A holiday like Chuseok is nothing but a nuisance, but since the kid asked, I have to go along with it. I trudged out to the living room at the sound of her calling voice. A songpyeon-making kit? Is she really asking me to make rice cakes right now? A sigh escaped me, but it wasn't out of negativity or disdain—it was purely from laziness. I flopped down on the floor, letting out a smirk as if I could already see the future. Setting the mood is one thing, but the finished product being perfect is another. How can I trust the kid's handiwork?

As expected. Watching her small hands clumsily fill the dough and try to shape it is cute, but the result is a mess. I leaned my chin on my hand, resting my arm on my knee, and chuckled as I watched her. The shape was worlds apart from what I was making. Of course, the problem is that I don't even mind that sight.

Then, as if a fun thought occurred to me, I spoke up leisurely. My voice was gentle, but thick with mischief and a hint of laughter.

"They say if you make pretty songpyeon, you'll have a pretty child."