The Given Weight

In my childhood, I believed I was a genius.

From my naive early years through middle school, high school, and even into college, I had never encountered anyone better than me.

In truth, it wasn’t my own perception that made me think of myself as a genius. It was because everyone around me looked at me and said so.

Humans are creatures shaped by how others perceive them. Before I even became aware of myself, people would look at me with astonished expressions, shower me with enthusiastic praise, and unanimously declare that there would never be another prodigy like me. And so, I truly became that person.

I was better at studying than my peers, excelled at sports, and had a knack for understanding the ways of life. I even knew how to get what I wanted with minimal effort. You could say I was a shrewd little kid.

Fortunately, my family had the financial means to provide the kind of specialized education befitting a child often called a prodigy. Because of this, I was able to fully explore and express my talents and brilliance.

Before long, I grew bored of competing with kids my own age in the environment I was in. It was far too one-sided a game to hold any excitement for me.

Around that time, I learned about a prestigious organization abroad that specialized in gifted education. Upon hearing that it was where the brightest prodigies gathered, I naturally assumed I belonged there. So did my parents and everyone who knew me. And thus, at a tender age, with my heart full of excitement, I left my family behind and set off alone to study overseas.

The result? I came face-to-face with reality.

Even in reality, I was still a genius. I adapted well to my new environment and soon achieved results that surpassed the average.

But only ‘above average’.

In the real world, I was a genius, but there, I was not. I was nothing more than a somewhat smart kid.

My youthful arrogance was shattered to pieces, and there, I learned how an average genius like me could adapt to reality. It was an incredibly valuable lesson.

It was only then that I made friends, found people I could talk to without feeling stifled, and met someone outside my family who truly understood me. Looking back now, it was the most valuable experience I’d had up to that point.

While I wasn’t a genius capable of changing the world, I was impressive enough to be the pride of my family. When I gained admission to a prestigious overseas university at an earlier-than-average age and with little difficulty, my older brother – who had practically raised me after the early passing of our father – was so overjoyed that he was brought to tears.

I was very close to my older brother. He was already an adult by the time I was a child—not just because of the age gap, but because his heart had matured early. My brother was always composed and thoughtful, possessing a steady and reliable mindset. While he wasn’t quick to judge, he always made the right decisions. I can’t express how much I loved and admired him.

However, my brother had one fatal flaw – a biologically crippling one. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until after he got married that we discovered the truth: My brother’s body was incapable of having children. It would be more accurate to say he was entirely unable to.

However, both my brother and sister-in-law had an intense longing for a child, and eventually, they turned to me for help. I readily agreed. And so, about a year later, they were able to have a child.

Biologically, the child may have been mine, but no one saw it that way—not even me. My brother once said he would give one of the children to me, but I had no intention of accepting, nor do I now. Those children belonged entirely to my brother and sister-in-law.

However, once an idea takes root in a person’s mind, it doesn’t change so easily. Even when we think it has changed, the remnants of that thought often linger deep in the subconscious.

Although I wasn’t the greatest genius in the world, I graduated from one of the most prestigious universities recognized worldwide without any trouble and was immediately recruited by UNHRDO. At this level, anyone would consider it an impressive achievement. Quietly, I thought so too.

Around that time, I experienced the second major disappointment in my life—the realization, once again, that I wasn’t truly a genius but merely an ordinary person.

My brother’s children were twins, and the elder of the two was beyond what could be described as a genius. Words weren’t enough to capture it.

During school breaks, I would occasionally return home and see my nephews briefly. It wasn’t until they were around four or five years old, shortly after I graduated from university, that I spent about a month living with them. And in that single month, I found myself overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy and defeat—caused by none other than a child barely four or five years old.

I won’t go into detail about just how brilliant my elder nephew was. Suffice it to say, I could confidently predict that in my lifetime, I would never encounter another genius like him. Thankfully, my brother raised him well, and unlike my younger self, he didn’t grow up to be an arrogant or conceited child.

Perhaps a true genius is someone who doesn’t concern themselves with such trivial matters. After all, those who stand at the very top of any world inevitably see things entirely different from those below them.

