Yup. It’s me.

Kang Joon-Woo.

Back again.

Now before you start yelling questions like “HOW THE HECK DID YOU WRITE YOUR NAME AS A NEWBORN?!” —

Let me walk you through it.

It all started right after my mom got discharged from the hospital. The moment she was wheeled out, she looked at my dad, dead serious, and said:

> “We’re taking this baby to a doctor. Right. Now.”

Dad blinked. “But he’s not even sick—”

“Exactly. That’s what’s sick!”

So off we went. To the town’s best pediatric specialist. The only one who had five stars on Naver and a photo where he wasn’t holding a fish.

---

We entered the clinic, and then—

The doctor turned around.

Let me describe this man for you:

Hair? A wild bird's nest held together with dry shampoo and regret.

Glasses? Thick enough to bend light.

Face? Looked like he hadn’t slept since the Olympics came to Korea.

Lab coat? Unbuttoned, stained with coffee, bulging from snacks in every pocket.

> “Hello,” he said in a monotone voice. “I am Doctor Yoo. What seems to be the issue?”

Mom got straight to the point. “My baby wrote his name.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

> “…I’m sorry. What?”

Dad chimed in helpfully, “Right after we named him—he grabbed a pen and wrote Kang Joon-Woo like he was paying taxes!”

The doctor slowly opened his drawer, pulled out a pen, and sniffed it. “Did you also smell burning toast when this happened?”

Mom glared. “No! It really happened!”

---

Dr. Yoo sighed, turned his laptop around, and clicked open a PowerPoint titled:

“Why Your Baby is Probably Just Weird, Not Magical.”

He cleared his throat and launched into a lecture:

> “Scientifically speaking—this is impossible. Let me explain.”

1. Motor Skills Are Underdeveloped:

“Newborns don’t have the fine motor control to grip a pen. It’s like asking a jellybean to play the violin.”

2. Brain Development:

“Their brains are still forming. Writing your name requires memory, coordination, and comprehension. At this stage, babies barely understand 'food' versus 'not food.'”

3. Cognitive Understanding:

“Writing a name means associating letters with sounds and having a concept of self. Your son probably thinks his own foot is a snack.”

---

Mom and Dad exchanged nervous glances.

Dad scratched his head. “But what if… you know, he’s a genius?”

Dr. Yoo adjusted his glasses. “There’s a term for rare cases like this: Savant Syndrome.”

“What’s that?” asked Mom.

“Savant syndrome,” the doctor explained, “is when someone with developmental challenges shows extraordinary ability in one area, like music, math, or memory. It’s very rare.”

Dad stood up so fast his chair screeched.

“Wait—you’re saying our baby’s disabled?!”

The doctor panicked. “No! NO! I mean—yes! I mean—NOT LIKE THAT! I mean—look, his motor skills are remarkable! But we haven’t confirmed any writing. Every time we give him a pen, he just…”

He paused, then slowly lifted the clinic curtain.

There I was. Sitting on the examination room floor.

A pen in front of me.

And me?

Just staring.

Like this:

[ • _ • ]

Not blinking.

Not moving.

Just staring at them like they owed me money in a past life.

“…See?” Dr. Yoo said, nervously adjusting his collar. “He just does that. It’s unsettling.”

---

And now I know you’re thinking—

> “WHY didn’t they just show the paper where you wrote your name?!”

Ah, yes. About that.

FLASHBACK:

In the hospital room, right after I scribbled “Kang Joon-Woo” on the form…

Dad picked up the paper with trembling hands.

Mom gasped.

He gasped.

They looked at each other—

And then—

WHOOSH!

A strong gust from the open window blew it straight into the air like it was part of a drama ending.

The paper did a graceful somersault—

—and landed directly in the toilet.

Mom screamed.

Dad screamed.

I burped.

They tried to retrieve it, but by then, it was a soggy mess of ink soup.

“WE CAN’T EVEN SHOW PROOF!” Dad cried.

And that, dear reader, is why no one believes them.

---

Back in the clinic, Dr. Yoo clapped his hands.

“Well! Based on my extensive 17-minute evaluation, I find nothing unusual. Aside from… the staring. And the vibes.”

He handed over a discharge note.

“Your baby is medically healthy. Maybe a little too healthy. But not supernatural.”

---

As we stepped out into the afternoon sun, my dad let out a long sigh.

“Well,” he said, “at least we know he’s not cursed.”

Just then, a passing kid on a bike shouted,

“Hey mister! Your baby's eyes are freaking me out!”

I turned my head.

Locked eyes with the kid.

Stared.

[ • _ • ]

He screamed and fell off his bike.

Mom and Dad looked down at me in horror.

“…Maybe we should get a second opinion,” Mom whispered.

---

To Be Continued…