As if answering Han-gyeol's resolve, the golden aura rising from the whetstone gradually subsided. Yet the words engraved in the air did not disappear. Instead, they became even more sharply imprinted on his vision, like ink bleeding through hanji paper.
'This isn't an illusion. It's real.'
Han-gyeol steadied his ragged breathing and looked around.
Until a moment ago, he had been too overwhelmed to notice anything but the textual information. Now that he had composed himself and looked again, however, he began to see things beyond mere words.
He picked up the old hand plane on the workbench.
[True Name: Japanese Ebony Hand Plane]
[Condition: Blade angle misaligned by 3 degrees. Surface planing impossible.]
So far, it was the same as before. But the moment Han-gyeol consciously thought, 'I need to fix it,' the information window changed.
Crackle—.
It felt as though a technical drawing were unfolding inside his mind.
Images of the plane's blade and chip breaker separating appeared over his vision like a 3D hologram. An intuitive answer lodged itself in his mind, telling him how many times to run the blade over the whetstone and how to distribute his strength to correct the 3-degree misalignment.
'Twenty strokes on the whetstone. Apply 10% more pressure on the right.'
The answer emerged before he could even think. It was not simple knowledge. It was the instinct only a craftsman who had spent decades at a workbench could possess, no, a 'perfect restoration solution' that existed on a higher plane.
"Ha......."
Han-gyeol exclaimed without realizing it.
He remembered something his grandfather had always said.
'Han-gyeol, objects are alive too. When they hurt, they cry out in pain and beg to be saved. A craftsman is someone who hears those cries.'
As a child, he had thought it was merely a fairy tale. Yet the world Han-gyeol was seeing now seemed to be the very realm his grandfather had devoted his life to reaching, or perhaps a world even beyond it.
"I can do this."
Vague hope turned into certainty.
The interest due tomorrow, and the repayment of the principal that would soon follow. It had been an impossible mission for Han-gyeol, an ordinary repairman.
But with 'this ability'...
'I can pay off the debt with this.'
Han-gyeol clenched his fist. The cold sweat on his palm cooled, but his eyes burned hotter than ever.
What he needed now was proof. He needed a 'test subject' to confirm that this ability worked in practice.
Chime—.
At that moment, the clear sound of the wind chime broke the workshop's silence. Han-gyeol emerged from his thoughts and turned his head. The words floating in the air scattered like smoke, and the ordinary scene returned.
"Han-gyeol, are you in there?"
The person cautiously poking his head through the doorway was Old Mr. Kim, the owner of the laundry next door.
Old Mr. Kim had lived in this neighborhood for forty years and was one of its fixtures. He had also been his grandfather's only companion, sharing bowls of makgeolli and games of baduk with him. Today, however, he did not wear his usual easygoing expression. His shoulders were hunched as though intimidated, and he moved hesitantly.
Han-gyeol hurriedly straightened his clothes and rose.
"Oh, sir. You're here."
"Yes. The funeral must've been hard on you, wasn't it? Your face has grown so thin. Are you remembering to eat?"
Old Mr. Kim entered the workshop and looked Han-gyeol over with pity. The chill in the empty workshop seemed to bother him, and he clicked his tongue.
He carried a black plastic bag. It looked quite heavy and made a dull thump when he set it down.
"Well...... it's nothing in particular. I brought it just in case......."
Old Mr. Kim glanced around as though gauging Han-gyeol's mood, then carefully placed the plastic bag on the workbench.
"What is it?"
"Well, you see...... My wife kept raising a fuss, telling me to throw it away. She gave me no end of grief about hoarding garbage in our cramped house. I was going to take it to the junk dealer, but then I remembered your grandfather saying, 'You mustn't carelessly throw away old things.'"
Old Mr. Kim scratched the back of his head awkwardly and loosened the knot in the bag.
"I thought you might have some use for it, but if it's no good, you can throw it out for me."
The object revealed with a rustle was thoroughly disappointing.
It was a white porcelain bottle covered in dirt.
No, it was in such a state that calling it a bottle felt generous. The neck had broken off in a jagged line, leaving the mouth gaping open, and black grime was caked all over the body.
The contamination was so severe that its original color was impossible to discern. Cracks ran through it here and there as well, making it look ready to collapse at the slightest touch.
It was such a wretched sight that even a dog would have refused to use it as a food bowl.
"You want this...... repaired?"
Han-gyeol asked without thinking. An ordinary appraiser, no, even most junk dealers, would have clicked their tongues and turned it away.
Old Mr. Kim's face reddened.
