Areum pulled herself out of the fog of memory, the faces of her parents and those she once knew dissolving like mist in the morning sun. Only the emotionally charged fragments of her past lives remained sharp—those defining moments and the teachings of her mentor, etched into her soul as if to whisper, "Remember your oath."
A soft laugh escaped her as she scribbled in her notebook, recalling the day she woke up in the hospital six years ago.
At first, being reminded of the oath had only filled her with exasperation. She wouldn't have minded surrendering to the pull of Mother Earth—but was her body truly free from trauma? Forget astral projection—just being able to use the Sight again would have been enough.
Lying in the hospital bed, she had closed her eyes and willed the Sight to activate. To her astonishment, it had.
Encouraged, she tried astral projection—and succeeded. Her astral form had spun with joy, dancing through the invisible air before returning to her physical shell in a glowing spiral.
How had this been possible?
Perhaps, in her past life, facing death on her own terms had finally loosened trauma's grip. Maybe her body had come to understand what her soul had always known: death was not an end, but a transformation—one form melting into another.
She had sat frozen, stunned by the revelation, so much so that she didn't notice someone entering the VIP suite and quietly taking a seat beside her bed.
She looked up—and there he was. Han Sanghyun. Her body stiffened before her mind could register his presence.
Her father was a man who could quiet a room with his presence alone. Dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed, there was something in his polished stillness that commanded attention. Though he was in his early forties, time seemed reluctant to leave its mark on him—he looked more like a man in his late thirties. His skin was smooth, his posture regal, and his features sharp with a youthful edge. He was handsome in a way that felt dangerous—sharp, cool, and calculated. His eyes, the color of smoldering ash, rarely revealed what he was thinking. There was an elegance to him, but it was the kind that cloaked power in restraint, like a storm kept just beneath the surface.
"How are you feeling?" a deep male voice had asked, breaking the silence and startling her.
Areum instinctively leaned back, startled by his voice. With the Sight still newly activated, her gaze drifted to his auric field. Layers of sadness, worry, guilt, and shame churned through his mana signature—heavy and unresolved, wrapped tightly around him like a stormcloud that never cleared.
"I'm fine," she answered softly.
But then his fists tightened in his lap, knuckles paling. His aura flared with fresh waves of anguish and sorrow.
"I saw the doctor's report," he said, voice controlled but strained. He drew in a slow breath, trying to steady himself. "It says that in addition to your head injuries, there are signs of physical abuse. How long has this been happening? Why didn't you call the guards or notify the secretary?"
Areum let out a bitter laugh, one that escaped before she could stop it. "How could I? When I'd been told over and over that I deserved it—that it was my fault?" Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of long-suppressed truth. "Why don't you ask your secretary? The guards tried to inform her more than once. She knew. She just didn't care."
"I'll take care of her. You don't need to worry," he said through gritted teeth. His auric field surged with viscous anger and barely contained hatred as he abruptly stood. "Rest for now. Once everything is settled on my end, I'll have you officially moved into the main mansion—with your stepmother and siblings."
He turned sharply and began walking toward the door.
"Wait!"
He stopped without turning around. "What else do you need?"
Areum scoffed, her voice sharpening with disbelief. "You expect me—an illegitimate child—to move in with your legal wife and children, when they only just found out I existed yesterday? Are you serious?"
"They'll adjust," he said icily.
If Areum hadn't been able to see his auric field, she might have believed he was utterly indifferent to how his wife and children felt. But beneath his stoic exterior, his energy revealed a different truth—apprehension laced the edges of his aura. Still, it was outweighed by an unwavering sense of resolve, a firm determination that grounded him like iron. Whatever doubts he had, he was clearly prepared to face them.
Something in his aura stirred her heart—his concern and willingness to take responsibility were real. But it wasn't enough to quell the storm inside her.
She saw the effort, the attempt at redemption—but why now?
The original Areum—the girl who had once longed for his affection—no longer existed. That version of her had died—extinguished by years of silence, neglect, and emotional abandonment. No amount of concern could resurrect her. His sudden effort now felt like tossing a bucket of water onto the charred remains of a house long since turned to ash. It was too late.
And did he ever ask for her opinion? What gave him the right to assume she wanted to move in with him and pretend to play happy family?
Areum could feel the original Areum's emotions as if they were her own. Although the soul had been replaced, the body remained the same—and the body remembered. It remembered what it was like to be hurt, to be neglected, to be unseen. The wounds ran too deep, the years too long. Her anger refused to be soothed by gestures, no matter how sincere.
What the new Areum wanted was no different from what the original had longed for: to live authentically, free from the control and expectations of others. Moving into her father's household would not bring about that freedom. She could already envision the turmoil that would follow—her father's wife, Yoon Sera, had developed paranoia after discovering his affair and the existence of an illegitimate child. That paranoia would poison the household and fuel the same conflict that had damaged Han Soyun—the female protagonist—in the original timeline.
Now that she was alive, she didn't know how her continued existence would alter the timeline. The safest option was to keep her distance from the novel's main characters—so as not to interfere with the roles they were fated to play.
"I want to live alone," she said, suppressing the burning anger that flared in her chest.
"No," Sanghyun said immediately, his voice firm. "You're only ten years old. It's not safe."
"I've been taking care of myself just fine all this time," she replied coldly. "I can cook. I can clean. All I want is for you to find me a place. With the kind of money you have, isn't that a piece of cake?"
As he turned toward her, she saw his lips tremble, his face paling as his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. His auric field churned with regret, guilt, and sorrow—emotions he would never dare to voice under ordinary circumstances. His carefully maintained mask began to fracture.
"I never should've let it get this far," he said, his voice low, almost strained. "You were just a child. And I… let my anger at your mother cloud everything else."
He looked away for a moment, jaw tight. "I can't undo what's been done. But if you'd let me… I want to try to make things right."
"You're trying to do what you believe is right. But how can you be sure it's right for me, when you've never even asked what I truly want? Do you even know what that is—or are you just assuming that what you think is best should be enough for me?"
Her voice steadied, though the fire behind it didn't dim. "I want to live independently. Freely. Moving into the same house as your wife and children will only make them resent me—why would I willingly step into that chaos? You say you want to take care of me, but from where I stand, you don't even know what that means."
Sanghyun took a deep breath, the silence stretching thick between them. After what felt like a drawn-out standoff of wills, he finally yielded.
"I'll allow it—on three conditions."
"Alright. I'm listening."
"First, it's technically not legal for a kid your age to live alone unsupervised. You are going to have to have a nanny."
"But—"
"Second," he said unyieldingly, "You will have to keep up with your schooling. By the time you turn 16, I will send you to Daehyun Academy."
"I don't need you to—"
"Third," he said, keeping his tone deliberately neutral, "have dinner with me once a week."
"What?" Areum blinked, caught completely off guard.