Reborn as a genius heiress: I slap faces daily!

--- Sakura woke up groggily and immediately felt that something was wrong. Different. The sheets smelled like yuzu and fresh linen, and they were impossibly soft against her skin, the kind of silk you only got from department stores in Ginza. She opened her eyes sharply and the glaring morning light from the floor-to-ceiling windows forced her to squeeze them shut again, until her vision adjusted. _What is going on?! This is not my room! Or my bed!_ Sakura screamed in her head. She sat up too fast and her bare feet hit a plush tatami-rug hybrid that hadn’t existed in her old 6-tatami apartment. Standing beside the low, carved zelkova bed was a young woman in her mid-twenties, hair pinned back neatly, wearing a black and white maid uniform that looked tailored instead of rented. “Good morning, ojou-sama,” the woman said, dipping into a perfect curtsy. Her voice was soft, practiced. “I’m Aoi. I’ll be assisting you today.” “Oh. Good morning,” Sakura answered before her brain could catch up, the words slipping out on instinct. _Where on earth am I?_ The room was huge. A dressing room to the left, a private bathroom with marble, a wall of books, and on the desk, a nameplate in gold: *Takamochi Sakura*. It was only after her bath — a deep hinoki tub that smelled faintly of cedar — and after getting dressed that Sakura finally understood what was happening. The water had given her time to sort through the flood of memories that weren’t hers. Memories of piano lessons at 4, of skipping three grades, of board meetings she’d attended at 10 because “the heir should learn early.” Turns out she had been reborn as the only daughter and heir of the Takamochi clan. The Takamochi Group had companies in finance, tech, shipping, pharmaceuticals, even convenience stores. Their logo was on buildings in Tokyo, Osaka, London, Singapore. They were everywhere, and their influence was the kind that made politicians answer calls on the first ring. And the body she was in now was also called Sakura. Takamochi Sakura. Seventeen years old. Called a genius and peerless young lady in every magazine profile. Perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect face. She had it all… except for her parents. Takamochi Renji, her father, forty-three, was a man who had inherited shares and never a work ethic. Lazy, proud, and loud about both. Takamochi Reika, her mother, thirty-eight but aged by bad fillers and worse decisions, was deceitful in the petty, social-climbing way that thrived in Minato-ku brunches. It was a miracle they’d produced Sakura. A true, terrifying genius. Probably because the original Sakura had been too busy trying to survive them to notice how cruel they were. And because they were her parents, the original Sakura had always tolerated them. Paid their credit card bills. Covered their gambling debts. Gave in to their whims so they wouldn’t make a scene at company events. Back in the present, Sakura let out a huge sigh as she sat at the vanity. “Is the style not to your liking, ojou-sama?” the maid working on her hair asked immediately, hands freezing mid-braid. Her name was Hoshino Mei, twenty-two, with careful fingers and eyes that watched everything. “No, no, it’s beautiful. Thank you, Mei-san,” Sakura said with a small smile, and Mei visibly relaxed. _I just find it unbelievable,_ Sakura thought, staring at her own reflection — same name, same tired eyes from a different life. _That myself and the original host had the same type of parents. It must have been a curse from our past lives._ She stood to leave, and that was when the noise started. Footsteps, fast and angry, getting closer down the hall. Before Mei could move, the double doors to Sakura’s room were thrown open. A man in his forties in a rumpled designer suit, and a woman in her late thirties drowning in makeup that made her look fifty, stormed in. “Sakura! Why haven’t you transferred money to our account this morning?” Reika snapped first, and the sour smell of wine on her breath made Sakura step back, irritation flashing hot behind her eyes. Annoyed, Sakura turned to Mei without looking away from them. “Who are they?” Mei blinked, bewildered. In all her years of service she’d never heard ojou-sama ask that. “They’re… your parents, ojou-sama. Takamochi-sama and Takamochi-okusan.” “Ah. So these good-for-nothings are my parents?!” The words came out before Sakura could stop them, and the air in the room went completely still. Even the air conditioner seemed to pause. _I know I said we both had stupid and useless parents,_ Sakura thought, and for a second she felt like she was speaking to the original Sakura, wherever she was. _But I was living in poverty! What kind of life did you live, and how did you die? How did I end up in your body?