"Father, I…… I want some paper."
The new life Yeongman had been given was that of Aiman, a mere child.
Those were the first words he spoke to his father after barely managing to accept his new life.
Aiman's father stared at him as though he had said something absurd.
"What? Paper? That is…… not something serfs like us can afford, son."
Aiman was the son of serfs.
He was in no position to obtain paper whenever he pleased.
The entire situation sent him into a panic.
'After all that work, I finally finished 'World,' and then…….'
World.
It was the origami creation Yeongman had long dreamed of making.
After completing it, he had fallen asleep, filled with satisfaction.
When he awoke, he had become Aiman.
At first, he thought it might be a dream.
After all, he had fallen asleep immediately after creating 'World.'
He assumed that he had become one of the people from the world he had created and was now dreaming about it.
But it was not a dream.
This was reality.
A miserably cruel reality.
He had tried to look on the bright side.
'Still, becoming young again is a good thing.'
Going from his late twenties to a ten-year-old boy was certainly not bad.
He had taken up origami in his mid-twenties to relieve the stress of working at a company, and by his late twenties, he had become a master.
He thought that being able to begin practicing origami at the age of ten would be a blessing in itself.
The problem was that his circumstances were terrible.
'My parents are serfs? What kind of…….'
His future seemed utterly bleak.
Even in a situation like this, however, Aiman might not have fallen into complete panic if only one thing had been possible.
'I want to fold paper…….'
Origami had relieved the stress he suffered at work.
He had once been asked about it during an interview.
'Mr. Yeongman, how did you first become interested in origami?'
'When I fold paper, I become completely absorbed in the single thought of finishing what I am making. Nothing else enters my mind. That was my 'healing.' It made all my stress disappear.'
As long as he could practice origami, he could brush off any amount of stress.
Even now, trapped in the absurdly miserable position of a serf, folding paper would have brought him at least a little peace.
But Aiman could not fold paper.
As his father had explained, paper in this world was not something a mere serf was permitted to touch.
Only nobles and wealthy merchants with vast fortunes could obtain it.
He had tried to satisfy himself by folding and manipulating scraps from his worn-out clothing, but…….
'This won't do…….'
More than anything else, Aiman desperately needed paper.
His social standing simply would not allow him to possess it.
DING, DING.
The sound of a bell rang in the distance.
A peculiar light entered Aiman's eyes when he heard it.
'Time to work!'
Only moments ago, he had been despondent because he could not fold paper.
The instant the bell announced that it was time to work, however, he became full of energy.
"Father! It is time to work!"
"Ugh. Is it that time already?"
Except for a six-hour period late at night, the bell rang every thirty minutes.
The workers used it to determine when they should work and how long they could rest.
In other words, the bell served as a catnap alarm for the serfs.
They worked for several hours, slept for thirty minutes, worked for several more hours, and slept for another thirty minutes. After enduring eighteen hours of gruelling labour, they were finally allowed to sleep for six uninterrupted hours.
Such was the life of a serf in this world.
Aiman spoke to his father, who was still only half awake from his brief nap.
"Father, we need to hurry to work! Mother still has not returned from the bakery, so we should work hard as well!"
"Why? Are you going to cut trees again?"
"It still counts as work. We can also use the wood as firewood when the weather turns cold."
For some reason, Aiman devoted himself entirely to cutting down trees.
From his father's perspective, he would rather have seen the boy stop working and play with the other children.
Aiman, however, insisted that cutting trees was enjoyable and did little else.
As Aiman had said, clearing trees to expand the territory's usable land was recognised as labour, but…….
"Then why do you not cut down larger trees? And stop bringing back those dried-out ones. Rumours are spreading that a monster made of withered wood lives behind our house."
Whenever Aiman went out to cut trees, he brought back only the thinnest, most withered specimens, ones so scrawny that it was difficult to call them trees at all.
By the age of ten, a serf boy would normally be cutting down thicker trees with an axe and boasting of his strength to the other children.
Aiman, however, used a sickle to cut nothing but withered trees, which deeply concerned his father.
To survive this damned life as a serf, strength and endurance were essential. His father feared that Aiman might be weaker than the other children his age and incapable of cutting anything larger.
Even so, he could not bring himself to scold the boy openly.
"Anyway, I am going to work!"
The boy looked remarkably cheerful for someone heading out to perform manual labour.
Seeing his son's bright expression, his father could only let out a quiet chuckle.
"Very well. I shall go to the fields."
"All right!"
After announcing that he was going to cut trees, Aiman picked up a sickle and a frayed cloth rope and left the house. He then headed towards an area filled with what the people of this world called withered trees.
The serfs working there as lumberjacks greeted him when he arrived.
"Well, if it isn't Aiman. Are you here to work?"
"Yes!"
"Going to feed the withered-wood monster again today?"
One of the serfs called out to Aiman when he saw him approaching.
The others burst into laughter.
Ever since Aiman had begun cutting nothing but withered trees, the lumberjacks had gained a new source of entertainment.
Aiman's obsession with those trees made him unusual among children his age.
They had seen the withered trees piled up behind his house and joked that he was feeding a monster made of dead wood. Aiman grumbled in response.
"I keep telling you, it is not a withered-wood monster."
He spoke like an old man trapped in a child's body.
That only made the serfs find him more endearing.
After exchanging a little light-hearted banter, they spoke to Aiman again.
"Work hard, Aiman."
"I will!"
