The morning light was pale and drowsy, filtered through sheer curtains that swayed faintly with the breeze.
Areum sat curled at a wide desk, shoulders slightly hunched, her long hair tucked behind one ear as she scribbled slowly into a leather-bound notebook.
A cup of tea sat beside her, its steam curling like soft clouds, carrying a delicate floral scent that lingered in the air. Near the floor-to-ceiling window, a small cluster of crystals rested neatly at the corner of the table, catching the morning light and scattering it into gentle rainbow flares that danced across the walls.
Today, Areum set aside her usual routine to write out the plot of All For My Dearest. She had finally relented—choosing to attend Daehyun Academy.
Now that the choice was made, outlining the general storyline felt like a necessary precaution.
At first, she told herself she made this decision solely to ease her father's worries. But when she sat alone with her thoughts and forced herself to be honest, a deeper truth began to surface.
Why did the thought of attending Daehyun Academy stir such strong resistance in her?
Yes, she wanted to avoid the central drama of the novel.
Yes, she hoped to keep her distance from the main characters—to steer clear of altering their fates.
But why?
Regardless of whether her presence alters the plot, one thing remains certain: it wasn't her fault she was born an illegitimate child. It wasn't her fault her mother made the choices she did.
So why should she shrink back and get out of their way? Why did the idea of changing their paths fill her with such unease?
The answer came easily: she was afraid.
They were the heirs of the Four Pillars—born into power, raised in a world where rules bent to their will. Consequences rarely touched them. They weren't just influential; they were untouchable.
And she knew this far too well. In her second life, she had watched her own parents wield influence like a blade—cutting down anyone who dared step out of line. It didn't matter who got hurt.
The world didn't stop them; it admired them. People were drawn to power like flies to flame—willing to burn just to get a glimpse of the sweetness of power.
She is just one girl. If they decided to make her life difficult, she wouldn't stand a chance.
But then she paused.
Was that really true?
Where had this belief—that she was weak and powerless—come from?
As if in response to the question, her past memories surged to the surface.
In her second life as the daughter of an influential family in Seoul, the trauma of being burned alive in her first life as a witch had etched itself so deeply into her soul that her body instinctively severed its connection to mana.
She couldn't see it, couldn't feel it—couldn't reach for the very essence that had once defined her.
The betrayal of the boy she had saved, the pain of being ostracized for her difference—for her independence from the church's control—lingered like a shadow. It convinced her that being visible, being brave enough to live by her own desires, was dangerous.
For so long, she lived trapped in a performance of ordinariness—that she began to forget her true power.
She was no longer the powerless girl from her past life—the one who couldn't wield mana and lived by everyone else's rules. That life was over.
She had recovered her power.
She wasn't defenseless.
And this time, she wasn't alone—she had a father, one of the Four Pillars, watching over her.
She remembered herself during her second life: sitting under harsh fluorescent light, shoulders hunched over textbooks that never seemed to end. There was always something to memorize, something to perfect. Her days were dictated by study schedules, rankings, and the crushing expectations her parents imposed.
Rest was indulgence. Emotions were a distraction. And failure—failure was not allowed.
Wasn't her goal to experience a life of freedom—to explore new things, to live authentically? So then, why was she still letting past pain and fear hold her back from the kind of high school life she never had the chance to experience?
Making friends. Choosing classes that sparked genuine interest. Navigating her days without the pressure to compete, without the suffocating need to always come out on top. For once, she has the chance to just be a teenager. So why was she still so afraid to take it?
As the realization sank in, Areum felt a heavy weight lift from her body—like a long-carried burden finally released. She blinked, and for a moment, she could see it: a thin, cloudy layer of mana rising from her skin and disintegrating into the air, dissolving like mist in sunlight.
At the corner of the table, something caught her eye—gentle but insistent, as if calling out to her.
Areum reached out, her slender fingers closing around a palm-sized citrine crystal—the same golden hue as her eyes. Its clear, honeyed facets shimmered beneath the sunlight spilling through the window.
A bright, warm mana radiated from the stone, threading its way into her solar plexus chakra.
The mana pulsed, fortifying her sense of self-worth and anchoring her in calm, grounded strength.
A smile curled softly on her lips, her face blooming like a spring flower.
Crystals were her closest allies. They always seemed to know exactly what kind of help she needed—and when she needed it most.
Areum brought herself back to the present.
Just because she'd decided to enjoy school life didn't mean she would walk in unprepared. If anything, it made it even more important to proceed with caution. Which brought her back to the task at hand—jotting down everything she could remember about the novel's plot.
However, there was one unexpected variable.
Yesterday, Sanghyun had called.
He told her Geongseok wanted to meet—and filled her in on everything that happened.
Shamans? Monks? Spiritual advisors? Life force energy?
Areum had stared at her phone in disbelief.
What in the world is going on?
The storyline of All For My Dearest centered on teenage romance within an elite high school, where Soyun dazzled everyone and was doted on by the most powerful boys. The novel never accounted for the hidden world beneath the surface—the realm of shamans, mystics, and those who wielded unseen forces.
But now, with this element surfacing, everything had changed.
Areum could feel it—a quiet thrill rising in her chest, like the air before a storm. Something bigger was unfolding.
It turns out, there were people in this world who could use mana—but they didn't call it that. They spoke of it in fragments and metaphors: life force energy, chi, prana, spiritual energy. Different names. Different traditions.
But at their core, they were all referring to the same thing—the same current that flowed through her like second nature.
Unlike in her first life, where anyone who could manipulate mana outside the church's control was hunted or forced into hiding, this world felt… freer.
Here, those with such abilities—if proven legitimate—were quietly employed, respected, and sought after behind closed doors.
She leaned back slightly, letting the excitement settle.
She wasn't afraid.
She was curious. Deeply curious.
So when Sanghyun asked if she would meet Geongseok, she agreed—despite his warning that she could be drawn into the family's power games and exploited for Geongseok's personal gain.
Areum only smiled and told him not to worry.
"If anything," she said lightly, "he's the one who should be careful. Not me."
Sanghyun gave a low chuckle, mistaking her confidence for a gentle attempt to ease his concerns.
But Areum wasn't pretending.
She meant every word.
Areum didn't particularly want to meet Geongseok as a person—he had ignored her existence until now, and she certainly didn't need him to validate it. But something in her gut told her he might be a key—an access point to the hidden world of mysticism and the occult. A world still heavily gatekept by those in power, especially the Four Pillars families.
Besides, Geongseok wasn't the kind of man to sit quietly and accept refusal.
Areum had never been one to delay facing trouble once she knew it was inevitable. More importantly, she didn't want her father to take the brunt of consequences for a choice that was hers.
Sanghyun's control over the Han business empire was still tangled in the web of Geongseok's lingering influence—two generations locked in a silent war.
Areum vaguely recalled what little the novel had mentioned about Geongseok—an imposing man who valued power, and people who could offer him something in return.
Her long lashes lowered in thought, her brows relaxed.
Then, her gaze drifted to the cup of tea beside her notebook—blue lotus, its translucent indigo liquid shimmering like a pocket of the Milky Way.
Perhaps she could allow herself to be used.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
But he would have to offer something of value in return.