Can a Little Dragon Do That Too?
Had I… truly done wrong by my daughter?
My superpower was Physical Type — and even then, nothing more than enhanced leg strength. I could run a little faster than most people, kick a little harder. That was all.
As a child, that was enough. I outran the other kids in every race, and when someone came at me, one good kick settled it.
But Physical Type was a cursed ability.
For people like us, the ceiling was painfully clear. No matter how hard we struggled, we could never catch up to those who created something from nothing. No matter how fast I ran, I was still slower than the girl who rode the wind. No matter how hard I kicked, all I could do was crack the stone wall someone else had conjured — never land a meaningful blow.
I learned that in high school.
Clinging to the strength I'd known through middle school, I applied to the hero track and enrolled in a specialized hero high school. I didn't win a single fight. In the place where I'd believed in my dream most fiercely, that dream was crushed with absolute, merciless certainty.
In the end I wasn't a hero. I was an assistant sidekick — within the department they called me a pack mule, or, putting it kindly, an errand girl. It was a humiliating nickname, but I had to endure it. My family wasn't well-off, and the money they'd invested to get me into that hero high school wasn't something I could ignore.
After graduating, ignored by every last classmate, I started a business supplying logistics support to field heroes — and before long, that company had grown into a giant that everyone in the hero industry knew and used.
Once I had some breathing room, I met my current husband and we had a child.
Five years after she was born, my daughter still hadn't awakened any superpower. By that age, something should have shown — but nothing did. Praying that she, at least, wouldn't be Physical Type like me, I held her close and took her to the Erosion Control Center for a professional evaluation.
Against every hope I had, my daughter was Physical Type. And when the examiner introduced her ability as Imugi, my face only darkened further. Physical Type was already a loser's power — and hers was Imugi, an ability destined to lose to every other.
I couldn't stop the words that left my mouth.
"An ability that can never be number one… a loser's power."
I don't know what expression I wore, but my husband stared at me with frightened eyes, and the examiner seemed to be saying something — I heard none of it.
From that day on, I managed my daughter with ruthless thoroughness so she wouldn't repeat my mistakes. Everything — her daily schedule, when she ate, when she washed — was under my control. Physical Types were better with their bodies than their heads, and whenever I saw my daughter struggling with her studies, it was like looking at my past self. I'd even shout that she was stupid.
She would hate me now, I told myself, but someday she would understand.
When she started elementary school, I enrolled her in one of the top five schools in the country and bought a villa nearby for her to live in. I paid so little attention to my husband that he brought home a few additional wives — but my daughter's future mattered more.
Since work kept me from staying at the villa, I hired servants to care for her and monitor her, ensuring she grew up exactly as I managed her. Then word came from the villa that she'd gone off to a resort in Busan.
I went to Busan, found my daughter, and was in the middle of scolding her for ignoring the summer vacation schedule I'd set — when she slapped me across the face and told me I was the one in the wrong.
I was holding Mother's hand as we walked back to our room. Ryu-yeong had gone separately, hand in hand with her own mother. I glanced at Mother with worry, but she reassured me she was fine.
I didn't ask what she and Ryu-yeong's mother had talked about. But looking at Mother, who had watched Ryu-yeong's mother with slightly sad eyes, and at Ryu-yeong's mother herself — walking with empty eyes, weakly holding her daughter's hand — the situation seemed to have settled for now.
Before we entered the room, I asked Mother quietly.
"Mother… was your superpower strong from the moment you were born?"
I couldn't forget the desperate cry Ryu-yeong's mother had hurled at her earlier. The resentment built up over a lifetime of gaps created by the abilities people were born with still seemed to echo in my head.
Mother lifted me into her arms, stroked my back, and slowly opened her mouth.
"…No. Mom's superpower… wasn't originally what it is now. It changed into this because I kept fighting — to protect your father, to beat other women."
"So Ryu-yeong's mother misunderstood?"
I looked up at her from within her arms. Mother shook her head with a bitter smile.
"No… I can't say she's wrong. Unlike Emission Types like Mom, Seol-hee, and Seol-hwa, Physical Types have to put in so much more effort…"
"…But I can do it, right? I don't have a superpower. I lied."
