The Six-Year-Old Child, Jang Seoha
April 17, 2006.
When she opened her eyes, the familiar ceiling greeted her.
Seoha stared blankly at it for a while before pulling her hand out from under the covers. A small, soft palm with short, chubby fingers. She squeezed her fist shut, then slowly uncurled it, but nothing had changed.
Still tiny.
Which was only to be expected. Turning five years old today didn't mean her hand would suddenly grow overnight.
She tucked her hand back under the blanket.
She had already been living in this body for five years now. She was getting fairly used to it, though it hadn't been that way from the start.
Honestly, at first I thought I was losing my mind.
When she'd first opened her eyes, nothing came into focus properly. And whenever she tried to speak—
"Waaaaah!"
That was all she could manage.
…….
Even now, it embarrassed her to think about. When she was hungry, she cried; when she was sleepy, she cried. Above all, crying was the only way to get fed or get her diaper changed. Enduring bodily functions in a newborn's body was no easy feat. Once she realized that, she gave up and simply lived as an ordinary newborn.
Which is to say, she cried at every opportunity.
The real problem lay elsewhere. Figuring out where exactly here was.
The first names that reached her ears were few. Seoha. Youngmin. Hyejin… probably her family's names. And then… Haewon?
At first she thought it was just a family name. But once she could understand speech, and once she could read the newspapers lying around the house and watch television, she became certain.
Jang Seoha, born in 2001. She was—
the granddaughter of Jang Taeguk, chairman of Haewon Group, one of South Korea's top-tier conglomerates!
When she first learned the truth, she felt more dazed than delighted. In her previous life, Seoha had had no family. No parents, no siblings, no grandparents. She hadn't even had a home to return to. But here she was, reborn with a mother and father, an older brother, and, a little later on, a younger sister, too.
And in a chaebol family, no less.
Well—there was the minor detail of her gender having changed…
Is this a dream?
At first she wondered if it was all a delusion, an escape from her miserable reality. She soon realized this place was real, though.
Not that a child's hands could do much damage—a slap to her own cheek barely stung. So instead, she grabbed at whatever was in sight, yanking her mother's hair until a few strands came out, and only then accepted that this world was real.
"Who on earth did our Seoha take after, to be such a little rascal?"
Complimentary bonus: her mother glaring down at her with slightly misty eyes.
Knock, knock.
The door opened.
"Seoha, sweetie? You're awake?"
Yoon Hyejin entered with the familiar voice. Seoha turned her head.
"Mm-hm."
"Happy birthday, my darling."
Hyejin sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Seoha's hair. It was a touch she'd received every single day for five years now, and yet sometimes it still felt strange. Someone worrying about her without being asked, cherishing her for no reason other than that she was their daughter—that had never been a given for Seoha.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Mm-hm."
"Anything hurt?"
"Nope."
Hyejin narrowed her eyes. "Really?"
"Really."
"You kicked off your blanket last night."
"You tucked it back in for me."
Hyejin went quiet for a moment. Then she let out a small laugh. "And how do you know that?"
"Because I woke up halfway."
She hadn't exactly woken up, in truth—she'd only been dozing lightly and stirred briefly at the sensation of the blanket being pulled over her. But Hyejin let it slide. Seoha had always been that kind of child.
From the moment she started talking, she'd hardly ever thrown tantrums. She'd never once flopped on the floor demanding a toy. Teach her a word and she'd read it right away; show her numbers and she'd soon be doing arithmetic.
At first, Hyejin had been startled. There had even been a moment when she wondered if her daughter really might be a prodigy.
Naturally, Seoha hadn't missed that reaction either. So from then on, she'd been a little more careful. Play the child-genius act too long, and the well would run dry before long. She pretended not to understand things she clearly understood, and whenever she picked something up too quickly, she fumbled with it for a few days. She understood every word the adults said, too, but never saw any reason to jump in.
Thanks to that, Hyejin's astonishment hadn't lasted. She'd come to accept that her second daughter was simply a little precocious and rather clever, and left it at that.
"Wash up and come down. Your father's waiting."
"Daddy hasn't left yet?"
"He says he wants to see our Seoha's face before he goes today."
Hyejin rose, then added, "And Seoyun's waiting for you, too."
Seoha's expression stiffened slightly. "Why?"
"She's been beside herself since dawn because it's your birthday."
"It's my birthday, though?"
"I know, right?"
Hyejin left the room with a laugh. Seoha sat on the bed and sighed. In her experience, an excited three-year-old was rarely a good omen.
The moment Seoha stepped into the living room, Seoyun came barreling toward her.
"Unnie!"
