Rebirth of the Cold Billionaire: Jin Young Master
The sound of rain tapping against the glass was the only thing filling the room.
Han Jiwon stood by the window, drenched in blood—not his own, but the man who lay lifeless behind him. The lights in the penthouse flickered once. The power would go out soon. The skyline of Seoul twinkled beyond the glass, mocking him. He had once ruled that city. Now, it would forget him before the blood dried.
The betrayal came not with a gun, not with a knife, but a signature. His most trusted executive—his protégé—had sold him out to rivals, buried his assets under forged claims, and turned his board against him. And the woman he had once loved? She was the one who distracted him long enough for them to pull the trigger on everything he had built.
So this was the end.
"Do you regret it?"
The voice was his own. Cold. Echoing in the walls of his skull. He collapsed into the chair, ignoring the slick warmth spreading through his shirt. A bullet was still lodged somewhere in his gut. It should've hurt more, but his mind was racing too fast for pain.
"I should've killed them first."
That was the truth.
He had spent thirty-eight years climbing the mountain of power. Starting as a slum orphan, crawling his way through the business underworld, using bribes, blackmail, and sheer brainpower to destroy his enemies. He had controlled multinational companies behind puppet CEOs, toppled politicians, and hidden his wealth in coded accounts that not even governments could trace.
But in the end, he had played it too safe.
He had shown mercy. He had shown trust.
He had shown weakness.
And now he was dying in a chair he bought for $120,000, in a penthouse no one would inherit, under a name the world never truly knew.
He wasn't famous. That was the point. Han Jiwon never put his face in the media. His enemies only saw the ghosts he sent to ruin them. And yet, when they struck back… they found him. Not through war, but through the people he trusted.
The pain flared again. Darkness crept around his vision. His breath caught.
"So this is it?"
There were no tears. No family. No legacy. He had made sure of that. No heirs, no lovers, no distractions.
Then the cold came.
Not just the chill of death. Something deeper.
His eyes fluttered open. He tried to move but felt weightless. The room faded. The penthouse ceiling dissolved into blinding light. He wasn't in pain anymore. In fact, he couldn't feel his body at all.
A flash.
A heartbeat.
Then—
Warmth.
Soft, confusing warmth.
Something pressed against his cheek—skin. Human skin. A scent flooded his senses: milk, powder, fresh fabric. He heard… cooing?
He tried to scream. His mouth didn't move.
Then, a sudden shift. His neck turned awkwardly. The world was… massive. Giant eyes stared down at him, eyes full of love and tears. A woman's voice.
"Kyaaaa~ Our little Hyunwoo smiled!"
Hyunwoo?
Who the hell is Hyunwoo?
The woman grabbed him and pulled him into her chest. His body moved on its own. No. Not on its own—just instinct. He wanted to move, but nothing responded the way it should. His arms were tiny. His head too heavy.
No.
No, no, no—
He tried to breathe harder, but his lungs were small. Too small.
He was a baby.
This was a nursery.
What the hell is going on?
And then, like a slap to the mind, it hit him.
Reincarnation.
No bright god. No white-robed judge. No golden staircase.
Just death… and rebirth.
He was in a new body. Someone else's baby.
No—his baby body. This was him now.
Then he heard it. A name.
"Jin Hyunwoo. Our precious little prince. Look how healthy he is today!"
Jin?
Jin... as in the Jin chaebol?
His eyes widened. Inside, he was screaming. The Jin family was one of Korea's top conglomerates—owners of billions in assets, businesses across Asia, and political influence that rivaled the Blue House itself.
He'd tried to take them down once in his past life. Failed.
And now... he was one of them?
He was born into the very family he once tried to destroy?
A grin stretched inside his mind.
The gods gave him another chance. No. Not gods. He took this chance. He didn't care how or why.
He had a second life.
This time, he wouldn't make the same mistake.
No trust. No love. No weakness.
He would become the richest man in the universe.
