"…That child should never have been born in the first place."

He staggered slightly.

"At first, it was cats."

The pitch-black riverside made it hard to see Baek Jangho's face.

"I was the first to notice that the child was different. After that, I never let him go outside. I thought I could correct it somehow—"

"…"

"But the only thing that kept piling up was the bags."

"…"

"Do you know what was inside those bags?"

The large, hefty bags that sent up thick splashes when thrown into the river.

The boy, sharp as he was, had an idea, but no words would come out.

"People."

"…!"

"People smaller than him, and sometimes even bigger."

"…"

"He stuffed animals into the washing machine and caused havoc in the house. He drugged the housekeeper. And when he sneaked out to the playground… he went after kids younger than him. A truly vile creature."

His face twisted as if he couldn't bear the thought.

"Monsters can be made, but some are just born that way. And of all places, under my roof—how dare something like that exist beneath me!"

The old man's face contorted, turning almost demonic.

"The next presidential election is just around the corner. Until I win, there can't be any noise, any scandal—nothing!"

"…"

"If left to grow unchecked, he'll destroy our family someday."

The boy couldn't even breathe.

And what about you…?

The words—how could you do this to your own grandson?—rose to his throat but refused to come out. His entire body trembled.

At that moment, the old man's strange pupils swept over the boy, who remained crouched in the water.

When the child instinctively scooted backward, the river water lapped up to his chin.

"The reason I never gave you a name—"

The old man's eyes gleamed as they narrowed.

"Is because a son born to me at this age is utterly useless."

"…!"

The boy's eyes widened in shock.

"But then…"

The old man’s hands, which had killed his own grandson, suddenly grabbed the boy by the collar and hoisted him into the air.

"After I found out what a disgrace my one and only grandson had become, I covered his face completely. No one outside the family would ever know he existed."

"…"

"Child, do you know why I did that?"

A cruel smile stretched across his face, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

"Because in my household, not a single rusty spoon is allowed."

"…!"

"Especially not in the home I built!"

Perhaps he'd been planning this for a long time. From the moment he realized his sole grandson was defective, he must have decided to replace him.

"And so, I will give you a name."

In the pitch-black water, the boy received his name.

Saeon.

A dead language. A dead word.

A chilling name that could only bring to mind the dead child.

It was the night when the boy gained the name of the dead and lost every part of himself that was alive.

***

As they entered the grand mansion, the crisp scent of sun-dried linens filled the air.

The damp, fishy smell that had once clung to his mind was nowhere to be found here.

"It's been less than a month since Saeon died in that accident—!"

A young woman's scream echoed through the hall.

"How can you bring some child of unknown origins into this house, Father!"

The woman broke down, collapsing as she wept and wailed.

While observing her tears as though they were a fascinating phenomenon, his gaze met Sim Gyu-jin's.

She immediately grimaced, as if she'd seen something repulsive.

"I can't do it. I absolutely can't do it!"

"My dear."

Even as the stern voice tried to quell her, she thrashed about in defiance.

"We haven't even found the body yet, Father! We haven’t even held a funeral for our child!"

"That's why the riverbed is being dredged as we speak."

"But I can’t! Not until we’ve held the funeral—"

"You're not grasping what I’m saying."

Baek Jangho clicked his tongue, his expression turning icy.

"I've been patient, waiting for you to calm down, but—"

His eyes, cold and unyielding, bore down on his daughter-in-law.

"Your child means nothing."

"…!"

"But my son must thrive, and my grandson must carry on the legacy. The role of my grandson is far more important than your child ever was."

Baek Jangho struck the floor with his cane.

"Baek Saeon isn’t dead. He’s merely… temporarily absent."

"…"

"And you, too… if you want to stay in your place, you’d better start acting like my daughter-in-law. I have no use for foolishness in my household."

Sim Gyu-jin bit back her tears and clenched her teeth. For now, all she could do was bow her head in submission.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer to bear another grandchild for me—one that's normal this time?"

Her body trembled uncontrollably, but no words escaped her lips.