The small body attached itself squarely to her leg. The sudden impact made Seoha stagger back a step.
"Jang Seoyun."
"Birfday!"
"Yes. It's unnie's birthday."
"Cake!"
"We're eating it tonight."
"Now!"
"No."
Seoyun's face turned sulky in an instant.
…No matter how many times I see it, she really is adorable.
With a father like theirs and a mother so beautiful she could outshine a Miss Korea (Dad's words, not mine), the genetics were bound to be good. A somewhat dated expression, but hey, it was 2006.
And the same went for Seoha herself. She rarely had occasion to go out, but whenever she did, her irresistibly cute looks (Mom's words) drew every eye around.
At this rate, I could probably make it as a celebrity?
She thought that sometimes, mid-face-wash. Delicate features, big eyes, fair skin. A face that drew compliments from everyone—what a beautiful little girl—and even Seoha herself had to admit the future looked promising.
After a moment's consideration, Seoha held out her hand.
"Tonight, unnie will give you the biggest slice."
Seoyun's face brightened at once. "Weally?"
"Yes."
"Stwawbewwy too?"
"The strawberries are mine, though."
"……."
Seoyun's face promptly fell again. Seoha relented. "Fine. You can have one."
Only then did Seoyun break into a beaming smile. "Wuv you, unnie!"
"Yes, yes."
Seoyun, a thoroughly well-loved three-year-old, bounced back in an instant, grinning ear to ear.
"Seoyun's picking up bad habits."
It was Jang Sungwoo, seated on the sofa. Her nine-year-old brother—not old enough for eighth-grader syndrome, but apparently early for second-grade syndrome—was getting more insufferable by the day.
If it weren't for you, I'd absolutely…
Fighting with a nine-year-old would be embarrassing in its own right, so for now, she let it go.
Sungwoo tilted his chin toward a long, slim package sitting on the coffee table. "That one's yours."
"What is it?"
Seoha walked over and tore off the wrapping. Beneath the rustling paper was a black case; when she lifted the lid, a single fountain pen lay neatly inside.
A rather odd gift for a six-year-old.
Seoha looked back and forth between the pen and Sungwoo's face.
"You're always messing with Dad's pens."
"That's just because I use them."
"Exactly."
Seoha picked up the fountain pen. It was a bit large for a child's hand, but she rather liked its solid weight. "Thank you."
"Yeah."
Sungwoo turned his head away, acting as if it were nothing. But she could see his ears had gone a little red.
He's still just a kid, too.
Though to be fair, in everyone else's eyes, so was she.
Just then, their father's voice carried over from the dining room. Jang Youngmin. "Everyone, come eat."
Seoha's family took their seats one by one. Youngmin was already in his suit—watch included—so it looked like he'd be heading straight to the office the moment breakfast ended.
As Seoha settled into her chair, Youngmin held out a small box. "Seoha. Happy birthday."
"Huh? A present from you too, Daddy?"
"It wouldn't be fair if only your brother gave you one, would it?"
Inside the box was a small watch. A children's watch, certainly, but not the kind of thing you'd see just anywhere.
"Wow, is this expensive?"
Youngmin laughed. "Why do you ask?"
"…"
Oops. Slip of the tongue.
Hyejin, who had been watching Seoha, sighed. "Honey. Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"Seoha's at it again. That's what happens when you talk shop in front of the children."
"Ahem. And what exactly did I do?"
"A five-year-old is supposed to be delighted by a present, not ask how much it cost first."
Seoha averted her eyes for no particular reason.
It's not Dad's fault, though.
It was simply an old habit carried over from her previous life. Nice things were too precious to actually use, and new clothes went into the wardrobe, saved for a special occasion. She'd keep telling herself she'd loosen up once things got a little easier later on…
And then she'd died.
It was absurd, a chaebol granddaughter worrying about money. But Jang Seoha, six years old and not yet fully assimilated into her new life of privilege, still worried about money more than anything.
Not that it's only because of the past…
Anyway. Setting that aside.
"Ha! Well, our Seoha has had a rock-solid grasp of money from the very beginning."
Youngmin chuckled good-naturedly. "And nobody's forgotten, right? We're going to your grandfather's house tonight."
"Yes."
"Gwandpa?"
"That's right. We'll blow out your birthday candles at Grandpa's house, and you'll get to see Grandpa, too."
Yes—and that grandfather was precisely the problem.
Haewon Group, one of South Korea's premier chaebols. Ranked seventh among the nation's business groups as of 2006, with 16 trillion won in annual sales and 20 trillion won in assets. A storied conglomerate boasting a workforce of more than fifty thousand employees.
Which, during the 2008 Lehman crisis—
would collapse entirely.