“Do you need more time to think about it? There’s no rush; you can take your time to decide,” the director offered warmly, observing the hint of unease on the child’s face.

“Yes,” the child replied, his hesitation evident. It seemed he was not ready to make a swift decision, which didn’t surprise the director. Given everything he had heard from the teachers and seen himself, the child had shown remarkable qualities, and the director had anticipated this moment.

“Alright, I understand. And remember, if you ever want to pick a new name, you can come talk to me anytime. Or you can speak to any of the other teachers. Okay?”

With those words, the second in-depth discussion between the child and the director concluded. The director anticipated that there might be a third meeting soon. He could still see a shadow cast over the child’s expression, likely due to the emotional baggage from his previous orphanage, which made him reluctant to use his former name. The director went to his bookshelf to pull out the alumni register, pondering potential names that could suit the child. Providing a new name was not just a duty but a source of pride and satisfaction for him.

That conversation had occurred three months ago, during the vibrant days of autumn. As the child recalled those moments, he was suddenly drawn back to the present by the voice of a volunteer girl who had asked for his name. This girl, with her pronounced features and deep blue eyes, had an exotic aura, yet she didn’t entirely seem of mixed heritage. She had a classical beauty that reminded some of a famous actor known for his sculpted features. Despite her slightly unkempt hair, it seemed to suit her face perfectly.

Having finished admiring his features, she burst into laughter as the child continued to stare blankly. The laughter seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he focused his eyes on her.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name? Don’t you want to?” she teased playfully.

The child’s face turned red, not from bashfulness but perhaps from irritation at being caught off guard.

“No,” he responded quietly, turning his head away to avoid her gaze.

“Do I look scary?” she joked, seeing his shy reaction as an invitation for more teasing.

“No,” the child muttered, turning completely to face his notebook again. The girl stepped closer, intrigued by his shy demeanor, which only made the child more uncomfortable. Such direct confrontation from a stranger triggered a defensive response in him, but to her, it was just another amusing reaction.

Their interaction was interrupted by another volunteer pushing a mop across the hallway.

“Jiwon, what are you doing? Finish cleaning before you play.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” the girl replied, leaving the room with a playful grin.

“Hey, let me know your name later, okay?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, quickly disappearing into the corridor. The child sighed and gripped his pencil, returning to his writing with renewed focus.

“Did you see that kid in room 305?” Jiwon chattered to another volunteer.

“No, why?”

“Nothing, he just caught my eye,” she said, spreading cheerful laughter along the hallway.

As winter turned to spring, the area around the orphanage and the hills beyond were bathed in fresh greenery. The child woke up early one morning and gazed out the window at the spring scenery.

“It’s the same here, spring comes,” he thought nostalgically, comparing it to the vibrant springs of his village where everyone was busy gathering herbs in the forest and smoke rose from the morning fires.

“Are you up already?” Myung-soo’s voice pulled him from his reverie.

“Yeah, I have stuff to prepare.”

“Ugh, I have to get ready too. School starts today.”

Myung-soo stretched, his body making a grown-up’s groan.

“Yeah, all the good days are gone, right?” Myung-soo parroted something he’d likely heard from the administrative director.

“Get washed if you’re up. I just did.”

As Myung-soo left the room, the child smiled and turned back to the window. Cars were beginning to travel the road visible beyond the narrow path.

The sounds of excitement filled the playground at Hyewon Elementary School, where the entrance ceremony was about to take place. The area was packed with numerous children and an equal number of parents. It was the most people the child had ever seen, and the overwhelming crowd made him instinctively tighten his grip on his teacher’s hand. The teacher smiled warmly at him and patted his head.

Guided to the auditorium, the children took their designated seats while their parents gathered at the back to watch. Some children cried as they let go of their parents’ hands, but it was a common scene at school entry ceremonies. Once seated, the children listened to the principal’s speech and met their teachers, although the formalities meant little to the bewildered first graders. For the child, however, starting school held the promise of new learning opportunities, setting him apart from his peers.

Assigned to Class 3, the child followed his teacher into the classroom, ready for a new experience—the self-introduction.

“Now, everyone quiet down. I’ll be your teacher for this year, Miss Kim Hee-yeon. When I say ‘Hello,’ you respond with ‘Nice to meet you,’ okay?”

“Yes!”

The young, stylish teacher was eager to make a good impression. One by one, the children introduced themselves, greeted by applause and photos from their parents.

Then, it was the child’s turn. He walked to the front with a calm demeanor, his face unreadable. As he faced his classmates and their parents, his heart began to race, his fists clenched tightly with nervous sweat.

The parents murmured among themselves, taken aback by his unique appearance. As the child opened his mouth to speak, all eyes focused intently on him.

“My name is…” he began, swallowing nervously.

“My name is…”