Park Ji-Hoon sat quietly on the doorstep of the old manor, his expression soft, his head tilted slightly upward to feel the breeze brushing across his face. The air was gentle, the world peaceful.
He is smiling while thinking the present life. This life- quiet, slow, filled with small warmth's—wasn't so bad after all.
The sun, nearing the horizon, spilled its golden light across the sky. The last rays stretched toward the cliff beside the manor, illuminating the waterfall in a soft glow. Mist shimmered in the air like drifting silk, and the scent of fresh soil - earthy, clean, alive - hung gently in the breeze. It was the kind of scent that made you pause and breathe just a little deeper.
The old couple, having finished tending the fields for the day, walked side by side toward the manor. Their steps were unhurried, their voices a quiet murmur beneath the rustling leaves.
Not far from the house, under the shadow of the ancient tree, the little girl carved her latest creation, humming off-key to herself.
"Yuna, playtime's over," the old lady called out fondly, "Come help Grandma now."
Without looking up, the girl huffed. "I still haven't finished my Princess doll - Ice Lady Yuna! I'll come when it's done!"
The old woman sighed with a smile and shook her head. "If you don't come now, you can forget about dinner."
Yuna scowled, still focused on her carving. "Why is it always me? Ask that lazy brother instead! He just sits around, staring into sky and clouds!"
"You brat," the old woman muttered, chuckling as she glanced at the old man beside her. "She's getting cheekier by the day. Always throwing him under the wagon to escape chores."
The old man laughed. "Let her be. She's just lonely. That's why she carves those dolls—little friends to keep her company."
His voice softened as he added, "And she knows about his condition. She just doesn't know how to express it yet. In time… she'll understand."
As they reached the doorstep, the old woman paused beside Ji-Hoon. She gently patted his right shoulder three times - One, two, three -which means "Dinner time." She was heading in to cook and wanted him to join them at the table.
Ji-Hoon nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. That signal—the triple tap—was one of the many he had created over the past year.
At first, he had tried using the sign language from his world. But it was unfamiliar to the people here. Teaching it to them had proven more confusing than helpful. So he tried something different. He began drawing—patterns, simple symbols, even Korean characters—and through them, he explained how they could communicate with him.
It had taken time. A whole year, in fact. But slowly, together, they built a language of touch.
Three tap on the right shoulder meant "dinner."
Three on the left meant "sleep."
A light press on the back meant "follow me."
A tap on right shoulder means "yes", while on right means "no."
Each touch had a meaning. And through those touches, Ji-Hoon found a way to talk even in this state.
Ji-Hoon felt the three taps on his right shoulder-"Dinner time."
He stood up slowly and followed the old couple into the manor, his steps light and sure. By now, he knew every inch of this old place—each corner, every creaking floorboard, even the faint smell of herbs kept in the kitchen cupboard.
Moving with practiced ease, he made his way to the chopping table. His hands reached into the basket and gently picked up vegetables. He rolled up his sleeves, took a knife from the rack, and began slicing them with smooth, careful motions.
Behind him, the old lady entered the kitchen. The moment she saw him cutting vegetables, she hurried forward, tapping his left shoulder once.- "No."
But Ji-Hoon, without turning, simply dipped his wet fingers in water and traced his response on the small slate hanging beside the counter - "Let me do this."
A gentle breeze wafted through the open window as he thought to himself, "I've cooked plenty of times in my previous life… I know how to handle a knife better than most. I can't just live here as a burden. They treat me like family, and I want to help them in every way I can. Even if they don't ask."
He smiled softly and turned his face slightly toward the old woman, offering her the quiet assurance only a smile could give.
She sighed, then chuckled gently, "Alright, alright… if you really want to help, who am I to stop you?"
She tapped him once on his right hand - "Yes."
Together, they worked in the kitchen, and although Ji-Hoon insisted she rest, the old lady stayed by his side, offering guidance where needed, sharing the warmth of her presence.
That night, they all gathered at the wooden table. The food was simple but comforting. A taste of home. After dinner, they cleaned up quietly and returned to their rooms. Yuna dragged her dolls behind her while half-sleeping, and the elderly couple whispered soft goodnights.
While Ji-Hoon lay on his bed, staring up at the dark wooden ceiling. A peaceful silence filled the room.
"It's been a year since I came here," he thought. "Back home, I was always rushing—running to classes, juggling part-time jobs just to help with tuition. I didn't want to burden Mom and Dad…"
Sudden he paused for a second.
"They must've gotten the insurance money by now. Maybe… maybe they're okay. Mom… Dad… you probably can't hear me. But I'm doing well here. I've found a family. An annoying little sister who carves dolls and bullies me all day, and two grandparents who care like their own. We're not connected by blood—but this place… this life… it's mine now."
A soft, peaceful smile spread across his face. He let out a quiet sigh.
"Goodbye… Mom, Dad." And then, sleep embraced him.
Another year passed just like that. Two years now since Park Ji-Hoon had found himself in this forgotten manor. He had become an inseparable part of their lives—helping with the farm, cooking, crafting toys with Yuna, and even enduring her constant pranks. She never truly changed. But now… she smiled more. She laughed louder. And so did he.
It was the life he had always dreamed of - simple, joyful, full of warmth. Even if it came at a cost, it was worth every scar.
This was his family now.
Later, on another night, when Park and the others were sleeping peacefully. Above the roaring waterfall that bordered the manor's cliff, shadows began to gather beneath the moonlight.
A group of masked martial artists stood silently on the rocky edge, their clothes fluttering in the cold wind. Their masks were nothing like the Heaven Sword Sect - they bore no emblems, only twisted carvings of animals and demons.
A short man with a hunched back stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Young Master. The intel was correct. They're down there, living peacefully." Then he sneered, "What shall we do with them? Should we capture them and present them to the Sect Leader?". His voice turned sickly sweet, "Or… should we handle them now? Hehehe."
The tallest among them, a man cloaked in black with sharp, icy eyes peeking from behind his mask, stepped forward. "Capture?", he scoffed, "No. These parasites have no place in this world."
His voice was calm and Cold, "They must be erased. Every single one of them."
A wicked grin spread across the short man's face, "As you command… Young Master."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The others moved. Like wolves descending upon sleeping lambs, the masked warriors rushed silently through the forest shadows - toward the manor, toward the people sleeping peacefully within it.