The younger twin, my second nephew, was an ordinary child. His weak constitution was a concern, and there were several times during my visits home for the holidays when I carried him on my back to the hospital. However, as he grew, he became healthy and sharp, turning into a delightful and lovable child in his own right.

I loved both of my nephews dearly, but if I were to speak of intrigue, the younger one couldn’t quite match the elder.

The elder nephew – though it’s almost tiresome to repeat at this point – was an unparalleled genius. By then, I was so accustomed to his brilliance that I wouldn’t have been surprised if, at his age, he had casually written out the chemical equation for a hydrogen bomb. Beyond his extraordinary intellect, though, he also possessed an uncanny streak of good fortune. It was something that defied explanation.

He was intelligent, lucky, easygoing, and blessed with a harmonious family. Thinking about how fortunate his life was, I ended up spending quite a lot of time with him. It was possible largely because, among the people around him, I was one of the most capable. However, after about a month, I had to leave again to join UNHRDO and head back overseas.

I had a friend—a friend I’d known since our days in the gifted education program. He was similar to me, another middling genius. He had long since discarded the labels of ‘genius’ and ‘prodigy’, graduated from university, and, with his father’s support, he has started his own company.

The company specialized in republishing old books—exactly the kind of business that sounded destined to fail. But my friend was wealthy enough that losing one or two small companies wouldn’t pose a problem. His family was in the arms brokerage business, and someday, he would inevitably have to take over.

Although he loved books, he was also incredibly knowledgeable about weapons, enough to be well-prepared for inheriting the family business. At the time, while I was working at UNHRDO, I often had conversations with him about weapons.

It happened around that time. My frighteningly brilliant nephew, still just a fresh-faced child who hadn’t even entered middle school, had casually scribbled drawings and words in a notebook. Though the drawings were crude, they turned out to be an internal schematic of a machine gun. To my shock, alongside the sketches were detailed notes specifying technical aspects—enough that, with just that piece of paper, one could easily design a completely new type of machine gun.

When I asked him about it, alarmed, he nonchalantly replied that he had thought it up out of boredom. He added that I could do whatever I wanted with it—take it, burn it, it didn’t matter to him.

I was beyond astonished—I was utterly shaken. This wasn’t something he had copied or imitated from elsewhere. He had devised it entirely on his own, imagining and calculating how a weapon’s structure would work and how ammunition would react, simply as a way to pass the time. What’s more, the machine gun design was revolutionary, unlike anything that already existed.

Without delay, I faxed the sketches to my closest friend—the one who was, by then, spectacularly failing at his old book reprinting business.

Naturally, my friend immediately recognized the value of the sketches. Overwhelmed with excitement, he insisted I come to his house at once so we could discuss it in person while he examined the drawings.

So, I went straight to his house. Throughout the entire process, I felt a mix of emotions—joy, admiration, and even a tinge of fear at my nephew’s genius. Yet, underlying all of it, I couldn’t shake an unrelenting sadness.

**************************

My friend’s house was a mansion. The kind you’d only see in movies, with a driveway so long and luxurious that you had to drive from the gate to the front door. Though I had never been financially lacking, it was the first time I’d visited a home so extravagantly grand, and I couldn’t help but glance around in awe.

Even after stepping out of the car and standing before the imposing entrance, I was still marveling at it all. So, as I waited for someone to come out to greet me, I looked around, taking in the surroundings with curiosity.

It was then.

Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the air from the side of the mansion. Moments later, a large boy who looked about fourteen or fifteen came running out from the yard, sobbing uncontrollably.

I couldn’t help but widen my eyes in shock.

The boy was covered in wounds—no, ‘covered’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. His swollen, limping leg seemed badly twisted, and his arm was so severely bruised that it looked as if the bone might be broken, with blood streaming down.

His head was also injured; blood soaked his hair and dripped down over his swollen boxer-like eyelids. It was as if I had stumbled upon a scene of child abuse, and I stared in stunned disbelief. As I stood frozen, another boy ran out after him. This boy was slightly smaller in build than the first.

