#afab yn

But you weren’t a normal kid. You had your past life memories. 

One lifetime of trauma was already more than enough, so you decided to live as peacefully and quietly and as far away as possible from everyone else in this godforsaken estate, which was quite easy. Your mother killed herself because she considered giving birth to a girl her failure. The maids said that she died during labor, but you knew the truth. Though your memories were foggy, it was hard to forget the scene of a human body dangling from the ceiling. You remembered comparing her swinging form to the little animals of your crib mobile. You felt bad for the woman but you didn’t grieve her. (As far as you know, your true mother was still alive and happy.) At the very least, the dead lady married rich, so you didn’t starve. 

Despite being an abandoned child, or perhaps because you were an abandoned child, you were content with your position in the Yamazaki Clan. You had your own bedroom (it was smaller than your new apartment), you had three meals a day (with heavy caloric restrictions), you had nice clothes (which were super uncomfortable) and you attended school. The servants were too professional to pick on you. Or maybe they pitied you. You liked pity. Pity was underrated. You had a peaceful home life because of pity. 

You wish you could say the same with your school life. 

“Dammit, again?” Your textbooks were covered in chewing gum for the third time this week. You bet it was that little prick, Minoru. That rotund moron was the only child of some local businessman and you could tell that he has never been hit in his life. You were holding back because you were an adult, but even you had your limits. Now that you were in a child’s body, smacking the guy in the face wouldn’t be morally wrong, right? It certainly wouldn’t be illegal…

“Heh.”

Your lips furled and you cackled as you walked into the yard. Your room was on the first floor in the West Wing and had a back door that led directly outside. It was fenced off from the rest of the woods to prevent intruders and you treated it as your own little paradise. 

“Hey, Nugget, missed me?” You greeted the goldfish in your pond. You called it your pond but really it was already here when you moved into your room. The fish was something you got when you snuck out to attend a festival. 

“Guess what? You were right, it happened again. That little shithead destroyed my books.”

The fish swam around and you laughed. “I know, I know, you warned me. I should’ve wrapped them in paper or plastic.”

Many pet owners talk to their animal friends. The animals don’t usually talk back. No, your goldfish didn’t talk to you and no, you weren’t crazy, you needed this. Your peers were children, the servants acted like furniture, your dad was a shadow—you needed Nugget to act as a friend otherwise you would really go crazy. You considered a pen pal once, but the head servant said no. You didn’t even have your own computer to play games or troll people. 

So all you had was Nugget. A goldfish you won from some festival. 

“Anyway, I’ve thought about it and maybe punching a kid is too much. Maybe I can…I dunno, shave his head while he’s napping—who’s there?” You shot up from your seat next to the pond. You could hear rustling from the nearby bushes. The stray cats around here were ghost-quiet and they preferred going straight to the kitchen.

Was it a different animal? What if it was an intruder—a kidnapper?

Your heart sunk and just as you were about to run back inside, a white face with inky black eyes emerged from the darkness. 

You almost threw up from the shock. 

Regaining your composure, you rubbed soothing circles over your chest and then pointed a finger at the brat. “What the hell!? What’re you doing here, kid? This is private property, you know!”

The brat stepped forward and you realized that he wasn’t just any child. He wore a simple but exquisitely made yukata and his black hair was combed back. He wore no expression on his face. “This is my home.”

You’ve realized too late, but it was no surprise. You heard whispers but no one bothered to tell you about any siblings. “Oh.”

“Are you one of the servants’ children?”

“No.”

“Then, are you an intruder?”

“Kid, look at me.” You gestured over your school uniform. “I also live here.”

“Why would they keep a stray like you?”

This little—calm down. You are an adult.

You took a deep breath and walked towards him. He looked to be 43 inches tall, so he would be around five years old. 

You knelt down so you could be eye level with him.

“I’m not a stray, little man. And FYI, it is very rude to use that word when referring to people.”

