The system had never turned off.
Even when the Mirror shattered.
Even when Eunwoo's memories were erased.
Even when the new body had been formed.
It was still there.
Floating quietly in the air beside the boy.
Blue glowing letters appeared and disappeared throughout the day.
[System Active]
[Skill Database Stable]
[User Status: Healthy]
But the boy never noticed.
Because the system only appeared visually.
And the boy—
Could not see.
The glowing letters flickered patiently in the empty air.
Ignored by the one person they were meant for.
The boy woke early every morning.
Earlier than Harun most days.
Not because he needed to.
But because he liked helping.
That thought always came first when he opened his eyes.
I should help grandfather.
He sat up carefully in his small bed.
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath his feet.
Morning air drifted through the window.
The boy tilted his head slightly.
He could already hear the brook flowing outside.
Birds hopping across the roof.
Leaves shifting in the forest beyond the cottage.
Everything sounded clear.
Comforting.
He stood and slowly walked across the room.
His steps were careful but confident.
He knew the house perfectly.
Three steps forward.
Turn slightly left.
Two more steps.
Now the kitchen.
His hand brushed the edge of the table.
Right where it should be.
The boy smiled faintly.
He liked mornings like this.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
He picked up a small bowl and carefully placed it on the table.
Then another.
Then the wooden spoon.
Harun always woke up hungry.
So the boy liked preparing things first.
It made him feel useful.
That feeling was important to him.
Very important.
Even if he didn't know why.
Outside the cottage, Harun slowly opened one eye.
He could already hear movement inside.
"…boy's awake."
He sighed.
"Again."
The old man sat up and stretched.
"You don't have to wake up before me every day," he called through the door.
Inside, the boy paused.
Then he answered politely.
"Sorry, grandfather."
Harun snorted.
"Don't apologize for waking up."
The boy nodded quietly even though Harun couldn't see it.
He went back to arranging the table.
His fingers moved quickly.
Comfortably.
Even though he had never been taught most of these tasks.
Somehow his hands simply knew what to do.
How to cut vegetables safely.
How to stack dishes neatly.
How to move around the kitchen without knocking things over.
The boy had always found things easy to learn.
Almost strangely easy.
If he heard something once—
He understood it.
If he tried something once—
His body remembered.
The villagers often praised him.
"Such a clever child."
"Very hardworking."
"Very talented."
But the boy never thought of himself that way.
He just thought:
I should try harder.
Because Harun worked hard.
So the boy wanted to help.
That was enough reason.
In truth, something else was happening.
Deep inside his body.
Skills he had once collected as the Divine Mirror still existed.
Sword techniques.
Combat instincts.
Magical awareness.
Countless abilities copied from warriors, priests, and adventurers.
But now—
Without memories—
The boy used them unconsciously.
When he balanced perfectly while walking along the brook.
When he caught a falling bowl without thinking.
When his hearing detected footsteps hundreds of meters away.
These were not normal talents.
They were remnants of the Mirror.
Sleeping powers that quietly shaped everything he did.
But the boy didn't know that.
To him, things simply felt natural.
After breakfast, the boy stepped outside.
The morning sun warmed the grass.
He liked standing near the brook.
The sound of water made the world feel calm.
He walked slowly along the path beside the cottage.
The wooden bridge creaked gently in the wind.
The boy stopped near the doorway.
"…you moved again."
He said it very casually.
Behind him, inside the house—
The frog statue sat near the wall.
Or at least…
It had been near the wall yesterday.
Now it sat closer to the table.
The boy couldn't see it.
But he could hear it.
Stone scraping softly across wood.
A quiet sound that most people would never notice.
But the boy always noticed.
He tilted his head slightly.
"You're closer to the door now."
The frog statue said nothing.
Of course.
It was just a statue.
But the boy had gotten used to the strange movements.
Sometimes it shifted places during the night.
Sometimes during the day.
Very quietly.
The first time it happened, the boy had been confused.
Now he simply accepted it.
"Grandfather says you're a pain," the boy said gently.
Inside the cottage, Harun coughed loudly.
"I heard that!"
The boy smiled slightly.
Harun stepped outside carrying a cup of tea.
He looked toward the statue inside the house and grumbled.
"That stupid frog moves when I'm not looking."
The boy nodded.
"It does."
Harun froze.
"…wait."
"You hear it too?"
The boy tilted his head.
"Yes."
Harun stared into the house suspiciously.
The frog statue remained completely still.
Ugly as always.
Crooked mouth.
Bulging stone eyes.
Harun shook his head slowly.
"…that thing's cursed."
The boy laughed softly.
It was a small sound.
But warm.
Even though he couldn't see the statue—
He didn't mind it.
In fact…
It felt strangely comforting.
Like an old companion.
Something that had always been nearby.
The boy sat down beside the brook.
Listening to the flowing water.
Listening to Harun muttering about cursed frogs inside the house.
And thinking quietly to himself.
I should work harder tomorrow.
Because if he worked harder—
Maybe Harun wouldn't have to work so much.
And that thought alone made the boy feel happy.