"It can't be done after all, can it? My mother wrapped it in a bundle and treasured it from the time she fled south during the Korean War...... but it sat in a corner of the storeroom for so long that it ended up like this. I should just throw it away. Sorry for bothering you when you've got so much on your mind."
Old Mr. Kim hurried to tie the bag again. Embarrassment and shame mingled in the movement of his hands. He looked bitter, as though a memory from his impoverished past had just been rejected.
That was when it happened.
Han-gyeol's gaze fixed on the bottle's broken edge.
Though covered in dirt and dust, he could see the pale-white body concealed beneath them.
'Wait.'
This was no ordinary ceramic vessel.
The clay particles were astonishingly fine. Then there was the subtle gleam of glaze visible through the filth. That was no cheap coating. Its deep luster could only emerge after prolonged firing in a high-temperature wood kiln. Even beneath artificial fluorescent light, its soft, subdued white refused to die.
Han-gyeol instinctively stopped Old Mr. Kim's hands.
"One moment, sir. May I take a closer look?"
"Huh? Oh, certainly. I doubt there's much to see......."
Old Mr. Kim cautiously released it. Han-gyeol calmed his trembling heart and lifted the bottle with both hands.
Its cold, substantial weight traveled through his palms. The surface felt rough beneath his fingertips, but the body underneath was dense and solid.
At that moment.
Humm—.
The tinnitus sounded in his mind again. The same violent dizziness he had felt when he touched the whetstone struck his brain.
The world before his eyes inverted into black and white, and a brilliant light erupted from the bottle.
It was light of an entirely different order from what the tools had emitted. Like a pearl submerged in muddy water breaking through its shell to reveal its true radiance, a lustrous white aura rose beyond the filth and broken wounds.
Within that light, words that looked as if they had been dashed off with a brush appeared in the air.
[True Name: White Porcelain Bottle with Iron-Painted Cord Design]
[Date of Production: Late Joseon Dynasty (estimated 19th century)]
[Condition: Rim (mouth) 30% damaged, severe surface contamination, extensive crazing (fine cracks), foot worn.]
[Current Value: 0 won (damaged item)]
Zero won.
It was a cold assessment. A cultural artifact's value was only recognized while its original form remained intact. With its neck missing and its surface looking as though it had been dredged from sewage, it was nothing but trash. Even the antique market would ignore this refuse.
But Han-gyeol's eyes fixed on the additional information that appeared beneath it.
[Estimated Value After Restoration: 85,000,000 won]
"......!"
Han-gyeol stopped breathing.
He counted the zeros again. He had not misread it.
It was no national-treasure-class masterpiece worth billions of won. But to Han-gyeol at this moment, that number was the lottery, no, a miracle greater than the lottery.
'Eighty million won would.......'
It was enough to pay all the overdue interest and a considerable portion of the principal. A lifeline that could put out the immediate fire and save this workshop from the threat of auction.
His heart began to pound. His palms grew damp.
This was an opportunity. A final opportunity sent by heaven, no, by his grandfather.
Han-gyeol tightened his grip on the bottle.
Then a hazy image began overlapping the information. Like psychometry, the memories dwelling inside the bottle flowed into Han-gyeol's mind.
'We have to live. We have to survive somehow.'
Artillery thundered. Screams and wails mingled in pandemonium. Was this Hungnam Pier during the January-Fourth Retreat, or a shantytown in Busan packed with refugees?
The vision showed a young woman carrying an infant on her back. She was Old Mr. Kim's mother. She had wrapped the bottle securely inside the bundle balanced on her head. Even when a handful of rice mattered more, she never let the vessel leave her side.
'Mother, why are you carrying that heavy thing around? Your legs already hurt. Throw it away and pack more rice instead.'
He heard young Mr. Kim's petulant voice. To a child exhausted by hunger, the bottle was only a heavy burden.
But his mother firmly shook her head. Desperation filled her eyes.
'No. This is the pillar of our family. Listen carefully, child. Someday, when life becomes truly hard and you have nowhere left to go...... this will save you.'
His mother had known. This white porcelain was no mere vessel, but a last bastion and emergency fund that could one day protect her child from poverty and misfortune.
'So never break it. Never throw it away.......'
Her plea, as solemn as a dying wish, rang vividly in Han-gyeol's ears.
She had protected this bottle through wartime shelling and starvation on the road as a refugee. For her child. For the future.
But time was fickle. Once the war ended and life became a ceaseless struggle to make ends meet, the bottle became an encumbrance. Descendants who did not know its value pushed it atop a wardrobe and into a corner of the storeroom, where it gathered dust until its edge chipped and its neck finally broke.
