Areum stayed in the hospital for a month—an astoundingly short time, considering the severity of her condition.
The doctors, including Dr. Eun Jaesung himself, initially believed she would either remain in a comatose state on life support or not survive at all.
But miraculously, she woke up after just one day.
Not only had she recovered, but her physique and appearance had also changed—noticeably, though not so drastically that she was unrecognizable.
Where her skin had once been pallid and ghostly pale, it now held a delicate porcelain glow, kissed with the faintest blush of peach on her cheeks. Her features, already fine, seemed subtly enhanced: a small, elegant nose, softly curved lips, and honey-citrine eyes framed by long lashes that cast gentle shadows on her face.
Her hair—long, soft, and gently wavy—spilled like ink over her slender shoulders, catching the light with hints of warm brown.
Anyone who looked at her and still claimed she wasn't beautiful would have to be either blind or out of their mind.
True to his word, Sanghyun visited her every few days. He would've kept her in the hospital longer—still worried that a month wasn't enough for full recovery—but she insisted on leaving. Not because she was bored, but because the doctors and nurses treated her like a rare, endangered specimen on display.
It wasn't that they were unkind—if anything, they were overly attentive, showering her with constant care and fascination.
They all called her the miracle girl. Her once life-threatening injuries had healed at an abnormally fast rate. Even Dr. Eun Jaesung himself personally asked if she would consider "participating in research for the purpose of scientific advancement."
To Areum, it sounded more like, Would you be our test subject?
Sanghyun saw through it instantly. With a gloomy expression, he declined on her behalf.
And then there was Eun Siyoon—Dr. Eun Jaesung's son and heir to the Eun Group.
Perhaps he'd heard about the miracle girl from his father and decided to come "make observations and collect data" in person.
Siyoon flipped open his sleek leather notebook, barely ten years old and already behaving like a clinical researcher. His gaze swept over Areum with unnerving calculation, sharp and observant, like he was trying to dissect her without lifting a scalpel.
His questions were invasive: What's your daily routine? What do you eat? Do you exercise? How often?
It never ended.
Still, since the questions seemed harmless—and because he was just a ten-year-old child—Areum let them slide. She figured he was just unusually curious. Odd, perhaps, but not malicious.
Besides, she couldn't recall him playing any major role in the novel's main plot. Despite being one of the Four Pillars' heirs, Siyoon had remained a background figure. And given that his father, Dr. Eun Jaesung, had treated her injury, she figured it wouldn't hurt to entertain him a little.
She thought it was harmless.
Until one day, he crossed a line.
"I heard you were abused by your mother," Siyoon said, flipping a page in his leather notebook. His voice was calm, detached—like he was commenting on the weather. "Did you heal fast then too?"
Areum blinked, stunned.
For a moment, she didn't know what shocked her more—the bluntness of the question or how utterly unaffected he looked asking it.
Her expression hardened. "That's none of your business."
Siyoon looked up, puzzled. "I'm just trying to determine the pattern behind your recovery rate—"
"I'm tired," she replied flatly, turning her head away.
He didn't apologize. But he did stand up, slowly closing his notebook with a faint, thoughtful hum.
Areum didn't look back at him. She didn't need to. She could feel the way his gaze lingered.
She had seen his mana field—there was no malice in it, only unfiltered curiosity. Maybe it was ignorance, the kind that came from being a child raised in a world of privilege and intellect, where people were data points and emotions were secondary.
But that didn't excuse the emotional impact of his words.
Curiosity could still wound.
From that day on, she barred him from entering her suite.
In hindsight, she found it amusing. Unfortunately for him, his efforts at uncovering her secret were pointless.
Her secret wasn't something that could be measured or understood through modern science. It didn't lie in the physical realm.
It existed in a layer of reality hidden from the naked eye—in the invisible currents of mana that flowed through the world.
Areum could see mana, condense it with her mind, and accelerate its absorption into her body. Her soul had carried this knowledge from her first life.
