Why am I the Princess?

 

In the car, Dad stared at the business card for a long time, deep in thought.

“So, Dayeon’s parents… they’re part of Hanseong—Lee Jinseok’s family.”
“You know them?”
“Who? Dayeon’s parents?”
“Yeah.”

Dad nodded, his tone casual but confident.

“Of course. They’re the second richest family in Korea.”
“…What?”
“They have waaay more money than I do.”
“Wow… they’re that rich?”
“Oh, absolutely.”

But I knew something didn’t add up. Hanseong wasn’t supposed to be that wealthy. Even if 20 years had passed, their rise to such prominence seemed improbable.

In my previous life, I had played a key role in turning S Corporation into a global giant while simultaneously dragging many other Korean conglomerates down to mid-sized status. Hanseong had been one of the casualties.

Curious, I pulled out my phone and quickly searched the news.

The headlines told me everything I needed to know: “The War on Organized Crime.”

That single article connected the dots. S Corporation, once Korea’s economic juggernaut, had been severely crippled, losing its key assets. Even so, its immense influence allowed it to recover quickly and remain the top conglomerate to this day.

And its current CEO? The very person who had once trembled in fear of me. The same person who, upon taking the helm, had eventually ordered my assassination.

How ironic. Someone with such a small mind, someone who once feared even a pawn like me, is now running S Corporation.

“Si-yoon, what are you looking at?”
“Hanseong. I was curious.”
“Well, did you know your phone was made by Hanseong?”
“Oh…”
So that’s why you were staring at my phone earlier.

“Want to visit Dad’s company today? You can see Aunt Ji-eun.”
“Okay.”

Though Dad probably just wanted to get some work done, he used me as a convenient excuse to visit his office.

As Dad carried me into the building, we ran into Jang Sungman, the CEO of JSM.

“Jiho!”
“Ah, Mr. Jang.”
“Man, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You’ve been dodging my calls for weeks!”
“I wanted to see you too, but every time we meet, I end up having to drink with you,” Dad said with a grin.

Dad glanced at me, and naturally, Jang Sungman followed his gaze. His eyes widened as he took me in.

“Wow… she’s stunning. Like a little angel.”

It was a common reaction. Ninety-nine out of a hundred people who saw me for the first time were completely mesmerized.

“I know,” I replied flatly.

While others admired my delicate features, I found this fragile, childlike body frustrating—a far cry from the strength I once wielded.

“Did you come to play with your daddy~?” Jang Sungman asked in a sing-song tone, his voice dripping with condescension.

I shot him a look that could freeze molten lava. His face immediately stiffened.

“…You’re going to hurt Uncle’s feelings.”
“Grandpa.”

At that, Jang Sungman’s expression crumpled in shock. He turned to Dad, his face a mix of betrayal and disbelief.

“Your daughter hates me, doesn’t she?”
“Maybe try shaving your beard, Mr. Jang,” Dad said, barely suppressing a laugh.

Jang Sungman stroked his chin thoughtfully, then nodded.

“Fair point.”

“Alright, sweetheart, just wait here. I’ll be back looking amazing!”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“…..”

Jang Sungman slumped his shoulders dramatically, looking dejected as he walked away. His retreating figure screamed defeat.

“Siyoon~!”

I greeted Aunt Ji-eun’s enthusiastic welcome with a nonchalant nod, then returned my attention to my phone. But something she was holding caught my eye.

Snacks?

The sight of the snack-filled bags in her hands made my resolve waver. Unable to resist, I glanced over. Ji-eun noticed immediately and smirked.

“Want some?”
“Can I call you Mom if I do?”
“Ahahaha!”

I tossed my phone aside, pulled a snack from the oversized bag, and handed it to her.

“As I thought, Siyoon loves mustache-shaped snacks~,” she teased as she opened the bag for me.

Looking at Dad, she asked, “Oppa, when are you releasing the song?”
“Huh? The one Siyoon and I recorded?”

“Yeah!”
“I wasn’t planning to release it.”

Ji-eun’s reaction was immediate. She slammed her hand on the desk with a loud bang!

“Why not?!”