However, the boy’s long slender limbs – unusually proportioned for someone his age – gave him an appearance that seemed more fitting for a teenager than a child.

Then, I froze in shock. The boy, with an expressionless face, was holding a hammer in his hand. Not just any hammer, but one of those massive ones you’d find at a construction site—at least 3 or 4 times larger than a regular household hammer. Without hesitation, he strode toward the boy who had run out before him. And with the same calm, detached expression, he swung the hammer. A split second later, I heard the same chilling scream I had heard moments ago.

Frozen in place by the shocking scene, I watched as an older man hurriedly ran out of the house. He approached the boy with the hammer, trying to restrain him and calm him down. The boy, however, looked utterly displeased. The look in his eyes as he glared at the man, interrupted and displeased, was so ominous that it made me wonder if he might consider swinging the hammer at him next without hesitation.

Having grown up in a peaceful world, I could only stare wide-eyed, and unable to fathom where such a ferocious nature could have come from. Just then, my friend emerged from the house. Spotting me, he greeted me warmly, smiling as he invited me in. But the moment his gaze shifted to the boy, his expression clouded over with a heavy sorrow.

“Ilay, you’ve done it again.” – My friend muttered with a sigh as he looked at the boy.

The boy, called Ilay, casually wiped the blood splatter off his face and responded nonchalantly: “I told you not to call my name however you please.”

“Names are meant to be used.” –  My friend replied.

“I told you to call me by my last name. Only those I permit can use my first name.” – The boy said firmly.

As he spoke, his gaze suddenly shifted to me. He scrutinized me from head to toe with an expression of clear disapproval. My friend sighed again and, with a weary tone, introduced the boy to me.

“Changin, this is my younger brother. He’s 10 years old this year, though there’s quite a significant age gap between us. Still, he’s undeniably my brother. As for his name, you just heard it, but don’t call him that. My brother has his quirks—just use his last name. Ilay, this is my friend, Jeong Changin. Don’t treat him poorly.”

I was taken aback. First, I was shocked to learn that this fierce boy was my friend’s brother. Then, I was equally surprised that such a young child could be the sibling of my friend, who would soon be in his thirties. And finally, I was astonished by the fact that this boy, who looked no older than 14 or 15, was supposedly only 10 years old.

Of course, what shocked me the most was his brutal violence. However, the boy who had just wielded the hammer so viciously now looked completely calm, as if he had never been so menacing. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning and heading back into the house.

Still dazed and bewildered, I followed my friend inside.

**********************************

“Incredible. Truly… I can’t believe it!” – My friend said after carefully examining the schematic for quite some time.

I could easily understand his feelings—I had felt the same when I first saw it. I couldn’t believe it either and had even wondered if some other child or a skilled technician might have drawn it.

“This is your nephew, right? How old did you say he is?”

“12… No, by this country’s reckoning, he’d be 10.”

“10!”

At first, my friend shook his head in disbelief, his face showing clear skepticism. At one point, he even shot me a reproachful look, as if accusing me of lying. But I had nothing to hide. Eventually, he seemed to accept that everything I was saying was the truth, though all he could do after that was sigh repeatedly.

“10 years old.”

“Yes, just 10.”

My friend suddenly studied my face. Even now, I’m not sure what kind of expression I was wearing. But whatever it was that he saw, he quietly reached out and patted my shoulder.

“Don’t be troubled, my friend. Everyone lives according to what they’ve been given.”

I could only look at him. I still didn’t know what he had seen in my face, but I nodded in response. Sitting across from my friend in the living room, we both silently stared at the schematic, weighed down by a somber mood. Then, from a short distance away, the boy from earlier, who had been reading a book, sauntered over. His leisurely demeanor resembled a hungry lion casually searching for something tasty to devour.

“Hmm. Are you the one who drew this?” – He asked.

The boy scrutinized the schematic from various angles before asking me, his tone blunt and unreserved. Slightly taken aback by his casual manner, I chuckled and shook my head.

“No, my nephew. He’s probably the same age as you… Riegrow.”

