I Became the Youngest Daughter of a Chaebol Family

Yoo Jin-cheol’s grave, as expected, was located in the family burial ground.

This family cemetery had its own kind of tradition. Although, in truth, very few were actually buried there, since the man who was practically the founder of the family—Grandfather—was still very much alive.

“...You really were a disgraceful son.”

Well, we’re about the same age now, so I think I’m allowed to drop the formalities.

–Tap.

Yoo Jin-cheol (1958–1983).

The years of birth and death etched into the tombstone.

I scowled when I saw it.

Twenty-five, in international age. That’s not only younger than I was in my previous life—but now nearly the same as I am in this one. Back then, he’d seemed so large, so terrifying...

My father.

***

Looking back now, I didn’t exactly have a pleasant childhood right after being born.

Who am I?

That question never left my mind.

I had memories, sure—but that was it. The only lingering remnants of my past life were a vague sense of ambition and a faint trace of masculinity.

And then...

“You’re not my daughter. Isn’t that right?”

Those words.

They were spoken by Yoo Jin-cheol, who had until then seemed like a fairly decent man—spoken one day when he got absolutely plastered and spat them out. It was less than a week after I’d turned one.

I remember it. I was young, after all.

Yeah. That’s right.

I was young.

Too young to be hearing something like that. So I just nodded.

Because I figured, maybe that’s true.

Tragically, I had the knowledge to understand what he meant—but not the mental resilience to endure it. I was, quite literally, just a child. I couldn’t predict or withstand the coldness that would follow from Yoo Jin-cheol.

In any case—

Those words from my father, from Yoo Jin-cheol, gave a certain finality to my already-fractured sense of identity.

“Ah... I’m not his daughter, after all.”

To a child, a parent is the whole world. And my world had already come into existence missing half of itself. Then the remaining half rejected me, too... so I was left with only one identity to choose.

My past life.

I began to think of the person I was before—whose name I couldn’t even remember—as both my parent and myself.

...Well, in fairness, that wasn’t completely inaccurate. After all, I had been a self-made orphan turned Wall Street fund manager.

But that understanding only came once I’d developed a bit more. For a baby barely a year old, that truth was just too much.

You know those stories—where someone suddenly regains memories of a past life during a pivotal moment? Like waking up one day, or during an academy entrance ceremony, or right before the IMF crisis or some other major turning point?

For me, that moment had just come far too early.

So eventually, I learned to cope. The more I ravenously consumed knowledge with these longing hands, the more numb I became. The faster I absorbed, the more I remembered my father as nothing but a man named “Yoo Jin-cheol”—and the less it hurt.

I guess that’s why, when he died when I was five, I didn’t cry.

.

.

.

And so, I’m fine now.

The person I am today is a mix of the “me” from my past life and the present-day Yoo Ha-yeon. Sure, lately the “Ha-yeon” part has grown stronger, but that’s just a natural result of living this life longer. I no longer reject the idea of change like I used to.

But...

“I still remember everything from back then so vividly. Maybe... maybe that’s why I /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ still can’t sleep well at night.”

From the moment I was born until now, I’ve been able to recall everything with perfect clarity. Even the emotions from back then.

Sorrows and resentments that were undoubtedly mine—but now feel strangely foreign—still haunt me at times.

No matter how fine I may be now, the me back then wasn’t okay.

Not at all.

Those crystal-clear memories still glow dimly in one corner of my mind, flickering with a quiet kind of grief.

———

I was reborn as the youngest granddaughter of a chaebol family.

———

I have a rough idea of why.

———

Actually, not really. Why would a so-called god do this to me? No matter how much theology I study, even with all my interest in the world’s workings, explaining the existence of such a twisted, petty deity remains out of reach.

And no matter how hard a newborn baby tries, there’s something you’ll inevitably find out just by looking in the mirror.

———

Anyway.

———

Born in 1978. Youngest granddaughter of the founder of Daehwa Group, which ranked second or third in the business world in my past life.

Yoo Ha-yeon.

That’s who I am now.

———

I still remember exactly what I was thinking back then, and how I felt.

No matter how much I insist that I’m still the same person from before, the moment I look into the mirror, it’s not some nameless individual I see—but ‘Yoo Ha-yeon.’

No one else could define who I was. Only me.

———

“Mmng...”

Stretch—

My chubby cheek stretched like mochi. The cute little girl in the mirror opened her eyes wide and curiously poked at her cheek.

Black hair. Black eyes. Other than being rather pretty, she was just a normal little human girl.

Zing.

Even when I tried scowling, with this five-year-old face, it just made me look cuter.

Cute enough to make someone want to pinch my cheeks... But the fact that that was me made it impossible to feel at ease.

———

Yoo Ha-yeon is me.

But Father insisted the two were different. He said the original Yoo Ha-yeon had died when a ghost entered her head as a child.

The young Yoo Ha-yeon, who had no memory of life in the womb, simply nodded and accepted those words.

Of course, that changed as I grew older.

Now I see things differently. The person I am now is me, the person from my past life is also me, and from the moment I first used the name ‘Yoo Ha-yeon’ until now, there hasn’t been a single part of me that wasn’t me.

I was just... a bit of a special child, that’s all.