He said nothing for a while, only stared at you. 

Then he said, “The way you talk is odd.”

“Oh?”

“You talk like an adult.”

That’s because you were one. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How old are you?”

“You never ask a lady her age. It’s impolite.”

He stared silently.

“How old are you?”

“I’m three.”

“Bullshit.”

He flinched and those sharp eyes widened into plates. 

You covered your mouth but you couldn’t help your own chuckling. You surprised even yourself with that. “I’m sorry, but are you sure you’re three?”

He narrowed his eyes and stomped his feet. He held out three pale fingers. “I know my age. I’m three.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” He wasn’t just tall, he was awfully coherent for his age. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought you were older.”

“How old are you?”

“You brat, what did I just say? But I suppose it’s only fair I tell you. I’m eight so you better start talking more respectfully.”

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“Well, you haven’t told me yours.”

It was subtle but you could see that he was beginning to pout. His little fists balled by his sides. Perhaps he wasn’t used to being treated this way.

Holding in the laughter, you introduced yourself. “I’m the master of the house’s daughter.”

His brows furrowed. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about something like that?”

“I don’t know but you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Listen carefully, do you really think I would be so stupid as to lie about being that bas—about being Shingen’s daughter? Do you think the servants would let me stay here without proof?”

“...you called him Shingen.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going to call him father.”

“Everyone calls him Master.”

Even worse. “It’s just the two of us here so it will be our little secret.” 

He went back to being quiet, but this time he was thinking hard instead of just staring at you. When he finally met your eyes he seemed to have realized something. “If… if you’re Master Shingen’s daughter and you’re eight years old then…”

You smiled. “Yup, that makes me your older sister.”

“But… no one ever told me…”

You poked the space between his eyebrows. “Stop thinking. There’s nothing to think about. If it makes you feel any better, no one told me about you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Worth a shot.”

He looked at the ground. 

Poor thing. He must’ve thought he had enough competition within the clan. Well, he had nothing to worry about. Once you graduated high school, you were going to attend college on a scholarship and forget this whole place ever existed. 

“You still haven’t told me your name, kid.” You ruffled his hair.

His hair fell over his face, making him more adorable. “It’s Jonggun…”

“Jonggun, huh?” Why was that name so familiar?

“You can call me Gun, everyone else does.”

Your hand stopped. 

Gun. 

That one name unlocked a distant memory, one where you binged on a webtoon instead of studying for exams. 

Gun, as in the Gun Park? Villain extraordinaire of Lookism? 

Of all the places to be reincarnated, you had to be reborn in this freakzoid place where teens look like they could be fathers of three and where extras get shafted constantly?!

You’re pulled out of your freak-out at the gentle tugging on your skirt. You glanced down to find Gun looking at you with concerned eyes. 

There was no mistaking it, those eyes, that hair! No wonder he looked big for his age. 

“W-what is it?” you asked.

“Since we’re siblings, is it all right to call you ane ue?” [1]

He was tiny and harmless now, but in over ten years, he’ll be a force of nature that destroys everything he touches. 

You didn’t want to associate with him. You weren’t delusional or altruistic enough to waste precious time preventing his black flags. Did the original story even have a sister? You’re pretty sure it only mentioned half-brothers…All the more reason to stop this relationship from deepening—

His hand was still on your skirt. 

Gun waited for your reply. His creepy black eyes looked more like a deer’s now. 

…well, it’s not like you were reborn in a world destined for the apocalypse. 

You sighed and knelt down to meet his gaze properly. “Ane ue is too uptight in this day and age, y’know. You can just call me onee-san.”

Finally, he smiled. 

[1] Japanese. Ane ue is an archaic and formal way to address an older sister

author's note: The first time I read Lookism, I was closer to Daniel's age, now I'm closer to Gitae's. 😭Bruh

Disclaimer: The image used is a screencapture from Ep. 520 of the Lookism manhwa.

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