And no one—not even his family—would know his true face until the day he chose to reveal it.
But for now…
He gurgled. Cooed.
And giggled like a baby.
Cute on the outside. Cold as ice inside.
---
The mobile above his crib spun gently, soft chimes twinkling through the air. Pastel-colored stars and moons danced lazily in the sunlight pouring through tall windows.
Jin Hyunwoo lay quietly, his eyes half-lidded, the picture of a content baby. But inside his infant skull, his mind raced at a thousand thoughts per second.
"I need to understand my surroundings… quickly."
His vision was still blurred around the edges, and depth perception was all over the place. It was frustrating—like trying to think clearly inside a foggy fish tank. But his ears were working well. Very well. Better than before, actually.
Footsteps approached. A door clicked open.
"Madam, it's time for the baby's feeding," a soft-spoken woman said.
"Ah, let me hold him. My sweet boy must be hungry."
The woman's arms wrapped around him with a mother's warmth. It was strange. In his previous life, no such feeling existed. He barely remembered his real mother. Love had been a word used for leverage.
Now… he was being coddled.
He considered resisting, just to test her reaction—but no. He had to play the part. For now, he had to be the perfect, angelic child.
He nestled into her arms and let out a practiced gurgle, looking up at her with the wide, trusting eyes of an infant.
Jin Seoyoon, age thirty-four, heiress of a mid-level conglomerate before marrying into the Jin family.
His new mother.
"His eyes are so sharp lately," she whispered to the nurse, rocking him gently. "Sometimes I feel like he's… watching me."
You're not wrong.
Hyunwoo committed her face to memory—long brown hair, warm brown eyes, gentle voice. She smelled like floral perfume and vanilla. A genuine woman. Perhaps too good for this viper's nest of a family.
"Come, my baby," she cooed, adjusting his blanket as she began to feed him. He hated the feeling, the indignity of being trapped in a helpless body, but he endured it. This was the price of rebirth.
He tuned out the motions and focused on his internal checklist.
> Step 1: Assess the timeline.
He had heard the nurse say "2006" on the TV earlier, and his mother was using a pink Motorola flip phone. That confirmed it. It was August 2006.
> Step 2: Confirm family status.
The Jin family, at this time, controlled Jin Group—active in real estate, luxury goods, pharmaceuticals, and construction. Their biggest tech branch, JinTech, wouldn't rise until 2012. He could accelerate that.
If he remembered correctly, they were about to be hit by a scandal in 2008 that would shake their stock price. That could be... useful.
> Step 3: Identify his position.
Third child. Youngest son. One older sister, one older brother—twins aged six. That meant he had at least a decade of being underestimated ahead of him.
Perfect.
He needed time to grow, plan, build his identity in the shadows. And he couldn't afford to let anyone suspect his intelligence early. Acting like a genius baby would only bring trouble and exposure.
> Step 4: Begin subtle development.
He wiggled slightly, mimicking the natural reflexes of an infant. His mother giggled softly.
"Ah, so smart already! You always seem like you're thinking something."
You have no idea.
The world thought babies were blank slates. He was already planning investment routes, identifying key mergers, and remembering passwords to secret off-shore accounts from his past life. His true strength was coming back faster than expected. Memory retention was solid. Strategic thinking intact. Muscle control? Still pathetic.
"Sleep well, little Hyunwoo," she said, gently tucking him back into the crib.
As she stepped away, the nurse whispered, "Madam… the chairman is asking to see the baby later today."
His heart stilled.
Chairman Jin . His new grandfather.
One of the most ruthless businessmen in South Korea. Even in his past life, he had heard rumors of the old man's brutal tactics. The man didn't tolerate weakness—not in his employees, and especially not in his bloodline.
And now Hyunwoo was his youngest grandson.
Interesting.
He closed his eyes and let out a soft yawn, forcing his body to drift into sleep. But inside, he wasn't resting. He was preparing.
"Let's meet, Chairman Jin," he thought.
