Ethan Sullivan looked up at Sophia Sullivan.
She was too young.
He thought Mr. York was joking.
"Even if you don't like me, there's no need to lie to me."
Ethan's voice was low.
"I'll leave in a few days. I won't disturb you for long."
Mr. York had been trying to send him away.
But hearing this, he still frowned.
A trace of reluctance rose in his heart.
"Leaving so soon? I thought you'd stay longer."
Ethan lowered his gaze to the clay in his hands.
The smooth texture calmed him.
Late at night, a vague figure often smiled at him in his dreams.
A girl pressed something into his hands.
Perhaps it was related to his lost memories...
He pushed the thoughts aside.
"Before I go, I'd like your master's guidance."
Mr. York, seeing his disbelief, huffed in annoyance.
"I never lie! Sophia, make him wait. Don't teach him anything!"
The old man grabbed his fish and stomped toward the kitchen.
But he kept glancing back, winking.
Signaling Sophia to teach this arrogant young man a lesson.
Sophia smiled faintly.
She didn't explain.
"Your technique is wrong."
Her voice was cool.
"Following the steps rigidly only makes the work mechanical."
Ethan frowned.
"Pottery isn't about brute force."
Sophia continued.
"You need to control the balance. Too soft and it collapses. Too hard and it warps."
Her voice had a strangely soothing quality.
Ethan adjusted his grip slowly.
Following her guidance, he felt the shape of the porcelain beneath his fingers.
Sophia offered timely corrections at key moments.
Gradually, the form of a slender vase took shape.
Even Ethan was surprised.
"It's working."
Sophia nodded.
"The foundation is there. Now it needs decoration."
She could sense Ethan's restlessness.
His inability to focus on maintaining balance.
Yet with just a little guidance, he had done well.
Sophia picked up a carving tool.
With a flick of her wrist, she sketched a phoenix spreading its wings.
Her movements were precise, her focus absolute.
An innate aloofness surfaced unconsciously.
Ethan watched her profile, so serious.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in his ears—cold and imperious.
—"I'll be on top."
Mr. York rushed out from the kitchen.
He snatched the vase and examined it closely.
"The phoenix rises from ashes, reborn through fire."
He couldn't put it down.
"Only through relentless refinement does true beauty emerge. What a perfect metaphor."
The phoenix's strokes brimmed with resilience.
Mr. York beamed.
Completely forgetting the fish simmering on the stove.
Ethan studied the vase.
He realized he had underestimated Sophia.
"You really are Mr. York's master."
His tone was definitive now.
Sophia didn't deny it.
"It's unconventional. I never officially accepted."
Mr. York puffed up proudly.
"I don't care. This girl is my master!"
They had met by chance.
Mr. York, plagued by creative block, was nearly tearing his hair out.
Sophia's few words had illuminated his path.
And when he saw her pottery, he was awestruck.
He'd insisted on becoming her apprentice.
Ethan cut straight to the point.
"Would you teach my niece pottery? Name your price."
He paused.
"You just divorced. I can arrange housing."
"Not necessary."
Sophia refused flatly.
"I'm not desperate yet."
Ethan nodded.
"Let me know if you change your mind."
He handed her an embossed business card.
Sophia took it.
She might not have grasped just how valuable Ethan's card was.
Tucking it casually into her bag, she said,
"Fine. When I'm truly homeless, I'll come begging for work."
"Enough chatter!"
Mr. York interrupted.
"Finish the fish bowl first. We'll use it next time for... the fish! My fish!"
He scrambled back to the kitchen in a panic.
Sophia chuckled.
She pulled out a design sketch with practiced ease.
Selected a clay piece of suitable firmness.
Ethan naturally stepped aside.
Choosing the best angle to observe.
Her slender fingers shaped the clay.
The formless lump quickly gained definition.
Ethan assisted occasionally.
Learning to feel that delicate equilibrium.
"Do you still have the perfume from two years ago?"
He asked abruptly.