After school, Yun-ji returned to the Choi residence, slipping silently into her room. She washed up, changed into her softest pajamas, and settled at her desk, feeling a thrill of excitement as an idea that had been brewing for weeks took clearer shape. Armed with her notebook and pen, she was ready to craft her vision.
The idea was bold: a line of cosmetics made entirely from organic ingredients, a product of her unique fusion of ancient and modern medical knowledge. In her past life, she had watched organic skincare brands explode in popularity over the next three to five years. They seemed to spring up overnight, their founders skyrocketing to fame as they transformed niche products into mainstream essentials. In this life, however, Yun-ji would be at the front of the wave. She knew her medical expertise could give her brand a genuine advantage that others lacked. Her ambition was far beyond merely following a trend—she wanted to revolutionize the field.
Carefully, she began listing ideas for products, mentally evaluating their benefits and potential market appeal. She envisioned formulas blending centuries-old medicinal knowledge with the precision of modern science. Perhaps a soothing lavender and green tea serum to calm inflamed skin, or a brightening elixir of ginseng and fermented rice water. Her mind raced with possibilities, and she found herself scribbling with fervor, filling pages with names, ideas, and product concepts.
But to make this vision a reality, she knew she needed capital, and she had a plan for that as well. Her investments—strategically placed in stocks and shares she remembered booming in her past life—were set to bring her substantial returns soon. Once she had that financial security, she could move forward with her dream, unburdened by constraints. It would be her mark on the world, her triumph over those who once sought to belittle her.
With a confident smile, she outlined her first product lineup, listing the ingredients she would need to experiment with. She would start with a few core products and build from there, creating a brand grounded in authenticity, efficacy, and the rare knowledge she possessed. Her past life had given her the insight; her new life would give her the chance.
Meanwhile, in Gyeong City…
Min-Ho sat on the edge of her bed, gazing at the morning light filtering through her window. The warmth of the sun felt distant and cold, as though it couldn't touch the darkness she carried inside. After a moment, she sighed, rose, and prepared for the day, dressing in a delicate pastel outfit that concealed her inner steel. Today, she would play her part—the role of the docile, unsuspecting sister they all assumed her to be.
As she entered the spacious hall, she found Mrs. Kang reclining on an ornate sofa, sipping tea, and conversing with her daughter, Ji-Yeon, who recounted her day at school with exaggerated excitement. Her laughter seemed almost mocking to Min-Ho, echoing with a false innocence that only fueled Min-Ho's quiet rage.
Ji-Yeon turned, spotting Min-Ho, and her expression softened into one of feigned concern. "Sister," she cooed, voice dripping with false sympathy, "how is your health? I came to check on you yesterday, but you were sleeping so soundly. Mom said you've been so tired lately." Her tone was gentle, her eyes wide with mock worry, and Min-Ho's blood simmered beneath her calm expression.
The audacity, Min-Ho thought. They poisoned me and have the gall to pretend to care? But now was not the time to show her anger. She forced herself to respond softly, her expression placid.
"I'm fine, Ji-Yeon. Just a bit tired lately, that's all."
"Oh, thank goodness!" Ji-Yeon sighed dramatically, resting a hand on her chest as if relieved. "I was really worried about you." Then, leaning forward, she asked, "Since you're feeling better, could you do me a favor?"
Min-Ho's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. She knew Ji-Yeon's manipulative tricks too well. In her past life, this girl had often played the concerned sister only to squeeze favors and benefits from Min-Ho. But this time, Min-Ho was prepared, her mind as sharp as a knife honed by years of betrayal.
Feigning a lack of understanding, Min-Ho replied, "But I barely leave the house. What could I possibly help you with?"
Mrs. Kang jumped in, her expression soft yet her gaze calculating. "Min-Ho, we're only keeping you inside to protect your health. Once you're stronger, you'll be able to go out and even attend school like Ji-Yeon. Just be patient, dear."
Ji-Yeon, sensing her mother's support, leaned in again, her voice coated in sweetness. "It's just that… my friends signed me up for a drawing competition at school, and the teacher is expecting something tomorrow. I'm no artist, but you're amazing at drawing. If I submit one of your pieces, everyone will love it. Please, sister?"
Min-Ho's heart hardened. They want to steal my work and claim it as their own—just like they always did.
Despite the anger churning inside her, Min-Ho responded with a small smile. "I don't know if my work is good enough. I only draw for fun."
Mrs. Kang patted Min-Ho's shoulder encouragingly. "Help your sister, Min-Ho. You're talented, and I'm sure whatever you make will be wonderful. There's no need to win, just give her something nice for the competition."
Min-Ho nodded, retreating to her room. She would draw something, yes, but it would be nothing like they expected. This time, she would play her own game. She would create something simple, just enough to give Ji-Yeon a false sense of confidence—only to see it shattered in front of her peers. It was only a taste of what they had done to her throughout her past life, and Min-Ho had no intention of letting them escape her retribution in this one.
She sat at her desk, brushing her fingers over the paper as she thought of how best to accomplish her goal. It was a challenge to restrain herself from creating something exceptional. But she forced her hand to produce a simple sketch, devoid of the complexity and mastery she usually poured into her art. As she concentrated, a sudden, tight ache gripped her chest. She instinctively clutched her necklace, the strange pendant that had brought her comfort in recent days. Warmth spread from the pendant, a soothing balm to the pain that clouded her vision. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.
When she opened them again, she was somewhere else entirely.
She sat on the edge of a bed in an unfamiliar room. Across from her, a girl about her age was hunched over a desk, her face tense as she sketched a complex blueprint. Min-Ho could see her frustration, the way her brow furrowed as she tapped the paper with her pencil, clearly struggling with whatever she was working on.
Min-Ho's eyes widened. The room was strange yet oddly familiar. She sat still, her gaze fixed on the girl across the room, observing her every movement in astonishment. A feeling stirred deep within her—this was the same presence she'd felt on the day she awoke after her rebirth, a subtle connection she couldn't explain. Her eyes trailed to the girl's neck, and there, resting against her collarbone, was an identical chain to the one Min-Ho wore. The sight solidified her suspicion; they were somehow bound together by forces she could barely comprehend.
Across the room, Yun-ji, lost in her work, suddenly felt an intense gaze upon her, like a whisper in her ear calling her name. She turned slowly, and her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the same frail girl she'd seen in fleeting moment which she thought was a dream—Min-Ho, alive and right there, staring at her from the bed.
Their eyes met, both filled with surprise and recognition. The room was silent, each girl caught in the realization that they were looking at someone who knew their secrets, their pain, and, perhaps, their destiny.