**198X, Some Day**

  It all started when Mom collapsed. The diagnosis was grim, and the medical bills were even grimmer. Dad, who luckily had a solid reputation, scrambled to borrow enough for her surgery and hospital fees. To pay it all back, he landed a job at a major corporation in Japan.

  "Hyunjin, we don't have to worry about money anymore."

  He said the salary there would solve everything. But his face told a different story. It was etched with a deeper kind of dread. He had to leave for Japan immediately. Our family was a five-person unit consisting of Dad, Mom, me, and my two younger siblings. With Mom in a hospital bed and Dad crossing the sea, the house was about to become an empty nest for us kids.

  I was the firstborn. Even at seven, I was quite mature for my age and honestly didn't need as much looking after as my siblings. After a lot of thinking, Dad decided to send the two younger ones to our paternal grandfather. As for me, I was being sent to my maternal great-uncle, who was the youngest brother of my mother's father.

  My maternal grandmother was busy tending to Mom at the hospital, and my maternal grandfather... well, he hated Dad’s guts. Dad called every relative in the book, but the Youngest Grandfather was the only one who picked up the tab.

  My paternal grandfather was absolutely livid when he heard the news.

  "You scoundrel! How could you even think of sending Hyunjin, our family's eldest grandson, to such a place?"

  Dad didn't blink.

  "If you want to help, please take the two younger ones. Hyunjin can at least fend for himself."

  I stood there listening, completely stunned. That "Hyunjin" was me. I was seven. I didn't even know what "fending for oneself" meant, unless it involved not spilling my milk.

  The deal was struck. My siblings went to my paternal grandfather, and I was bound for the Youngest Grandfather’s house. Dad and I set off immediately. I had hazy memories of the man.

  'They weren't exactly warm and fuzzy memories...'

  He was famous for being a legendary eccentric and a relentless prankster since his youth. I found it hard to deal with his mean pranks.

  'I really, really don't want to go.'

  But I kept my mouth shut. Even I could see there was no Plan B. I couldn't exactly swap places with my younger siblings, could I?

  'They’d never survive Grandpa’s pranks.'

  As I was deep in thought, Dad broke the silence.

  "We need to transfer. Let's get off here."

  We were at a dusty rural bus terminal. From there, we hopped on a local bus that rattled deep into the countryside. When we finally hopped off, Dad sighed.

  "We have to walk a bit. Last time we were here, I carried you on my back."

  As we climbed the mountain path, a massive temple loomed at the base.

  "Dad, are we going there?"

  "No. Absolutely not. No matter how desperate things are, I’m not turning you into a monk."

  He said it firmly, but his eyes were filled with an apology he couldn't quite vocalize.

  "The way to your great-uncle’s is over there. You’ve been here as a toddler, though you won't remember it."

  Further up the trail, we hit a small corner store.

  "Let’s take a breather. Pick anything you want."

  I picked a double-stick popsicle. I snapped it in two and offered half to Dad. He didn't take it. He just stared at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

  "I’ll come for you as soon as I can."

  Liar. Japan is a whole different country. I was starting elementary school next year. He really shouldn't have underestimated my ability to smell a white lie a mile away.

  Past the shop, the mountain path continued.

  Finally, a humble tiled roof house appeared. Vibrant ribbons in five ritual colors fluttered from the tip of a tall bamboo pole. It actually looked quite beautiful.

  "Dad, is that it?"

  "That’s a shaman’s house. I’d never send you to a place like that."

  We climbed just a little higher.

  "Here we are, Hyunjin."

  I looked at Dad, then at the house, then back at Dad. I was speechless. Aside from the missing bamboo flags, this place looked exactly like the shaman’s house down the hill. We stepped inside, and there he was—the Youngest Grandfather, lounging on the narrow wooden porch, the toetmaru.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Dad bowed low. I just stood there, staring awkwardly, until Dad nudged me in the ribs.

  "Hyunjin, you should greet him."

  As soon as I bowed, Dad spoke up.

  "This kid is easy. Just give him a book and he’ll stay out of your hair all day."

  "I know that. I’m the one who named him, aren't I? He’s a boy who’s destined to love letters."

  The old man didn't seem particularly interested in me. His focus was already drifting.

  "How’s your wife doing? Any change?"

  "........."

  The silence was Dad’s answer. Grandpa sighed.

  "I told you the two of you weren't meant to be. Now look at this mess."

  Dad looked mortified and glanced at me quickly.

