He took a room above the old bakery and set up a workshop that smelled of glue, lemon oil, and lately, seaweed. Villagers watched as he unfolded sleeves, smoothed corners, and labeled each repack with hand-lettered calligraphy. His latest project, he said, was simple — to repackage the sound of a rock as if it were a vinyl single. "Rocks keep time, if you listen," he'd mutter, rolling a pebble across his palm.