Why am I the Princess?

“Jihoon used words, but I hit him.”

Dad fell silent, his expression unreadable. The weight of his silence was heavier than any words.

Even if I had stretched the truth a bit to justify myself, didn’t he understand? Jihoon had insulted me about not having a mom.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “But Dad, I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”
“…What?”

“If someone insults my parents, I can’t just stand there and take it.”

Dad let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead as if trying to piece together how to handle me. His frustration was palpable, and for some reason, it ignited something inside me.

“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up without a mom, do you?” I said, my voice trembling.

“…..”
“It’s true—I don’t have one. So when people make fun of me for it, I’m going to react the same way again.”

Dad’s face remained tense, disappointment evident as he sat silently, staring into the distance.

“…Alright. I’m sorry.”

Without another word, he helped me wash up and change into pajamas before retreating to his room.

Left alone, I realized how hungry I was. I glanced around the kitchen, tempted by the lingering aroma of food. I wanted to make something, but I was too small to do much on my own.

Determined, I climbed into the pantry and wrestled a bag of chips off the shelf. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I ate quietly, each crunch sounding louder than it should in the stillness.

Once I finished, I glanced toward Dad’s room.

“…..”

I hesitated for a moment before shaking my head and heading to my own room.

Dad’s disappointed expression replayed in my mind, keeping me awake as I stared at the ceiling.

Hours seemed to pass before my door creaked open. Dad entered, holding the empty chip bag I had left behind.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart…”

While I had been serving my punishment, he had made dinner. But he must have been so shaken by the day’s events that he forgot to call me to eat.

Now, he stood there, his eyes red and full of tears.

I kept my back to him, but his trembling voice carried his guilt.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m not good enough… I’m not enough for you.”

His grip on the bag tightened as his sobs filled the room.

“…Did you come to get me?” I asked softly.
“Yes…”
“Hug me.”

Without hesitation, Dad pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if I might slip away. His breath hitched, and his body trembled, looking so fragile that I was worried he might collapse.

“Let’s go to bed,” I whispered.

Hearing those words seemed to ease him. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay.”

At just 29 years old, Dad was still so young—too young to bear the responsibility of raising a 7-year-old alone.

Recently, I’d found myself enjoying the comments on Dad’s music videos.

“You can tell this song came after a fight with his daughter.”

“For real, LOL.”

“Wow… Jiho’s albums just keep getting better.”

“The emotions are raw—his lyrics hit so deep.”

“How does he set a new bar with every release?”

“Jiho’s only 29? Unreal.”

“Wait… Si-yoon’s already 7? Time flies.”

My name was always woven into Dad’s lyrics, a constant, comforting presence.

“Si-yoon~”
“Yeah?”
“Dinner’s ready.”
“Okay.”

I tossed my phone onto the sofa and walked over to the table. Despite the awkwardness lingering from yesterday, I decided to break the ice.

“Today’s food is bland as always!” I teased.
“Should I add more salt next time?” Dad played along.
“Hmm… I’m only 7, you know. Let’s wait until I’m 8, and then we’ll tackle this crisis together.”
Dad chuckled. “Alright, deal.”

I took a sip of the lukewarm seaweed soup.

“Ah… refreshing,” I said dramatically.
“Your Highness approves?” Dad grinned.
“Indeed. The soup is so delightful today that I shall mix my rice into it for an even grander experience!”

Dad seemed to have spent a lot of time reflecting on what happened yesterday. I could almost hear the relief in his sigh when he saw me acting normally again.

With a spoon still in my mouth, I noticed him watching me and locked eyes with him.

“What?”
“Hmm? Nothing. Is it good?”
“It’s bland, like I said.”
“…Right.”

Seeing Dad return to his usual self, I allowed myself to relax and resumed our usual banter.

After breakfast, he helped me brush my teeth and take a shower. Then, he carefully dried my long, waist-length hair.

“Should we cut it?” he asked, his tone hesitant.

I noticed his subtle flinch as he waited for my response.

“Why?”
“Uh… it flutters too much?”

He tried to act neutral, but it was clear that the thought of cutting my hair made him a little sad.

“Long hair suits you better…” he murmured wistfully.
“Fine, we’ll leave it alone.”

Once my hair was dry, it was time to get ready for preschool. Dad double-checked my journal and packed my notebook into my bag. He kept adding things to the backpack, only to pull some items out, testing the weight.

“What are you doing?”
“Hmm… do you need your water bottle?”
“I don’t even use it.”

Satisfied after reducing the load, he slung the bag over his shoulder and picked me up.

“Let’s head to preschool!”
“Okay.”

In the car, I sat in the backseat scrolling through my phone. Dad glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“We’re almost there. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”

What’s there to prepare, anyway? As long as I have my bag, I’m good to go.

When we arrived at Hanbit Preschool, Dad helped me out of my car seat. As we approached the entrance, I decided to speak up.

“I’ll try to resolve things with words next time.”

Dad’s expression softened, and a proud smile spread across his face. He nodded approvingly.

“You can handle it however you need to, but don’t let your fists speak first, okay?”

It wasn’t conventional parenting advice, but I nodded anyway.

“Got it.”
“I’ll come pick you up later.”
“Okay. And don’t forget—you owe me a new song.”
“I won’t forget.”
“And don’t go finding me a new mom while I’m gone.”
“…What?”

After living with Dad for seven years, I’d naturally picked up his mannerisms. I wasn’t even shy about admitting that I copied him on purpose.

Dad walked me to the entrance, exchanged greetings with the teacher, and waved goodbye as he headed back to the car.

I quickly scanned my surroundings.

The most pressing issue wasn’t the Dad who had just left, the principal, or even the young teacher smiling warmly at me from the front.

Lee Jae-hyung, you little bastard.

My gaze locked onto Jihoon, and I began walking toward him deliberately.

Noticing my approach, Jihoon flinched. Judging by his calm demeanor, it seemed his foul mouth hadn’t gotten him into much trouble with his parents after yesterday.

“Hyung-nim, wasn’t that a bit much yesterday?” he muttered.

“Don’t call me hyung-nim in front of others, or I swear I’ll rip your mouth apart,” I hissed.
“…..”
“Because of you, I got scolded and barely slept.”

With my small, delicate frame brimming with visible anger, I must have looked oddly out of place. Jihoon let out a short laugh.

“…Is something funny to you?”

The moment I tilted my head and fixed him with a cold, piercing glare, his laughter evaporated. Jihoon recoiled, his face stiffening.

“N-no, not funny at all!”

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a dangerous tone.

“Do you think I’m joking?”

Seeing us standing so close together, the young teacher, oblivious to the tension, smiled brightly and clapped her hands.

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you two getting along!”

If only she knew.