Why am I the Princess?

“Director.”

“Oh my, Siyoon, you’re so clever!”

“I know,” I replied nonchalantly.

Dad, reluctant to leave, lingered by my side for a while. Even after stepping out, he kept peeking at me through the window. Pretending not to notice, I turned to the other kids.

“So, what are we going to do for fun?” I asked.

“Do you have any snacks? Dad won’t let me have any,” I added.

“Huh?”

The director, as if under a spell, handed me a snack. Holding a bag of chips nearly as big as me, I leaned back in my chair and smiled.

“Director, let’s talk business.”

“Tell Dad to leave,” I said firmly.

“…”

Sensing that I was serious, the director hesitated but eventually turned to Dad and asked him to go. To my surprise, he left without any fuss.

“Aren’t you scared, Siyoon?” she asked.

“Of what?” I replied, munching on a rice cracker. It tasted better than I expected, so I looked at the package and read its name aloud. “Daltta-mokja… I need to tell Dad to buy this.”

“You’re apart from your dad for the first time, aren’t you?”

“Hmm… I guess so?”

“Don’t you miss him?”

“It’s only been five minutes. Ask me again in five hours.”

“…”

The director was stunned into silence, clearly unsure how to respond to my mature vocabulary and nonchalant attitude.

A staff member, the one who greeted us earlier, led me to a room filled with kids my age.

“Siyoon, go ahead and play with your new friends~”

“Okay.”

“You should say, ‘Yes, ma’am!’ instead.”

This young teacher, who’d barely lived a fraction of my previous life, was trying to teach me proper manners.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, masking my irritation.

What else could I do? For now, I was a four-year-old.

As I held my snack, the other kids started eyeing it with curiosity. I knew it would only lead to unnecessary attention, so I handed it over. Meanwhile, the teacher scanned the room, likely brainstorming fun activities for us. I took the opportunity to find a quiet corner, spread out a mat, and lay down.

“…?”

When I couldn’t find a pillow, I placed my bag under my head instead. This seemed to catch the teacher off guard.

“Siyoon, are you tired?” she asked.

“No.”

“Uh… but it’s not naptime yet.”

“Does naptime have a fixed schedule?”

“…”

“Let me rest. Naps help me grow taller.”

“Hah… but don’t you want to make friends?”

“Even if I do, they won’t remember me tomorrow.”

“…”

“Please just let me rest.”

“O-okay…”

As the other kids began running around, the noise level in the room skyrocketed. Just as I was starting to doze off, one kid tripped over my foot and burst into tears.

“Oh, come on. Seriously?”

I sat up, annoyed, and began fiddling with a nearby barrier meant to keep the kids from falling over each other. The teacher, alarmed by the crying, rushed over.

“Siyoon, did you do that?” she asked.

Ignoring her question, I said, “Can you help me for a second?”

“Huh?”

With her help, I secured a barricade around my little corner. Then, I spotted an extra blanket nearby. Folding it into a makeshift pillow, I lay back down.

“Alright, now you can get back to work.”

“…”

The teacher seemed at a loss for words. She adjusted her hair and muttered to herself, “I wonder what Siyoon’s dad would think if he saw this…”

Her words caught my attention. I sat up and asked, “Teacher?”

She turned to me. “Yes?”

“What do you mean by ‘Dad seeing this’?”

She glanced at a corner of the room and pointed. “That little square box over there? It’s a camera. Your dad can watch what you’re doing through it.”

“…”

So that’s why Dad left so easily.

“What’s wrong?” the teacher asked, noticing my reaction.

I leaned back, groaning internally. “Ugh, if I just lie around here, Dad will think something’s wrong with me and complain about it at home…”

Scanning the room for something to occupy myself, my eyes landed on a piano in the corner.

“Teacher, do you know how to play the piano?” I asked.

“Of course!” she replied, brightening.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

“…What?”

I rattled the barricade until she unlocked it, then she carried me over to the small piano.

“Teach me how to play.”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she began demonstrating the basics. But the tasks she gave me were so simple that I quickly grew bored, yawning as I half-heartedly pressed the keys.

This was shaping up to be a very long day.

“What’s this called?” I asked.

“It’s a ‘ra,’” the teacher replied cheerfully.

“Wow~ Our Siyoon is so smart!”

Her patronizing tone, as if she were teaching a typical 4-year-old, grated on my nerves. I sighed and spoke firmly.

“How long are we going to do this? Just teach me the sheet music and go.”

“…Huh?”

Her face mirrored every other adult’s reaction to me: utter bewilderment. With a slightly pouty expression, she finally handed over the sheet music, almost as if she wanted to test me or trip me up.

Unfortunately for her, with my exceptional memory, I only needed a single glance to memorize it entirely. Without looking at the sheet again, I began playing the piece on the piano. The teacher’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“You really take after your dad…” she murmured.

Her words sparked a sudden thought. I looked up at her and asked, “Oh, right! Do you know what my dad does?”

“Of course!” she replied with enthusiasm.

Now genuinely curious, I tilted my head and gave her my full attention.

“He’s a super famous rapper and composer!” she exclaimed.

“Rapper? What’s that?” I asked, feigning innocence.

Her face lit up, and she eagerly pulled out her phone. Clearly, she was a fan. She opened YouTube and showed me a video of Dad performing on stage.

“Ah~ So he’s just a danttara, huh?” I said casually.

“…? Danttara?” she echoed, confused.

The song was unlike anything I’d encountered in Korea. It vaguely reminded me of the music I’d heard during my time in the U.S. in my previous life.

“This is a song?” I asked flatly.

“Of course! He’s super popular in Korea,” she said, her tone filled with pride.

“Meh, I don’t like it,” I replied bluntly.

“…You don’t like your dad’s song?” she asked, visibly stunned.

“Nope. Is this even music?”

“Th-that’s… oh…” she stammered, clearly struggling to process my reaction.

Awkwardly, she put her phone away, unsure of what to say next.