And so, the vacant title of "Baek Saeon" was filled.

Baek Jangho devoted the next three years to turning the unrefined boy into someone presentable.

From the family history to basic education, from The Art of War and The Analects of Confucius to The Doctrine of the Mean, the boy was drilled in classical texts, history, global affairs, and economics.

Now it was the boy’s turn to thrash about under the sun.

It was a matter of survival.

Baek Saeon absorbed and grew without a single word of resistance.

He had learned by the black river that night whose words he needed to follow to avoid a meaningless death.

Yet, his eyes always lingered on Baek Jangho's nape, a thought whispering in the back of his mind:

One day, I'll tear that apart. I'll tear it apart and finally be free.

But he didn't make the foolish mistake of exposing his cruelty like the dead Baek Saeon had.

He hid it, always and entirely. Concealing it was the most basic rule of survival.

"You’re the one who refused to raise your child and ran off to work all the time! That’s why Saeon turned out that way!"

"Please, stop spouting nonsense. How is this my fault? Did I have that child alone? What about you—what did you do?"

"What?"

"No matter how much money you throw around or how many drinks you pour, you’ll never even come close to Father’s shadow!"

"You—!"

Every night, the couple quarreled endlessly.

Baek Saeon passed through the dim hallway with an expressionless face, unaffected.

"Sim Gyu-jin, be honest with yourself. Weren’t you relieved when that monster of a child died?"

"W-what did you just say…?"

"Even with Father keeping such a tight leash, he’d already hurt people dozens of times by the age of twelve and killed four. Can you imagine unleashing such a time bomb on society?"

"…"

"And what good is all your lecturing at the police academy? You’d just be branded as the woman who gave birth to a murderer."

"…"

"You knew that, didn’t you? Deep down, you were glad Saeon was gone."

At that moment, her hand struck her husband’s face with a loud slap.

"My son was perfect! Perfect!"

She screamed as if exorcising her pain.

Perhaps it was from that day onward.

The woman, who had been consumed by grief, suddenly began obsessing over the new Baek Saeon.

"My son wouldn’t eat such food."

From one thing to another, she controlled and dictated the boy’s actions.

"My son wouldn’t even look at such things."

Posture, gaze, tone, preferences, hobbies, cherished possessions—Baek Saeon had no say in anything.

One by one, his favorite dishes, familiar clothes, and comforting belongings were taken away or discarded.

A house like a prison, where nothing could be chosen or desired.

Everything had to be decided under the name of "Baek Saeon," until he became the perfect eldest grandson.

Yet, knowing that everything granted under that name was false and fake, there were times when he couldn’t even swallow his food.

"Ugh…!"

When he clamped his hand over his mouth, a sharp rebuke cut through the air.

"What on earth are you doing at the table?"

"See? You can’t just make some stray into one of our family’s children. This time, Father is wrong."

"If you want to look like my son, you’d better eat like your life depends on it."

Watching his family exhale their suffocating presence made every act of eating unbearable.

Even so, he endured.

He wanted to survive and become strong, not someone to be used, but someone who used others.

In the end, he became the son and grandson Baek Jangho could proudly boast of—perfect in appearance, intellect, and temperament.

"You’re fifteen now. You’ll transfer straight into middle school. Don’t cause trouble and don’t disgrace the family name."

Baek Saeon nodded without emotion.

His family admired his lack of emotional highs and lows and his composed demeanor, but in truth, everything looked like insects to him.

Whenever the urge to break something arose, he calmly recalled the sensation of threading a hook through each bug, one by one. It made the world feel a little easier to endure.

"Hey, class president…! Jong-su sprained his ankle messing around on the stairs!"

"How far along is the work?"

"Huh?"

"Jong-su was in charge of the faculty room, wasn’t he?"

Without even lifting his gaze from his book, he responded indifferently.

He was utterly detached, bored with everything. There was nothing left to enjoy, nothing to surprise or scare him.

And so, as time passed, the boy became someone who could no longer feel anything at all.