If she'd had quartz crystals to form a proper grid to draw in more mana into the space, her recovery would have been even faster.
Still, even without them, the mana she quietly drew in using only her Sight had saturated the hospital room enough that nurses and doctors often remarked on how unusually refreshing the space in her suite felt during their routine visits.
One day, she hoped to use her power to help others—perhaps even teach people how to harness it. But she also understood the danger. In the wrong hands, this knowledge could be twisted into something dark.
After her hospital discharge, Han Sanghyun brought her to the condo he'd arranged—her new place of stay.
It was a massive condo unit on the top floor of a luxury high-rise in the Capitol's elite district—one of many properties owned by the Han Group.
Areum wasn't surprised. She had expected nothing less. The Han Group was a global powerhouse in urban development and mining—anything related to land, infrastructure, or construction fell within their domain.
For someone like Sanghyun, providing a lavish condo was the bare minimum.
The unit itself was nothing short of breathtaking—perched on the top floor of a luxury high-rise in the Capitol's elite district. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the living room, unveiling a sweeping panoramic view of the city below. Sleek, modern furniture in muted tones gave the space an air of understated elegance and quiet opulence.
In the daylight, sunlight flooded the space, casting golden reflections off polished marble floors and brushed steel fixtures. At night, she imagined, the city below would glitter like a living circuit board—an endless sea of lights blinking, shifting, and pulsing with life.
It was beautiful, no doubt. But to Areum, it felt cold. Too sterile. It lacked the earthy freshness and grounding presence she craved.
So, for several days, she busied herself transforming the space, unapologetically putting Sanghyun's black credit card that he gave her to good use.
Large and small crystal clusters—along with other raw and polished stones—lined the windowsills and various corners of the condo, each placed with deliberate intention. Arranged in intricate geometric patterns, they weren't just decorative; they formed an energetic system, drawing mana into the space and subtly purifying the air at all time.
Potted greenery filled the corners of every room. Each species had been carefully selected for its subtle energetic properties.
The balcony had been transformed into a lush vertical herb garden. Wooden frames and lattice structures supported neat rows of potted herbs—rosemary, thyme, lavender, peppermint, and more. Their mingled scents offered a natural calm, softening the sleek modernity of the condo.
For now, the plants were ordinary. But in time, that would change.
Thanks to the crystal grid arranged throughout the space, mana was constantly drawn into the condo and balcony garden, saturating and charging the air. In a matter of weeks—or months at most—this rich mana environment would begin to affect the plants on a cellular level, encouraging accelerated evolution or beneficial mutations.
Eventually, these once-normal herbs would awaken as spiritual plants—each holding potent properties for healing, restoration, and mana cultivation.
Just imagining a cup of tea brewed from those future leaves made Areum's mouth curl into a faint smile.
All she had to do was be patient—and live.
And so she did.
Her days flowed like gentle streams, unburdened by expectation or pressure. She spent her time tending to her plants, sketching in her notebooks, experimenting with different musical instruments, and occasionally exploring the Capitol.
Sometimes it was a quiet alley bookstore. Other times, a museum tucked into the corner of the city or a rooftop café blooming with wildflowers.
She experimented with countless blends of tea—pairing herbs for flavor, for healing, and for enhancing mana cultivation. Each cup was a small ritual, a quiet study. She kept meticulous notes, tracking subtle effects over time, refining recipes with the same focus others might give to alchemy.
And whenever the Earth's energetic grid needed mending, she responded. Through astral projection and the use of her Sight, she would travel to the affected location and carefully weave the surrounding mana threads—restoring balance to that area of the grid with delicate precision.
Every week, without fail, she had dinner with Sanghyun. Their conversations were often awkward at first, but over time, they grew easier—less like obligation, more like family.
She didn't rush anything. Didn't force herself to grow, achieve, or become.
She simply lived.
And just like that, six years passed.