_ Reika’s face twisted. Her hand came up fast and cracked across Sakura’s cheek. The sting bloomed white-hot. That was the only thought in Sakura’s head. _It stings._ She’d spent the bath earlier going through the original host’s memories. She understood now. Without Sakura, Renji and Reika were nothing. No income, no status, no one to bail them out. They’d been leeching off a child. _Original Sakura, I’m sorry,_ she apologized inwardly. _But my personality won’t allow me to stand here and take insults I didn’t earn._ Her own hand moved before she could think. A sharp, clean slap landed across Reika’s face. The sound echoed. “Listen here, old woman,” Sakura said, voice low but carrying. Her finger pointed directly at her mother. “You will not talk to me like that.” Renji opened his mouth, but Sakura cut him off. “You two are nothing but ungrateful adults who refuse responsibility. You have no character, no skills, and no redeeming qualities. And yet you have the gall to turn on me? The only one who’s been keeping you afloat? Your only child.” Tears pricked her eyes, but they weren’t hers. They were the original Sakura’s, finally being shed. “From now on, you will take responsibility for yourselves,” Sakura continued, and this time her voice was calm. Too calm. “You will live like adults. And you will respect me. Don’t force me to cut ties with you completely.” Clapping started from the hallway. The household staff had gathered at some point — out of curiosity, out of concern, who knew. Dozens of maids, drivers, and guards stood in the corridor, watching. Sakura didn’t flinch. “Eiji-san.” A man in his fifties stepped forward from the crowd and bowed deeply. This was Takeda Eiji, the head butler. He’d served the Takamochi family for thirty years and had the posture of a katana. “Pack their belongings,” Sakura ordered. “Throw them out. From today, this is my personal residence. No one enters without my permission.” She turned to Mei. “Close the door, Mei-san.” “Hai, ojou-sama,” Mei answered, and closed the doors behind them, locking the noise out. --- Outside, Eiji was already giving quiet instructions. Inside, Sakura touched her stinging cheek and looked at her reflection again. Genius young lady. Heir. Slap-face specialist, apparently. She exhaled. The game had just started. The mansion went quiet after that. No more shouting. No more footsteps that didn’t belong to staff. By evening the corridors smelled faintly of grilled fish and rice from the kitchen, and the sunset painted the floor-to-ceiling windows gold. Sakura was in her study, going through the original host’s files. Company reports, shareholder lists, news articles calling her “the future of Takamochi.” Her handwriting was already in the margins. Sharp. Decisive. Then her private line rang. It wasn’t the office line. It was the old rotary-style phone on her desk. The one only three people in the world had the number to. Mei, who was refilling tea, froze. “Ojou-sama… that’s the chairman’s line.” Sakura picked up. “Hai. Takamochi Sakura desu.” A pause. Then a voice, old but steady, with the weight of fifty years of boardrooms behind it. “Sakura.” Her grandfather. *Takamochi Isao*. Chairman of the Takamochi Group. Head of the clan. The man who built half of what the company owned today. “I heard what happened this morning,” he said. No greeting. No small talk. “You threw your parents out.” Sakura didn’t flinch. “Hai.” Another pause. She could hear him breathing. Could picture him in his office on the top floor of Takamochi Tower, overlooking Tokyo, a glass of whiskey in one hand and the company in the other. “Good,” Isao said finally. “They were useless. I should’ve done it ten years ago.” Sakura blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “But,” he continued, and his voice dropped. “You did it publicly. In front of staff. With a slap.” A dry chuckle. “You have my blood, girl. Impatient and sharp.” “I’m not a child anymore, Ojii-sama,” Sakura said quietly. “I won’t be used.” “I know,” he replied. “Which is why I’m calling. Board meeting. Tomorrow, 9AM. 43rd floor. You will attend. Not as my granddaughter. As the heir.” The line clicked before she could answer. Mei set the tea down carefully, eyes wide. “Ojou-sama… the chairman never calls directly.” Sakura hung up and stared at the city lights coming on outside. First, she dealt with her parents. Next, the board. She smiled, just a little. “The game,” she murmured to herself, “just got interesting." --- - *Maid who greeted her*: Aoi - *Maid who did her hair*: Hoshino Mei - *Father*: Takamochi Renji - *Mother*: Takamochi Reika - *Butler*: Takeda Eiji - *Clan*: Takamochi - *Ojou-sama*: Young lady -* Hai*: Yes -* Desu*: Here -* Ojii-sama*: Grandfather