Even when addressing my friend, I deliberately used his last name sparingly, glancing subtly at the boy to gauge his reaction. The boy, meanwhile, peered at the schematic with the curiosity of someone inspecting an intriguing new toy. After a moment, he muttered: “Impressive!” The fact that a boy his age could look at that design and appreciate its brilliance was, in itself, astonishing.

“Changin, would it be possible to talk to your nephew?” – My friend asked suddenly.

My friend, clearly fascinated by the schematic, eagerly made the request. I hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded. Receiving calls from strangers for academic or technical reasons was nothing new for my elder nephew.

When I agreed, my friend’s face lit up with excitement as he quickly prepared for the call. I picked up the receiver and dialed my brother’s house.

At that moment, the boy, who had been studying the schematic with interest, suddenly looked directly at me and said boldly, in a confident tone, that he wanted to make the call himself.

I glanced at my friend, who sighed and shrugged, as if conceding defeat. He gestured for me to allow it and asked his younger brother to go ahead and make the call. After exchanging a few words on the phone, the boy promptly asked to be put through to my nephew.

As the dial tone rang, my friend seemed to remember something and pressed a switch on the phone. The call was immediately transferred to speakerphone, and the sound of the ringing filled the room.

Not long after, someone picked up.

[“Hello?”]

It was the voice of my younger nephew. The boy seemed momentarily flustered by the unfamiliar language, so I informed him that English would work. Because of the elder nephew’s frequent travels abroad, both of them had been exposed to foreign languages from a young age and could speak basic English almost as fluently as their native tongue.

The boy tilted his head slightly, as if unsure, and then spoke in English.

“Hello. Are you Jay?”

Startled by the sudden switch to English, the younger nephew was silent for a moment before responding slowly.

[“No, Jay isn’t here. He went with Mom to the lab for some tests. I’m home alone. Who are you?”]

Hearing his innocent voice, I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. I made a mental note to remind him during my next visit home never to tell strangers he was alone.

My friend must have had a similar thought because he smiled faintly. The boy, who, despite being the same age as my nephew, seemed far more worldly, wore an incredulous expression and offered a surprisingly mature piece of advice.

“You shouldn’t tell just anyone that you’re home alone, especially when you don’t even know who’s calling.”

[“Why? You’re in America, aren’t you? Mom, Dad, and Jay will all be back before you can get here.”] – The younger nephew replied, sounding slightly triumphant. It seemed he assumed that speaking in English automatically meant the caller was in the United States.

The boy on our side frowned and shot me a sharp glare, as if silently accusing me of raising such a naïve child. I simply shrugged, pretending not to notice his expression.

“This isn’t America; it’s Germany. And someone from next door could call you in English, you know.” – The boy said matter-of-factly.

[“No way. Our neighbor granny doesn’t speak English. Neither does grandpa next door. Hmm… but maybe the lady who visits sometimes can. I’ll ask her next time she comes over,”] – My nephew replied innocently.

“Oh. Make sure to check that.” – The boy said with a touch of sarcasm.

After sternly scolding him, the boy suddenly seemed to realize he had veered off track, wearing an expression that said: ‘That’s not what I meant to talk about’. Though he appeared to lose interest in the call, my younger nephew, likely bored from being home alone, began chattering away enthusiastically.

[“So, where’s Germany? Are you in Germany? Does that mean you can’t come here? Is it farther than America? I’m bored right now—why don’t you come visit? My name’s Taeui, by the way. Jeong Taeui.”]

Overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, the boy looked slightly exasperated and, seemingly flustered, stammered a bit before furrowing his brow in frustration.

“I could come, but it’s a bit tricky right now. I’d need to get to the airport first to catch a plane. If you’re bored, why don’t you come here? If you want to come, I can at least send a car to pick you up.”

As the boy spoke so arrogantly, my friend gave him a peculiar look, as if wondering if the boy had eaten something strange. Undeterred, the boy continued to show off.

“No matter how far it is, it’s only a dozen or so hours. You just have to endure for a bit, Taei.”

[“No, my name’s not Taei, it’s Taeui!”] 

“Tae… Tae-i…?”