Old Mr. Kim had not hesitated to throw the vessel away merely because it was old. It must have felt as though he were discarding the 'heart' his mother had left him. Though he had never known its value, a faint memory remained of how she had treasured it as much as her own life.
The image disappeared, and the workshop returned to view.
Han-gyeol looked up at Old Mr. Kim. His wrinkled hands, worn jacket, and anxious eyes. The hardship of a life spent pressing clothes amid the steam of a laundry was written across his lined face.
What would 85 million won mean to this man?
A fortune he had probably never touched in his life. Money that would let him spend his old age in comfort. The final expression of his mother's love.
"What's wrong? It...... has to be thrown away after all......?"
Old Mr. Kim took Han-gyeol's silence as rejection and asked in a dejected voice.
Han-gyeol shook his head. No, he raised it. His eyes shone with unprecedented resolve.
"No, sir."
Han-gyeol carefully set the bottle on the workbench. His touch was as respectful and cautious as if he were handling a newborn child.
"This...... needs to be repaired. No, I want to repair it."
"This hideous thing?"
"It isn't hideous. It's only temporarily covered in grime."
Han-gyeol clasped Old Mr. Kim's rough hand between both of his.
"Sir, please entrust this to me. I won't just repair it...... I'll restore it perfectly, exactly as it looked when it was first made."
Strength entered Han-gyeol's voice. It was both the pride of a craftsman and the confidence of a man who had confirmed his ability.
Old Mr. Kim blinked, apparently flustered by Han-gyeol's warm grip.
"Well, I'd certainly be grateful if you repaired it. But...... money is the problem. Business hasn't been good lately, so I can't pay you a large sum. Just gluing it together would be enough."
Old Mr. Kim trailed off. He had long heard that professional restoration was expensive. He seemed worried the repair might cost more than the item was worth.
Han-gyeol smiled.
"Don't worry about the money."
"Hm? You're saying you'll do it for free? Come now, you can't run a business that way."
"No. I will charge a restoration fee. A very expensive one."
"E-expensive?"
Old Mr. Kim tried to retreat in surprise. Han-gyeol gestured toward the bottle with his eyes and continued calmly.
"But not now. Later, when this item sells for its proper value...... you can pay me then. Generously."
"Its proper value? Is this something anyone would buy? Even the junk dealer refused it."
"Of course it is. It's the 'item' your mother left for you. The sum may be larger than you expect."
"It's worth that much......?"
Old Mr. Kim looked as though he did not understand. Han-gyeol's eyes, however, did not waver. They were filled with the confidence of someone who had already seen the future.
Mesmerized by his gaze, Old Mr. Kim nodded. Han-gyeol's gaze was exactly like the one his grandfather Lee Tae-jun wore whenever the old master decided to tackle a difficult object.
"All right...... Your grandfather was an uncanny fellow too, and it seems his grandson has something up his sleeve as well. Very well. I'll trust you with it."
"Thank you. You won't regret it. We can write the contract later. First, I'll bring this object back to life."
After Old Mr. Kim left, only Han-gyeol and the bottle remained in the workshop.
Han-gyeol switched on the work light.
Click.
Beneath the orange glow of the lamp, the dirt-covered bottle sat alone.
To some people it was trash, to others an encumbrance. But Han-gyeol could see the white elegance hidden beneath the dust. Even the wound where its neck had been severed now felt like a blank space he needed to fill.
Han-gyeol took a deep breath. The air smelled different. The musty odor of dust that had filled it a moment ago had been replaced by taut tension.
This was the beginning.
He needed to combine the skill he had learned over his grandfather's shoulder with this strange newly awakened ability and prove himself.
Prove that this bottle was not trash.
And that the time of Lee Family Workshop, no, the time of Han-gyeol himself, was not yet over.
Han-gyeol opened the toolbox.
Scalpels, tweezers, carving knives, and every sort of brush stood neatly arranged. The tools waited for their master with bated breath.
An information window appeared before Han-gyeol again. This time, it was not information about the bottle, but guidelines for the restoration process.
[Restoration Process Started]
[Stage 1: Surface Cleaning and Removal of Foreign Matter]
[Recommended Solution: Distilled water and ethanol mixed at a 7:3 ratio]
[Caution: Use a soft brush to avoid damaging the iron-painted design.]
The perfect formula appeared in his mind. There was no reason to hesitate.
He first picked up a soft wool brush.
"All right, let's start with a bath."
Han-gyeol reached toward the bottle.
The moment his fingertips touched its surface, three hundred years of halted time began to move again.