Noticing me sitting nearby, she quickly softened her tone, apologizing in case she’d startled me. I sat calmly on the sofa, watching the scene unfold.

“I just wanted it to be a keepsake,” Dad replied casually.

Ji-eun turned to me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Siyoon, don’t you want other people to hear the song you recorded with your dad?”
“Why?”
“Well… so they can hear your voice and feel happy.”

I smirked and crossed my legs deliberately, adopting an air of mock sophistication.

Dad immediately noticed and scolded me. “Siyoon, I told you not to cross your legs like that. It’s bad for you when you grow older.”

I uncrossed my legs and looked at Ji-eun.

“You’re trying too hard to tempt me with emotions.”

“…What?”

Dad chuckled at my mature tone, clearly amused but exasperated.

“Try something more convincing,” I added.

Ji-eun thought for a moment before blurting out, “If we release the song, we could make a lot of money!”

“Yah, Lee Ji-eun!” Dad scolded, clearly taken aback.

But I nodded, interested. “Oh? How much?”

Ji-eun gave me a look, as if questioning whether I was really just a four-year-old. At that moment, Jang Sungman re-entered the room.

“Oh? Hello, Mr. Jang!” Ji-eun stood up to greet him with a bow, while Dad, clearly more casual with him, nodded.

“You’re here?”

This time, Jang was dressed sharply in a suit, his hair neatly styled. Gone was the disheveled man from earlier; he now looked like a polished, middle-aged gentleman. Yet, his eyes remained fixed on me as he approached.

“Well? Do I still look like a grandpa?”
“Yes.”

My immediate, unfiltered response hit him like a freight train. Pretending to faint, he collapsed onto the sofa, draping his arm dramatically over the back.

“You really think I’m a grandpa, huh?” he said, resigned to his fate.

Still leaning on the sofa, he turned to Ji-eun. “So, what were you talking about?”

Ji-eun glanced at Dad for approval, and when he nodded, she played the song.

“What do you think?”

Dad and my voices blended seamlessly into a trendy, upbeat children’s song with a modern twist.

“Why haven’t you released this? Is it because of the contract? Should I draft up a blank one, like before?”

Jang’s exaggerated offer earned a soft laugh from Dad.

“No, I just made it for fun with Siyoon.”
“Come on! Every time you make something ‘for fun,’ it turns into a hit. This song is a surefire success—it’s perfect for your comeback!”

“You know I have no intention of returning,” Dad said. “And if I ever do, it won’t be until Siyoon’s older—maybe once he’s in elementary school.”

Jang nodded slowly, as if reluctantly accepting Dad’s answer. “Fine. At least you haven’t completely given up on your dreams. You know the contract still stands, right?”
“Of course~,” Dad replied, smiling faintly.

Ji-eun suddenly piped up, “Oh, by the way, Siyoon asked how much the song would make.”

Jang raised an eyebrow and sat beside me, intrigued.

“Well,” he began, “when you expect a song to make a lot of money, it usually earns only a tenth—or even a hundredth—of what you hoped for.”

I nodded thoughtfully, studying his face. Something about his breath smelled strange, as though he’d eaten something odd.

“But,” he continued, “with your dad’s reputation as a legendary genius making a comeback after four years, combined with the buzz this song would create… the potential earnings could be huge.”

He leaned back, his tone shifting to one of certainty. “The song has everything: a compelling backstory, a perfect father-son duo, and plenty of media appeal.”

Talking about Mom’s death, even indirectly, in front of Dad… Was Jang Sungman really that oblivious? Dad, though clearly uncomfortable, didn’t react beyond a slight shift in his posture.

“If this song is released only in Korea, it could bring in billions. Globally? Tens of billions wouldn’t be out of reach.”

I widened my eyes at the staggering numbers, my thoughts immediately calculating the possibilities.

“Mustache-shaped snacks… at least 285,715 packs…”
“…..”
“That’s one pack a day for… 782 years…”

Everyone in the room stared at me, stunned. The sight of a four-year-old calmly performing division and multiplication left them speechless—even Dad seemed caught off guard.

“A… genius…”
“I know.”
“A prodigy…”
“I know.”