Leaving the serfs behind, Aiman reached the place where the withered trees he usually harvested were growing.
Once there, he focused his eyes.
The world became awash with surging blue energy, as though an aurora had spread across it.
At the same time, a window containing a single piece of information appeared before him.
[Paper Mulberry]
That was the name of the withered tree on which Aiman had focused.
By concentrating in this manner, he could see information about his target.
It was an astonishing ability.
Yet what surprised Aiman even more than his ability to see information windows was the true name of the withered tree.
It was also the reason he became so energetic whenever it was time to work.
'There are paper mulberry trees here. This is like rain in the middle of a drought!'
The moment Aiman discovered the paper mulberry, he stopped caring about the strange ability that allowed him to see information windows.
The reason was simple.
'With this, I can make hanji!'
Hanji.
It was paper manufactured using traditional Korean techniques.
Even the greatest origami masters had eventually begun experimenting with it.
They claimed that no other paper could produce origami as beautiful and elegant as that made from hanji.
And now Aiman had discovered paper mulberry, the raw material required to make it.
Of course an information-viewing ability seemed insignificant in comparison.
After confirming that the trees were indeed paper mulberry, Aiman began cutting them while sinking deep into thought.
'I have been gathering plenty of paper mulberry…… Now I only need to acquire the tools!'
He could make hanji from paper mulberry, but the process required specialised equipment.
Most importantly, he needed the tools necessary to construct the papermaking equipment.
He already had a plan for obtaining them.
Each time he came here to harvest paper mulberry, he reviewed the entire plan in his mind.
Turning paper mulberry into hanji required a steamer, a large basin for holding water, a screen for forming the sheets, and a heavy stone to press the water out of the finished paper. Finally, he needed a rack and enough space to dry it all.
Every one of those items would be difficult to conceal from the people around him.
He had already prepared a plan for that problem as well.
All Aiman needed to do was continue gathering paper mulberry and obtain a toolbox.
"Phew, this should be enough. I will take it home and come back."
After harvesting a large quantity of paper mulberry, Aiman tied together as much as he could carry with the frayed cloth rope and slung the bundle over his shoulder.
The other serfs and even his father claimed that he cut nothing but thin, withered trees, but the amount he gathered and transported was by no means small.
That was precisely why the other serfs found his behaviour so strange.
Someone strong enough to carry such a large bundle should have been capable of using an axe to cut down far thicker trees.
Yet Aiman always used a sickle to harvest nothing but those withered ones.
In any case, Aiman lifted the heaviest bundle of paper mulberry he could carry and headed home.
As he drew near the house, he suddenly stopped.
"Hm?"
Aiman saw an unusual middle-aged man.
The man was accompanied by a boy who appeared to be around Aiman's age. Judging by the boy's clothing, he seemed to be a noble.
Unlike Aiman's shabby garments, the boy wore formal attire.
The two of them stood within a garden reserved exclusively for Lord Leroy and the members of his family.
Aiman wondered who they were.
He focused his gaze on them.
Their identities appeared before his eyes.
[Keiras]
[Ribal]
When he focused on someone, their name appeared. If he selected them with his index finger, more detailed information was displayed.
After reading it, Aiman murmured inwardly.
'House Jenkins…… So he is the lord's eldest son. More importantly, an Imperial Mage?'
The boy named Ribal was the eldest son of Leroy, the lord of the Jenkins domain where Aiman lived.
The man named Keiras was an Imperial Mage.
Upon learning that Keiras was a mage, Aiman stopped on his way home and watched him and Ribal.
"Sir Keiras! Please make me another bird today!"
"Very well. It seems the lord will be arriving late, so I shall make one for you, Young Master."
Keiras, the Imperial Mage, brought both hands together.
Aiman could not help focusing on the unfamiliar sight.
'Hm?'
Whenever he concentrated to view information, blue energy spread across the world like an aurora.
Something similar emerged from Keiras's body and gathered into a sphere.
The spherical mass of blue energy slowly began to fold, gradually taking on a distinct shape.
Apart from the fact that it had begun as a sphere, the shape it formed was remarkably familiar to Aiman.
As he watched, blue light gathered between Keiras's hands and began folding in on itself.
Aiman stared at the process until the bundle of paper mulberry slipped from his shoulder without him realising it.
'He…… he definitely folded a crane. Just like origami.'
Aiman's heart began pounding as though someone were beating it with a club.
He had wanted it so desperately.
Origami.
He had been so desperate that the moment he discovered paper mulberry, he had devised an entire plan to manufacture hanji.
And now Aiman had found origami.
No, could it truly be called origami?
The mage had folded blue energy in order to manifest magic.
It was magic.
And yet the process through which the magic had been completed was unmistakably identical to origami.
'It is somewhat crude, but that is definitely a paper crane fold.'
Folding a paper crane was one of the simplest forms of origami, something nearly every Korean had attempted at least once.
There was no doubt that Keiras, an Imperial Mage, had folded one for Ribal, the eldest son of House Jenkins.
Then Aiman witnessed something even more astonishing.
'What in the world is that…….'
When Keiras finished folding the crane from blue energy, it transformed into a tiny white bird.
It circled in front of Ribal before soaring into the sky.
It was the kind of thing Aiman had only ever heard about or seen in his imagination.
Magic.
He could easily guess what it was.
Keiras was an Imperial Mage.
Naturally, a mage practised magic.
But Aiman had seen its true nature.
'Origami has become magic.'