The Magic Craftsman

Small waves lapped against the stone wall, tails wagging as they crashed. Each time they broke, tiny droplets caught the sunlight and sprayed into the air, adding a salty tang to the seaside. Baek Bong-gon, the master craftsman sitting in the pavilion, gazed at the unchanging landscape—one that had remained the same for 365 days a year and would stay that way forever. A shadow fell over his head.

"Pardon the intrusion."

His head turned slowly at the deep, resonant voice.

"Care for some sikhye?"

Cheon Kyujin offered a bottle of the sweet rice drink, beads of cold water glistening on its surface.

"Then, will you play a game of baduk with me?"

"Sure."

Baek Bong-gon pulled over the baduk board from a corner. He brushed away the cobwebs clinging sparsely to the pillar.

"When exactly did they add this exam?"

With that, Cheon Kyujin placed a black stone at the star point in the upper right, and the match began. After a cough, the master frowned and picked up a white stone.

"Truth be told, there are no more exams after this. This old man just felt like testing her on a whim."

The two men's gazes shifted from the board to the old house. Kids were running wildly across the porch.

Manifesting aura externally. Skipping all the steps, the master had jumped straight to the final exam, and Nami had succeeded just to prove she could.

"So the exam is...?"

"We'll think about it step by step before this game ends."

Thus, the master found himself in an awkward spot because of the cheeky little girl. Cheon Kyujin smiled faintly and pondered his next move.

"I heard you'd retired long ago—didn't expect to find you in a place like this. You've changed so much, I didn't even recognize you at first."

"Same to you. Thirty years, was it? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You've aged a lot yourself. How about it—has time's waves dulled your heart a bit?"

"Maybe."

"Haha, that's what it means to grow old! You'd fit right in with us geezers."

A long silence followed, and as they reached a life-and-death problem, Professor Cheon spoke again.

"Back then and now, why impose these bizarre exams?"

Making them memorize the entire Analects, or hold a pistol squat for an hour. His question was sincere. Baek Bong-gon remained the type of person who was hard to understand. Clack—the master placed his stone confidently.

"Gongpi-gu-a: When attacking the opponent, advance slowly. Pi-gang-ja-bo: Where the foe is strong, protect your own stones well. Ip-gye-ui-hwan: When crossing the border, go in slowly. See? Even this simple game of baduk holds profound life philosophy."

Seeing the professor deep in thought, he waved his hands hurriedly.

"No need to overthink it. Just as baduk is a little world, the 'self' is another world unto itself. In the end, nothing is as effective for fully understanding oneself as the Analects and baduk manual."

"So all those steps were ultimately for properly handling aura?"

"You could see it that way. In Western medicine, they call it neurotransmitter pseudo-interlocking, right? Not exactly a new theory when you break it down."

Aura is the manifestation of will. It was something the master always emphasized. Brainwaves pass through the Aura Heart, which converts mana into aura. The generated aura then exerts influence as the user demands.

"Even identical brainwaves produce entirely different results depending on the Aura Heart. So who can teach you that? No one in this world. With 8 billion people, there are 8 billion Aura Hearts—and thus 8 billion ways. Realizing the 'self' is that tricky."

"It's tough."

"It is. That's why that child is so special."

Even calling it shining talent wasn't enough. NoName seemed born perfectly from the start.

"Ever played table tennis?"

"Yeah, a bit back in the day."

"When rushing to the net to return a ball, most people either loft it high or clip the net. Know why?"

"Why?"

"Because in that instant, they forget they're moving forward. Pros handle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it fine, but amateurs don't realize their body's speed adds to the paddle."

Subjective objectification, transcendental ego. It aligned with Immanuel Kant's theories. Seeing enlightenment dawn on the professor's face, the master's lit up with pleasure.

"Getting the hang of it now? But that's not always good. As it says, ji-so-bul-yok: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Understanding oneself is the root of altruism."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It is... very good. But cherishing yourself requires some selfishness too. This is just my unverified personal hunch, but have you ever thought what a human approaching ultimate objectivity would become?"

"Hard to imagine."

"Paradoxically, you'd lose the 'self.' You'd understand yourself so perfectly that your body feels like nothing but an independent entity."

"And then?"

"Just idle speculation from this old man with nothing to do on the island—take it with a grain of salt. Speaking of, don't kids these days love games?"

A sinister glint flashed in Professor Cheon's eyes.

"Wouldn't your real body feel like a game character you control? Indifferent to death, fearless of the future, hesitating not at sacrifice for others—something human, yet not quite."

