, the light stretching long and golden across the cracked pavement.
Almost home.
He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, the folder with his account papers crinkling slightly against his side.
And for the first time that day, without the pressure of the brokerage appointment or the new power burning questions into his head, he remembered something simple.
His mom.
He hadn't forgotten, exactly. But now, without everything else crowding in, the memory of her face this morning, tired, smiling anyway, apologizing for the cup noodles, hit him properly.
He should get her something.
Not just because he felt guilty, though that was part of it.
Because he wanted to.
Something small.
A thanks.
A sorry.
A promise.
He didn't have much left after the investment, just enough crumpled bills tucked into his wallet, but maybe enough for something nice. A box of tea she liked. A little lotion for her cracked hands. Something she'd never buy for herself.
A real smile. That was what he wanted to see.
He set off down the alley at an easy pace, checking his pocket for the cash as he walked, already running through what stores were open nearby that sold things his mother would appreciate.
His stomach grumbled faintly, reminding him he hadn't eaten anything real yet today, but he ignored it.
Priorities.
Today wasn't about him.
Today was about fixing the little things he could fix.
He smiled a little to himself, just a flicker of something private and real, as he moved toward the light.
He didn't notice the shadow falling across the alley entrance until it was too late.
The first thing he felt was a hand clamping down hard on his shoulder, jerking him backward a half-step.
His body reacted before his brain could catch up, tensing, heart hammering into his throat.
He spun halfway, instinct shouting at him to pull free, and his eyes locked onto the boy gripping his bag.
Not much older than him. Lean, wiry. Sharp eyes that gleamed meanly under the low afternoon sun.
Jae-Hyun didn't recognize him.
Didn't need to.
The way the boy held himself, the lazy confidence in his stance, it was enough.
This guy was trouble.
And it wasn't just him.
Movement flickered at the edges of his vision, two more boys sliding out of the deeper shadows, one behind him and another lounging against the crumbling wall up ahead, half-blocking the way out.
For a second, everything in Jae-Hyun froze.
And just like that, the words he'd thought earlier came slamming back into his head,
"Nobody pays attention to alleys like these."