Underworld Heartbeats

July 10, 2030 Seoul, South Korea — 12:20 PM This is the story of my past life. In this life, I am Lina—a girl born in Nepal, now living in South Korea. I am the youngest and only female member of a rising K-pop group called Linax. People see the glitz, the glamour, the fame... but beneath all that lies a truth that few would believe. Death is calling me. Before I go, I want the world to know my story—not for sympathy, but so no one will curse the man I once loved. He is now my brother. Not by blood, but by circumstance. In this life, we share a stage, a home, a career. He is five years older than me. We’re family in every way that counts. The truth, however, is far stranger. We discovered it through a hypnotherapy session—something we initially visited for fun. But what we found shook us both. In my past life, I was not a girl. I was a man named Jean-Pierre, born in the UK in 1960. And I wasn’t just anyone—I was the feared and revered Mafia King. I never knew my parents. They abandoned me as a baby in front of Niclas Orphanage in London, on a cold, rainy night. I grew up a quiet child, withdrawn and distant, always seeking solitude. My escape was a small, forgotten park where no one ever came. That was my haven—until the day one girl arrived. She came up from behind me, appearing like a ghost out of the mist. “Who are you? Where are you from? How did you find this place?” she asked, full of curiosity. I ignored her. Just rolled my eyes and turned back toward the orphanage. But she followed me—relentlessly. I ran, hid in the bushes, and waited until she was gone. The next day, I returned to the park, thinking I’d find peace again. But she was there—waiting. Her persistence infuriated me. I stormed up to her. “This is my place,” I snapped. “I’ve come here since I was a kid. Go away!” But she didn’t leave. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she laughed—as if I had just told the world’s funniest joke. I thought she was mad. She grabbed my hand, smiling, and introduced herself with the confidence of a princess. Her name was Ivy Spencer. She came from a royal lineage and lived in a mansion just five minutes from my orphanage. She was three years older than me and full of life. She started calling me my little brother— Jean-Pierre. Every time she said it, I’d give her a side-eye, and she’d burst into laughter. She dreamed of marrying a prince, of living a fairytale life. I used to scoff at her. “Nonsense,” I told her. “Why talk about love at this age?” She would smile and reply, “One day, when you fall in love, you’ll understand. Love will make you forget every dark thing around you.” Our bond grew, and I found joy in calling her my big sister. But good things don’t last. I sighed. “Okay, fine. You can stop lecturing me now. If the time comes, we’ll see. But listen to me too, Ivy.” I looked up at her and said quietly, “If one day you marry the man who becomes the king of this country, try to be more than just his queen. Be the queen of the people’s hearts. Care for them. Respect them. Help them whenever they need you. Then you won’t need a crown to be royalty—they’ll already see you as their queen. Your kindness, your intelligence, your work... generations will remember you. And even if you never become a queen in name, you’ll always be one in their eyes.” Ivy smiled softly, her eyes glimmering. “Okay, my little brother,” she said, resting a hand on my head. “Thank you for the wisdom you’ve shared. I’ll always remember this. And you remember what I said to you, too.” Life felt better after Ivy came into it—as if the missing piece had finally been found. She was the older sister I never had, and I clung to every moment we shared. But peace never stays long.