In my past life, I’d never thought of myself as exceptionally intelligent. But now, my brain worked like a finely tuned machine, solving problems faster than I could explain. It almost felt like I wasn’t myself. When I focused deeply, time itself seemed to slow.

I turned to Dad, meeting his gaze directly.

“Let’s release the song, Dad.”
“…Is this about the money?”

I tapped my lips, pretending to think.

“Hmm… I don’t really understand how big that kind of money is, but…”

Dad glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re lying to me again, aren’t you?”
“Yup. Just a little white lie.”

“…..”

He sighed, resigned, and nodded.

“I’m hungry.”
“If we release the song, you know Dad might get too busy to spend time with you, right?”

His voice was hesitant, his grip on the steering wheel tight, as though bracing for an answer he didn’t want to hear.

“Then don’t do it.”

“…..”

His face clouded with uncertainty, his expression heavy with contemplation.

“Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“If you make music, will you abandon me?”
“Never! Siyoon, you’re everything to me!”
“If you make music, will you stop driving me places?”
“No.”
“If you make music, will you stop cooking for me?”
“Of course not.”
“If you make music, will you stop sleeping next to me?”
“…..”
“If you make music, will you stop playing with me?”
“…..”

I sighed dramatically. “See? Nothing’s really different.”

“…But…”

Dad pulled the car over and rested his head on the steering wheel.

“Dad… are you afraid that loving music so much is what kept you from being with Mom?”

My words hit him hard. He closed his eyes tightly, as if the question itself was painful.

For years, Dad had suppressed his love for music, meticulously controlling his time. He spent only six hours a day in his studio while I was at daycare. No matter how inspired he felt, the instant his alarm went off, he left without hesitation, as if staying longer would unleash some kind of disaster.

Once hailed as a “once-in-a-generation genius,” Dad was now bound by his talent, haunted by the moments it had stolen from him. He wasn’t there when Mom passed. He wasn’t there when I was born. Those regrets lingered, shaping every decision he made.

Even now, four years later, the trauma drove him to flee his studio the moment his alarm sounded, as though he were running from ghosts.

“Dad, you’re making music.”
“…..”
“And yet, here you are, spending time with me.”
“…Yeah.”
“Sure, you probably brought me to work so you could sneak in some time for yourself.”
“…..”

He gave me a look, half-amused and half-incredulous, as if wondering how I saw through him so easily.

“Let’s be real. You can’t stop now, can you?”
“…If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”
“Sure you will.”

I smirked. I knew he meant it—he would give up anything for me. But watching Dad hum a melody or play on a toy piano brought out a joy I couldn’t ignore. How could I take that away from him?

For four years, this “novice dad” had sacrificed his greatest love for my sake. As much as I adored him, I couldn’t be selfish enough to let it continue.

“Just do it, Dad. Make music the way you play with me. Show people what you want to show them.”

“…..”

“And remember, Dad… you said you love me more than music.”

“Yeah…” Dad replied softly.
“Then just pace yourself. If you can’t, it’s okay to hold off, like you’ve been doing.”

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly, before turning to look at me.

“My daughter is so smart… I ended up worrying you instead, huh?”
“As long as you understand now.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Then… how about we release just the song you and I recorded together?”

“The one you’ve been tweaking just now?”
“Oh… you noticed that?”
“Yeah.”

Neither Jang Sungman nor Aunt Ji-eun knew that Dad had been quietly refining the song. To them, it was just the original track we’d created together, but I had caught on to the adjustments he’d been making.

“Wanna listen?”
“Yeah.”

As the music began to play, I felt the full weight of why people called rapper Kim Jiho a genius composer.

The melody, anchored by a soft piano, felt like stepping into a world made of clouds—light, gentle, and embracing. But beneath the soothing simplicity lay an intricate web of emotions, subtle yet profound.

It was the kind of music that mirrored life’s contradictions: a bright, clear blue sky that could, on certain days, feel inexplicably sorrowful.

The song was warm, uplifting, and full of life, yet it carried a quiet ache, a hint of longing that made it all the more beautiful.

I closed my eyes, letting the layers of sound wash over me. It wasn’t just a song—it was an experience.

This wasn’t just music. This was Dad’s heart, laid bare, a story told without words.