Why am I the Princess?

The young teacher, captivated by my musical ability, grew more amazed as we played together. Time flew by as I humored her fascination.

“Siyoon! Daddy’s here!”

I paused mid-play, glancing toward the entrance. Dad stood there, his expression filled with awe as he watched me at the piano.

Seeing his face, I lazily waved my hand, too uninterested to match his enthusiasm. Like an eager puppy, Dad quickly came over to my side.

“Siyoon, did you have fun?” he asked.

“No.”

Dad, already accustomed to my bluntness, brushed it off effortlessly. The only difference today was that his eyes, which were usually fixed on me, kept wandering back to the piano. He looked like he was itching to play.

“…”

His gaze locked onto the keys I’d just been pressing.

“Daddy’s really good at the piano, you know. If you want, I can show you,” he said, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

I lifted my hands off the keys and shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Even though it was just a toy piano, Dad hesitated, his fingers trembling as he reached for the keys. When he pressed a single note with his index finger, he looked as though a wave of emotion had hit him. His fingers trembled even more as he continued, testing the keys one by one. Finally, he began to play a melody, and I could see pure joy on his face—the kind he usually reserved for me.

The sound that emerged was beautiful, far beyond what one would expect from a toy piano. The melody filled the room, drawing everyone in: teachers, children, everyone gathered around, mesmerized.

Dad alternated between looking at me and the piano, his expression glowing with happiness. Watching him, I couldn’t help but reflect.

In my past life, I had no family. The children I raised were the closest thing to it, but their lives ended tragically because of me.

Now, looking at this rookie dad, I realized something: unlike me, he embraced responsibility without hesitation. He gave up his passion—his music—for nearly four years to raise a small, helpless child.

I had to admit it: this young man, half my age, was doing something I never could. He was a true father.

Watching him beam with joy, alternating between me and the piano, I thought, This is what “family” really means.

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Dad said with a grin.

I smirked. Wanting to repay his sacrifices, even if only a little, I placed my hands back on the keys. Slowly and deliberately, I began replaying the melody he had just performed, note for note, from memory.

Dad’s astonishment was evident, but I ignored it, focusing instead on perfectly matching his tempo and rhythm.

“…”

When I played it again, I incorporated the same techniques and emotions he had used. Dad’s mouth fell open as he stared at my small hands in disbelief.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I patted the empty spot beside me. “Come sit.”

Dad knelt beside me, placing his hand over mine on the keys. When I shifted my left hand to keep the rhythm, he began playing the melody again, this time harmonizing with my notes.

Each note reflected his emotions, blending perfectly with the rhythm I provided. As the music filled the room, his face lit up with pure happiness.

“Pretty great, huh?” he said again, this time looking directly at me.

“Yeah,” I replied with a small smile. “You’re pretty amazing too.”

After strapping me into the passenger seat of our spaceship-like car, Dad announced he’d buy me some snacks as a reward. We headed to the mart.

“What did you do at daycare today?” he asked, his tone warm and loving as I fiddled with his phone.

“You watched it all on camera, didn’t you?” I replied.

His cheerful expression faltered, and he fell silent.

“…”

“Do I really need to repeat what we both already know?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“…Sorry,” he murmured.

Having recently realized what family truly means, I had started teasing my rookie dad more often. His reactions, though tinged with embarrassment, were amusing. It was as if he wanted me to know that my words had an impact on him—yet he still indulged me.

I couldn’t help but think, Maybe he enjoys this, too. What a peculiar guy.

These days, he no longer cried in secret, mourning my mother. Instead, he often smiled brightly, his mood much lighter.

When we arrived at the mart, Dad, wearing a mask and sunglasses, handed me a child-sized mask to wear.

“This is uncomfortable,” I complained.

“But if you wear it, people won’t recognize us.”

“And if they do?”

Dad chuckled. “Siyoon, you might not understand, but being famous is really exhausting.”

“Yeah, sure, says the guy who’s always at home.”

“…Well, it means I can’t go out much.”

“Right. You stopped going out because of me,” I said matter-of-factly.

“…”

I smirked. “Still, you look tired.”

Dad looked at me, feigning offense. “Do I really look tired?”

I tried to climb out of the car seat, but before I could, Dad scooped me up and held me in his arms.

“Ah, this is comfortable!” I teased.

“Your Majesty, I am at your service,” he said with a laugh.

“Good. Then let’s go. Today, I’m craving something salty.”

Dad burst out laughing as he carried me toward the store.

Seated in the shopping cart, I looked around the mart like I was exploring a new world.

“Wow…” I whispered, marveling at everything around me. The world really has come a long way.

Noticing my wonder, Dad leaned in mischievously. “So, Princess, what’s caught your attention this time?” he asked with a playful grin.

“Is this all fascinating to you, Siyoon?” Dad asked.

“Yeah.”

Like any curious child my age, I began pointing at random items and asking questions.

“What’s that?”

Patiently, Dad explained each item one by one. After a while, perhaps noticing the attention we were attracting, he seamlessly switched to speaking in English.

Listening to him speak English brought back memories of my past life. Back then, my English had been rough and colloquial, picked up from gang members during my mercenary days. Adapting to my environment had been crucial back then.

“Holy shiiiiiit, so amazing, bro!” I exclaimed, slipping back into old habits.

“…Daughter?” Dad froze, staring at me.

“Oh my gosh… What the f*** is that!?” I added for good measure, my voice full of exaggerated shock.

“…”

Silence. Dad’s face turned a deep shade of crimson, clearly mortified. Hearing such colorful language come out of the mouth of what appeared to be an angelic 4-year-old girl was more than he could handle.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked, exasperated.

“Yep.”

Dad sighed, clearly trying to convince himself that I’d picked up these phrases from movies.