The old man tossed white stones randomly into empty spaces.

"You're overthinking it."

The game ended in Professor Cheon's overwhelming victory. The master's crushing defeat.

"Dang, you play so darn filthy! Tsk!"

"Thank you..."

Baek Bong-gon said he needed time to prepare the next exam, giving Arin and Minwoo an unexpected free period. And it was obvious this was a blatant lie—panic was clear in his eyes.

I used it as an excuse to ask to use the capsule in his room. Whether he realized I'd caught on, or was impressed by my passing the exam, he approved easily.

"Whoa, a capsule!"

"Isn't this what you used to contact me last time?"

"It was pitch black—I couldn't see a thing!"

Baek Bong-gon used the same product line as Yuna's mother's medical capsule—actually, far better. Preaching poverty in front, secretly enjoying modern tech behind the kids' backs. People could be so two-faced.

Yeah, gotta live.

"What's this?"

Baek Ho-chan pointed to a frame he spotted flipping the light switch.

"Huh? Magic craftsman? Grandpa's a living national treasure?"

"Uncle, what's a magic craftsman?"

"Well... not exactly, but makers of traditional Korean wands? Like, portable transmutation circle writers?"

"What's a wand?"

"This is a wand, Arin."

I pulled out my 'IWC Reminiscence' from my pocket to show her.

"Ooh! Ha... can I touch it just once?"

Arin's eyes sparkled; she looked like her invisible tail was wagging nonstop. Magic craftsman, huh. In this era, actually seeing traditional magic crafts ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was rare. Most were luxuries or decorations, with very limited or no practical use.

Come to think of it, his right arm had unusually bulky muscles. No wonder his aura-wrapping skill was no joke—he'd been hiding this talent.

"But there's only one capsule—who goes first?"

"I don't need it. You kids decide."

"Minwoo oppa first? Wait, but I wanna go too—argh!"

Baek Minwoo seemed indifferent. But Arin, too shy to go first yet unable to wait, rolled on the floor.

"Nami... right?"

Baek Minwoo sidled up and patted my shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Heard a ton about you from Arin. Nonstop. 'Nami did it perfectly,' 'Nami memorized it all at once,' 'Nami then...' And it turns out it's all true?"

"Eh, yeah. Sure."

"..."

"..."

An awkward silence descended. Why approach someone as antisocial as me if you're antisocial too? Still, like a guy taking responsibility, Minwoo pointed at my headband.

"Where'd you get that hair tie, Nami?"

"Daiso right by the house."

"Why still do twintails? And so low down."

"You got a problem with it? Or picking a fight?"

"No! It's cute!"

"Oh, cute? Thanks then?"

He was practically groveling. Korea oddly undervalued twintails, so you rarely saw them past middle school except at sports days or Halloween. I re-tied my slightly loosened hair tight and explained the profound reason behind the style.

"Look closely."

I bent my knees, lowering my upper body sharply. My hair swung in the air before settling back.

Then I tried side-to-side, spun a full circle.

"See? Get it?"

"Nope?"

"Every motion makes the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hair sway differently. It's a clue for objectifying my movements."

In frantic combat, you can't track your own position perfectly. Say massive rebound force sends you flying backward—you need to gauge speed for countermeasures. Gravity's constant, so hair angle is proportional to horizontal velocity. Tiny cues like this simplify survival-critical issues.

"You're nuts."

"Normal not to get it without trying. Minwoo oppa could understand too with twintails."

"Nah, don't wanna go that far..."

"Can't wait! I'll go first! Sorry, Minwoo oppa!"

Arin wiped her sweat with a towel and lay on the plush capsule seat.

"Eek! It's cool!"

The door closed slowly, and her interface projected as a hologram above.

For a split second, Arin's nickname overlapped with our room's toxic viewer 'NoNameIsABabyMustProtect'—chilling. Right, she used stuff like that. Gotta tell her to change it later.

"Gonna play LoL?"

"Arin plays LoL?"

"That's all she knows, probably?"

"Yeah! I'm good at Yuumi!"

She started boldly. Logged in, hit start—and warped to a white site, not the battlefield.

"The start button won't click!"

The blood-and-sweat battlefield vanished, replaced by a lame apology letter.

"Wanna try World of Arceria instead, Arin? Should be fine."

Yeah, LoL was fun, but WoA was all-ages except nightmares.

Two titans dominating Korea's online game scene had fallen in an instant. A tear-jerking Peach Garden Oath.