Looking at the door we'd arrived at, I leaned into her and asked softly. I didn't have a superpower. Earlier, to persuade Ryu-yeong's mother, I'd promised to make Ryu-yeong strong — but honestly, I wasn't confident.
My knowledge from the other world would certainly help with basic combat and tactics, but fundamentally I was a mage. Hand-to-hand wasn't my specialty. My advice might work for now, but once Ryu-yeong got even a little stronger… I wouldn't be able to teach her how to grow any further.
At my doubt, Mother gave a small chuckle, gently hugged me, and said,
"Just being at a girl's side is enough for a boy to help her more than any superpower ever could. Just like your mom did."
I almost said, But Ryu-yeong thinks I'm a girl — then swallowed the words. What mattered in that statement wasn't my gender. It was the heart that believed in her.
When we opened the door, Father was there patting a sleeping Seol-hwa, and Seol-hee looked up at us and flinched slightly. She must have heard what happened in the hallway.
I leaned slowly against Mother and closed my eyes. I wasn't sleepy, but the incident had left me a little tired — a reminder that even this original world wasn't entirely peaceful.
Day twelve at the resort. We were originally supposed to head home on day ten, but Kang Ryu-yeong's parents had come and asked us to stay another month with her. Mother had smiled at Ryu-yeong's mother bowing her head in request and readily agreed.
With nothing left to do inside the resort itself, our family had come out to the beach in front of it. And right now, I was staring at the shark-person who'd appeared before my eyes, watching in real time as she pulled out her own teeth and molded them into camera lenses.
"Kyahahaha!! Well?! Pretty amazing, right?!"
Cheon Sa, the CEO of Out Focus Security where Mother worked, was looking after me under a parasol while the rest of the family — everyone except me — went to the changing rooms to put on swimsuits.
She was the boss of Mother's company, she explained. The one who'd dispatched Mother to the hospital when I'd been staying there, and the one who'd made every lens in the CCTV cameras installed at the time — all of it was this shark-person sitting in front of me.
When I'd carefully asked Mother and Father, based on what I'd heard at the hospital, whether it was okay for a non-parent to be a guardian, the CEO must have caught my small voice — she laughed a Kyahaha and showed me a Class-1 Male Protection Permit, telling me it was fine.
I turned the lens she'd handed me over in my hands, examining it. What had once been her canine tooth, after a bit of kneading between her fingers, had become a hard, sharp lens.
"Are these lenses really that good? Good enough that every security and bodyguard company uses them?"
"Kyahahaha!! Of course! Doesn't matter if it's dark or bright, and no matter how fast you're moving while you shoot — zero shake!"
I honestly didn't know much about lenses, so I couldn't really judge, but she went on and on about durability and variety of shapes, boasting about her lenses without pause. I half-listened to the CEO's lens lecture and looked past her at the ocean and the waves stretching out behind.
Half a year had already passed since Se-ah moved away. I'd asked Mother a few times if I could contact her, but she'd said the place Se-ah's family had moved to was such a remote mountain village that neither signal nor mail was easy. When I worried about Se-ah's school, Mother said that with Se-ah's ability, she could manage even a somewhat distant school on her own.
Hearing my family's voices and Ryu-yeong's from behind me, I turned to look. Among my family, Ryu-yeong was walking over with a slightly awkward expression, holding Mother's hand on one side.
Seeing her, I escaped the shark-person's lens boasting, walked over to Ryu-yeong, and said with a bright smile,
"They say dragons are great swimmers — think a little dragon can manage too?"
"Ha! I'll show you why our family's resort is in Busan!!"
Ryu-yeong's parents, after asking our family to stay longer, had gotten back in their limousine and left. They seemed busy with work, and Ryu-yeong's expression as she watched them go had looked a little lonely — but she'd squeezed my hand tight, told them to take care, and managed a faint smile.
At my little provocation, Ryu-yeong snorted, grabbed my hand, and bolted toward the sea. She scooped me into her arms and charged as if she meant to run across the water — then a massive wave crashed over us and we both went under.
The moment we hit the water I panicked and tried to get us both back to the surface, but then I saw Ryu-yeong underwater, holding me tight, looking into my eyes with a grin — and I let the tension leave my body and grinned back.
Unlike when I'd rescued Se-ah before, this time I was the one being saved. And I found myself a little excited for the day the little dragon would meet those pale azure waves.