The boy hesitated, looking a bit flustered as he uncertainly repeated the name.

But my nephew quickly corrected him again, this time more insistently.

[“No, that’s not it. Tae—ui.”]

“Tae… uui…”

[“No, that’s not it…”]

My nephew was unbothered and calm, patiently repeating his name correctly each time. However, the boy grew visibly more frustrated with each attempt. By the seventh or eighth try, he finally managed to pronounce my nephew’s name with some degree of accuracy.

“Tae—ui.”

[“Yeah, that’s it!”] – My nephew exclaimed joyfully.

The boy’s face showed a mix of relief and exasperation, as if he’d just finished an exhausting task.

[“So, who are you? What’s your name?”] 

“Me, I’m…”

The boy was about to introduce himself with his usual air of self-importance when the sound of a doorbell rang from beyond the speakerphone. It seemed someone had arrived.

[“Oh! Mom and Jay must be back! I’ll talk to you later. Let’s play again sometime!”] – My nephew said cheerfully before abruptly ending the call.

My nephew cheerfully said those words, then, apparently forgetting why the call had been made in the first place, promptly hung up with a sharp click. The boy stared at the now silent phone, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief as the disconnected tone beeped in the background.

And now, glancing over, I noticed my friend had turned his head slightly, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. The boy, on the other hand, looked increasingly furious, his face darkening with anger. Finally, unable to contain himself, he slammed his fist into the phone, shattering it with a resounding *Crack*. Pieces of the broken device scattered across the room as he stormed out of the living room without a word, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

As soon as the boy disappeared, my friend burst into loud laughter. Feeling a bit guilty for what had just transpired, I glanced at him awkwardly, but he seemed thoroughly amused. “When else would that kid ever experience something like this?” – He said between laughs, clearly enjoying the moment.

Eventually, after some time had passed, I made another call to connect my friend with my elder nephew. Until then, my friend continued to laugh, his face alight with amusement.

It seemed that my elder nephew gradually developed an interest in weapon design after that. More precisely, it wasn’t so much a natural interest as it was a response to the growing number of people—including my friend—who were fascinated by his talent. To satisfy their curiosity and demands, he began designing weapons.

The new type of machine gun he had first drawn was eventually produced two years later, after undergoing some modifications and refinements. It significantly benefited my friend’s family business. It’s unlikely that anyone could have imagined that the mind behind this innovative machine gun belonged to a mere child of just 12 or 13 years old.

My nephew began to gain quiet notoriety. While he had always been recognized as a prodigy, his involvement in weapon design couldn’t be publicly acknowledged, so his reputation spread discreetly through whispers.

He wasn’t the type of genius whose brilliance faded with age. As he grew older, year by year, he continued to create new and increasingly sophisticated innovations. By the time he reached adulthood and eventually joined UNHRDO as a special researcher, the number of his achievements was so vast they couldn’t be counted on two hands.

My nephew hasn’t changed, neither then nor now. He has always been quiet, calm, and composed. There remains an air of mystery about him, a sense that no one can truly know what he’s thinking. He simply observes the world, his reserved eyes seeming to take it all in with a detached contemplation.

In the end, I didn’t regret introducing him to this industry. As my friend once said, people live according to what they’re given. What my nephew was given wasn’t something I provided—it was bestowed upon him by someone, or something, long before he was born.

That’s true for everyone. Just as I live within the bounds of what I’ve been given, so too will my nephew in the years to come. Each of us lives in accordance with our abilities.

Yet, whenever I look at my nephew, I sometimes feel an unbearable pang of sorrow and tenderness. In this vast and overwhelming world, what he possesses is too immense. It’s as if he stands utterly alone, adrift, while the world stretches endlessly around him. And just as vast as the world seems, so too does the enormity of what he carries.

Will my nephew truly be able to endure the weight of the immense burden he carries? Sometimes, even the modest abilities I’ve been given feel overwhelming and exhausting to manage.

But he never complained to me, never expressed that he was struggling. He always remained calm, with the same composed expression, steadfast in his place. Because of that, I found myself wanting to grant him whatever he desired—anything within my power to give