Yeah. No matter how I look at it... how could such a beautiful, adorable child not be me? That’d be an absolute loss.

And then—

“What do you think of Yoo Ha-yeon, Si-hyun?”

“She’s rude, sometimes selfish and impulsive... but when it comes to her ability and the way she cares for those around her, she is without a doubt my master.”

“You just listed two things and called it one.”

“Ah...”

Heh.

“That’s fine. I get what you meant.”

I glanced around. The sky above was softly blurred with photos imprinted from my memories.

My nanny, Lee Si-hyun, Yoo Seon-jun, Seo Ji-yeon, and so on... the people I was close to were neatly stitched into the sky through recollections.

Looking up at the sky like that, the feather-like clouds drifting past looked rather nice.

I never needed a photography hobby in the first place.

My memories were far clearer than any photo—so why would I bother taking pictures? Just as funerals are for the living and not the dead, I took photos not to remember myself, but because I wanted others to remember me.

I finally understand that now.

I must have needed someone else to validate me.

“...Miss.”

“What?”

“You should have dinner before you go.”

Lee Si-hyun cautiously called out to me. Despite all the power I now wield, she still rushes to my side whenever I call, loyal to a fault...

She was family.

“Mm, let’s eat together before we leave, then.”

I looked at her for a moment, then gave a small, gentle smile and nodded.

Yeah... I have new family now.

Even in my past life, I never had anyone I could call family.

This second life... I’m truly grateful for it. Even if the person I used to be couldn’t have known that.

–Tap.

I brushed my hand over the tombstone and quietly spoke.

“Si-hyun.”

“Yes.”

“Dig a grave.”

“...Excuse me?”

I calmly gestured to the empty spot next to where Yoo Jin-cheol was buried.

“Just a small one. Big enough for a newborn.”

“...Understood.”

It didn’t take long. It wasn’t a real grave—just a symbolic one, a mock burial.

.

.

.

Tap tap.

A tiny mound of dirt, like something from a child’s playtime, was formed.

“...You do know it’s technically illegal to tamper with someone else’s grave.”

“I’m a surviving family member. It’s fine.”

“I’m not, though.”

“You are... You’re my family too.”

I covered the mound with my own hands, dirt sticking to my skin, as I buried myself.

The child I once was, the girl who wanted nothing more than to not know anything, the daughter who once saw the young man lying in the grave beside as her father.

I looked back and forth between my dirt-covered hands and the clean gravestone, then murmured—

Words that I could only now allow myself to think.

“Now that I look back on it... you were probably just a kid too.”

There were exactly twenty years between Yoo Jin-cheol and me—he’d become a father just after turning twenty.

If I imagined having a child and raising it now... it felt overwhelming. He must have felt the same.

He was unprepared. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to handle someone like me—a child with a consciousness too large for her body.

Would it have been different if Mom had lived?

Maybe... but that’s a meaningless question.

“...You know, my dad used to hate drinking.”

“If he hated it... why did he drink?”

“Because he hated it. It’s sad, but I think Dad hated himself more than he hated me.”

He hated the ghost that had supposedly killed his daughter. He hated himself for trying so hard to forget it. And he hated himself even more for knowing that none of it was actually true—and for feeling sorry for the daughter he couldn’t bring himself to accept.

That’s why. That’s all it was. Two people with minds too young for their bodies and circumstances... hurting each other until one of them died.

I know. His official cause of death was an accident, but... it was suicide.

Maybe I was the reason.

“Haa...”

I let out a long, deep sigh.

All the messy, exhausting pain of the past—this is where it ends. It’s time for it to become the past.

“You did your best, Father.”

If there’s a next life, I hope you meet a daughter a little more ordinary.

***

On the way back.

I sorted through my tangled thoughts while chatting with Lee Si-hyun.

“Hmm... So, Miss, do you think he was truly your father after all?”

Who knows.

“I don’t really want to define it that clearly. I don’t believe in some immutable essence. Back then, he was my father. Later, he wasn’t. And now, I’d say it’s fifty-fifty. Who knows? Maybe that’ll change again someday.”

Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝓷𝓮𝓽

“...That’s pretty complicated.”

“Life is complicated. People accept others through their own interpretation. I don’t really care what some twenty-year-old Yoo Jin-cheol thought of me.”

Essence doesn’t exist. Only what people believe to be essence is real. You know the quote—existence precedes essence.

“I’m just glad I’m not the only one thinking about this stuff. Philosophy owes its existence to people trying to make sense of their pain. I’m grateful to philosophers. Sartre would’ve been great if he hadn’t supported North Korea.”

“...Wait, he supported North Korea?”

“Anyway, here’s what I realized: if people are the ones who define essence, then we should at least try to expand our choices. These messy thoughts I’m having now—they might’ve been completely meaningless if my dad had lived. Philosophy is a tool created by those who suffer to understand their suffering. Happy people have no use for it.”

That’s why I want money and power—so I never have to think about this kind of thing again.

“Mm. But Miss...”

She handed me a handkerchief.

“Ah.”

Tears were streaming down my cheeks.

“Are you alright?”

“Am I...? Ha, ha.”

So I guess, just for now—he was my father after all.

Goddamn man.