Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Areum caught the flicker of surprise in his gaze before it vanished beneath a practiced calm. His face remained unreadable, but his mana field rippled with quiet astonishment.
His eyes scanned her—slowly, searchingly—as if trying to reconcile the girl before him with a memory that no longer fit.
He said nothing.
Neither did she.
Areum offered a small, awkward smile.
"Sister," he said carefully—breaking the silence that had stretched a moment too long.
Before Areum could respond, a low voice cut through the quiet.
"So you're here," Geongseok said without turning, still leisurely snipping at the bonsai. "Come closer."
Minjae wanted to say something more, but hesitated. He glanced at Areum, gave a brief nod, then turned and walked away—sensing his grandfather didn't want to be interrupted.
As he walked past her toward the entrance, Areum caught a closer glimpse of his face.
Before her death in her previous life, she had spent countless hours in the hospital watching Korean dramas and reading every kind of fiction she could get her hands on—making up for the rest she never got to have.
Somewhere along the way, she'd developed a distinct appreciation for handsome men.
And Minjae? He looked like he was born to play a charismatic CEO.
Hm. Very handsome, she thought, nodding to herself in quiet approval.
Areum stepped forward. The soft crackle of leaves underfoot and the faint snipping of scissors filled the quiet as Geongseok continued trimming the bonsai, not once looking at her.
"Your father must've told you what's expected of you," he said, matter-of-fact, not waiting for a response.
"You've lived comfortably these past six years—a luxury condominium, security, every convenience. All of it paid for by the Han family."
He paused—just briefly—before continuing.
"You may have been overlooked for a few years before that… but who in this world hasn't endured hardship? Even then, we clothed you, housed you, provided the best tutors, and ensured you and your mother never lacked financial support."
He set the scissors aside, picking up a small shear to continue trimming.
"You've reaped every benefit—despite the shameful things your mother did, brining disgrace upon this family's name."
Hearing no reply from her, Geongseok felt smug—convinced she had no words to refute him.
"Your father mentioned you planted the ginger for that tea yourself. Is that true?"
"…Yes."
For the first time, she spoke—her soft, sweet voice echoing through the stillness of the greenhouse.
Geongseok's hands froze mid-snip.
That voice… it sounded like—
No.
He cut off the thought, quickly resuming his movements, the clippers trembling ever so slightly between his fingers.
He forced his focus back onto the bonsai, suppressing the sudden tightness in his chest.
What nonsense was he thinking?
Still facing away from her—pretending she wasn't even worth turning around for—Geongseok continued, voice calm but cutting.
"You've spent your time indulging in comfort, using the Han family's resources at your own whim… while your father and siblings work tirelessly to prove themselves worthy of the Han name. Unlike you, at least they're making an effort—repaying their debt and earning their place in the family that made them who they are today."
He set down the shears with a soft clink.
"Have you ever stopped to consider whether your behavior is selfish? In what way have you proven yourself worthy of this family—of the kind of privilege most people never experience in their entire lives?"
"My apologies…"
Hearing her soft voice, Geongseok nearly laughed. Dealing with such a naive girl was easy—too easy, in fact. It bordered on being ridiculous. He continued trimming the bonsai, nonchalant.
But what came next nearly made him drop his scissors.
"…I must've misunderstood. So the Han family isn't as powerful as I thought—if even supporting one girl feels like such a burden."
His anger flared. No one had ever dared speak to him like that—especially not someone from the younger generation. Incensed, he turned sharply, ready to erupt—
But the moment his eyes met hers, the world seemed to halt.
At first, Geongseok's goal was simple: make Areum feel ashamed, guilty, indebted. He wanted her to seek validation from the family—to work hard, to prove herself useful. After all, he knew the first ten years of her life had been marked by his and his son's neglect. That put him at a disadvantage. And in his mind, guilt-tripping was the most efficient remedy.
He was a businessman through and through, and no one—not even family—was exempt from being leveraged for profit. In his world, negotiation was war, and psychology was his most trusted weapon. Even if the person across the table was his own granddaughter.
He believed he could handle her just fine. She was young. Inexperienced. Predictable.
That's how it was supposed to be—until he laid eyes on her.
His breath caught. His chest tightened. For a moment, the years folded in on themselves, collapsing the present into memory.
She stood among the dense greenery, light spilling through the glass and catching in her hair like melted amber. Her eyes—clear light brown, almost golden—glimmered like citrine under sunlight. And her face… those features…
It couldn't be.
"Seoryeong?" he murmured.
It was as if Yoo Seoryeong—his late wife, the love of his life—stood before him.
The woman he'd lost during childbirth.
Even the way Areum carried herself—still, composed, quietly assured—was unnervingly familiar.
"Who?" Areum asked, head tilting just slightly, as if trying to catch something in his expression.
Geongseok blinked. Her voice pulled him out of the haze. He drew in a slow breath, trying—and failing—to still the sudden storm rising in his chest.
It turned out that the granddaughter he had never met was the only one in the family to inherit Seoryeong's features. It was uncanny—the way genes could skip generations, only to reappear so vividly.
His initial intention—to teach her a lesson for her sarcasm, to put her in her place, to manipulate her emotions into compliance—dissolved into nothing. How could he, when faced with the living image of his late wife?
The longer he looked at her, the more distant those plans became. And in their place came something unfamiliar—an instinct not to burden her, but to shelter her. To shield her from hardship.
To pamper her.
The thought took root before he could stop it. Geongseok felt bewildered by the sudden flip of emotion—and so he tried to resist it. He knew he wasn't being objective. She wasn't Seoryeong. She merely looked like her.
But his emotions were like a wild horse, bucking against the reins, unwilling to be tamed.
He even began to regret what he'd said to her earlier, grinding his teeth as he blamed Sanghyun for not bringing her to meet him sooner. That unfilial son—because of him, she now had a terrible first impression of her grandfather.
But deep down, Geongseok knew he was misplacing his frustration. Even if Sanghyun had brought her years ago, he wouldn't have agreed to meet her. Back then, all he saw was an illegitimate child born of scandal—a liability, a stain on the family name. What could he possibly have gained from acknowledging her, other than another mouth to feed and fresh gossip for the tabloids?
Besides, there was no way Sanghyun could have known his daughter had inherited his mother's features.
After Seoryeong's death, Geongseok had been devastated—so much so that he couldn't bear to look at her face, not even in photographs. He erased every trace of her from the Han estate. No portraits, no keepsakes. Nothing of hers remained, not at home or in public. What few belongings he kept were locked away in his personal vault, untouched for decades. Not even his son had seen what his mother looked like. Everyone around him knew never to speak her name.
He buried his grief the only way he knew how: by burying himself in work, in control, in building an empire powerful enough to make the rest of the world kneel. Power was the only thing that kept him from unraveling completely.
Listening to Geongseok's earlier attempts at manipulation, Areum had felt a flicker of annoyance. But the moment he turned to look at her—his movements stiff, almost comically robotic, as if stunned silly—she nearly laughed at the absurdity.
The air of intimidation he once carried had vanished, and with it, her irritation.
What caught her attention instead was his mana field—fluctuating wildly, pulsing with emotions too large to contain. Joy, longing, regret, and grief collided in a kaleidoscope of color, shifting like a storm-tossed sea.
What is happening?