Days passed.
Seo Yoon moved through the routine of school and home with quiet precision, just like always. Every morning, she woke early, prepared breakfast, made sure her younger siblings were ready, and went to school. Every night, she finished her homework and went to bed, never complaining, never making mistakes.
But something had shifted.
Exams had started.
Seo Yoon had always studied, always prepared, always excelled—but this time, the results were… extraordinary. Every answer came to her with startling clarity. Every problem solved almost before she had written it down.
When she received her graded exam papers, the numbers on the top of each sheet made her heart race: 100. Every single one. Perfect scores.
And yet… she didn't show them to her parents.
She hid the papers in the bottom drawer of her desk, stacked neatly with a level of care only Seo Yoon could manage. She had learned early that perfection came with expectations, with pressure, with eyes watching every move. And sometimes, perfection could be dangerous.
She didn't want their praise. She didn't want their questions. She didn't want the weight that came with proving herself yet again.
The silence in her room, with the hidden papers tucked away, felt like control. Like a small victory she could keep just for herself.
At school, her classmates noticed her quiet confidence.
"Seo Yoon, did you see the scores?" one girl asked eagerly, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Seo Yoon shook her head, smiling faintly. "I… don't really care."
But inside, her mind was elsewhere. The perfect scores weren't just marks on paper. They were proof—proof that she was capable. Proof that she could handle the expectations, the fear, the whispers of the past.
Because she remembered.
And remembering gave her power.
That evening, Seo Yoon sat at her desk, the hidden exam papers before her. She stared at the neat, perfect numbers, then at her own reflection in the window. Her eyes were calm, but there was something deeper—a quiet determination that even she hadn't fully acknowledged.
She knew the past was watching. The other eldest daughters, the lives she had glimpsed in her visions, the memories that weren't entirely her own—they were all waiting for her to fail or succeed.
And she would not fail.
Not this time.
She placed the papers back in the drawer and closed it slowly, deliberately. The sound of the click echoed in the quiet room, like a small promise to herself.
I control this, she thought. I choose what they see. I choose what I keep.
And for the first time in a long time, Seo Yoon felt a strange sense of freedom.
Even if it was temporary.
Even if it came at a cost.
Because some victories… were meant to be hidden.