  "Uncle, please... the boy is right here."

  Dad called him "Uncle" comfortably. They’d been close since Dad first started dating Mom—closer, in some ways, than Dad was with his actual father-in-law.

  My real maternal grandfather despised Dad for stealing his only daughter and, in his eyes, letting her get sick. That’s why we were here, at the eccentric uncle's house. Grandpa looked at me and softened, just a fraction.

  "My bad. I lost my filter for a second."

  I had heard they were twelve years apart, sharing the same Chinese zodiac sign. Dad always told me Grandpa was the brain of the family. The elders had even pooled their money to send him to study in Japan.

  The kicker? He didn't study law or engineering. He joined a sect called Abe Taizan and spent his entire time studying Saju Myeongli, the four pillars of destiny. That was the extent of my knowledge about the man.

  The villagers called him 'Dosa,'the Master of the Way. Naturally, I had questions.

  "Grandpa, if you're a Dosa, why aren't you living in a cave in the mountains?"

  He looked at me like I’d just suggested he eat dirt. Then, with a strangely passionate flair, he went off.

  "And do what?! You think it’s all clouds and meditation? It’s a nightmare! You can’t cook a decent meal, there’s no phone, no newspaper, and no TV! And don't even get me started on the toilets or lack thereof!"

  He sounded like a man who had tried the mountain life and barely escaped with his sanity.

  "Besides, if you want to actually help people, you have to know how the world turns. If you only look at old books, you’ll end up a total fool."

  He suddenly barked at me, startling me half to death.

  "And who told you to call me a Dosa anyway?!"

  I froze.

  "If you’re going to live here, call me 'Teacher'."

  He was definitely weird.

  "Or call me 'Uncle' if you want. I look young enough for it."

  The man had no shame.

  "I’m not even fifty yet. Being called 'Grandpa' ruins my vibe."

  I couldn't give him that one.

  "Calling a grandfather 'Uncle' is crazy, Grandpa. My dad and the other elders would kill me. I’d probably get the switch."

  My paternal side of the family was strictly Christian. For reasons I didn't fully grasp then, they called this great-uncle "Satan." I’d often heard the adults whispering about the Black Sheep or the Devil's Servant.

  'Is this why they kept me away from him?' I wondered. Because he wanted kids to call him "Uncle"?

  **The Next Day**

  I was jolted awake by the sound of engines. Curious, I slid open the door.

  'Is there a construction site nearby? Why is it so loud?'

  The empty lot in front of the house was packed with luxury cars that looked way too expensive for this mountain path.

  "Grandpa, is there a famous restaurant around here?"

  I’d won the battle of the titles. I was officially calling him Grandpa.

  "Why?"

  He looked at me with a sour face. He clearly still wanted to be 'Uncle'.

  "Why are all these fancy cars here? What’s there to see in this place?"

  Grandpa burst into a booming laugh.

  "Bwahaha! Exactly! I have no idea why they bother dragging themselves all the way up here either!"

  As we spoke, a man stepped out of a car and bowed deeply to Grandpa.

  "Master, do you have a moment today?"

  Grandpa waved him in. "Come on in. Let's start with some tea."

  As the day went on, a steady stream of people arrived just to talk to him. I nudged Grandma.

  "Grandma, what kind of place is this, really?"

  "Why? You looking for a job already?"

  "No, it’s just... weird. People go into Grandpa’s room, and they come out crying, laughing, or screaming. It’s like a show."

  Grandma settled it for me.

  "This place is called a Yeoksul-won, a Hall of Divination."

  "A Yeoksul-won? What’s that?"

  "You’re a curious little thing, aren't you? It’s a place where you practice Yeoksul, the art of reading fates and fortunes."

  "What’s Yeoksul?"

  Exasperated by my interrogation, she sighed. "You know what Oriental Philosophy is?"

  "Oriental Philosophy? Isn't that just... fortune telling?"

  Back in Seoul, there was an Oriental Philosophy Studio near our house. The church folks always pointed at it and called it a soothsayer's den, trying their best to chase them out of town. As I stood there in stunned silence, Grandma continued.

  "Something like that. They call it an Oriental Philosophy Studio in Seoul."

  Then she added a final note.

  "But your grandpa hates that name. He says what he does is Yeoksul, not philosophy. He always asks, 'How can a practical craft like Sulbeop be called mere philosophy?'"

  A cold shiver ran down my spine.

  My grandfather was a fortune teller, and this place was a house of divination.