"Let's see if you're as terrifying as they say…"
Hours passed.
Jin Hyunwoo woke to the gentle sound of classical piano echoing through the hallway. Chopin's Nocturne floated on the air, mixing with the soft ticking of an antique clock mounted above the nursery door.
His small body still felt clumsy—he had to fight the natural instinct to flail when startled—but his mind was sharper than ever.
> "I have to adapt quickly."
Being reborn wasn't a miracle—it was a test. One mistake, one wrong move, and he'd be discovered. His goal wasn't just survival. He wanted control. Wealth was only the tool. Power, secrecy, and the ability to move nations without showing his face—that was the true target.
And that meant hiding everything until the moment he chose to strike.
The door opened with a click.
"Bring the baby," a cold male voice said.
Hyunwoo didn't recognize it, but the aura it carried was unmistakable—authority, disdain, the arrogance of a man used to being obeyed.
The footsteps that followed were firm, expensive, and slow.
His mother entered first, carrying him gently. Her expression was different now—slightly nervous. Her smile was polite, but tight at the edges.
Then the man entered.
Chairman Jin.
The patriarch of the Jin family.
Hyunwoo had seen him once in his past life, during a backdoor business deal that ended in someone's mysterious "accident." The man looked almost the same now: silver hair neatly combed back, dark eyes that didn't blink more than necessary, posture stiff like an old general.
"So this is the child?"
Hyunwoo kept still. No strange expressions. No reaction. Just a curious baby face.
His mother bowed slightly. "Yes, Father. This is Jin Hyunwoo."
His gaze narrowed.
"He's quiet," the old man said.
"Yes. He's been very calm since birth."
The Chairman stepped closer. He studied Hyunwoo like he was inspecting a stock report, not a grandson.
"Hmm."
Without asking, he held out his hand. The mother hesitated, then carefully handed the baby over.
Hyunwoo felt the shift instantly—this man didn't view family as blood. He viewed them as assets.
The Chairman looked down at him with cold, calculating eyes.
"You'll have your place, child," he muttered. "Whether that's at the head of the table or under it… depends on you."
Then he did something strange.
He smiled.
But it wasn't warmth. It was... testing. Like he was daring the infant in his arms to understand.
"I'll be watching."
Hyunwoo let out a soft babble—neutral, not happy, not sad.
The Chairman handed him back.
"Good. Let's see how long this one survives the wolves."
And with that, he turned and left without another word.
The air in the room was ten degrees colder.
His mother sighed in relief and hugged him tighter. "You did so well, my baby…"
But Hyunwoo was already thinking.
> "He's the kind of man who would disown his own children for failure. A dinosaur of the empire-building age. I'll have to be careful around him."
Still, this was useful. He had now seen the head of the family—confirmed that the old man was still sharp, still dangerous. But age was creeping in. Hyunwoo had maybe ten years before the real power struggle in the family would begin.
He had time.
He'd need to spend the next few years building influence silently—collecting knowledge, listening in on business discussions, and preparing for key turning points.
He couldn't speak yet, but he could watch. Listen. Learn.
---
Later that night, in his crib, Hyunwoo heard hushed voices through the baby monitor.
A man—his father—was speaking to someone over the phone.
"I don't care what Chairman Jin said. I'm not grooming the baby to be his heir. That will go to Jinhwan."
So the eldest brother was the chosen one. Perfect.
"I'll handle it. Hyunwoo will grow up happy, but away from the succession line."
Even better.
Hyunwoo smiled to himself in the dark.
> "Hide me all you want. It'll make it easier to rise where no one's looking."
He rolled over with effort, facing the moonlight streaming through the window.
The world had no idea what was coming.
The Jin estate was a fortress.
High stone walls surrounded the property, and uniformed guards patrolled every entrance. Inside, marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. From the outside, it was the pinnacle of luxury. But to Jin Hyunwoo, it looked exactly like what it truly was—a battlefield in disguise.
This wasn't a home. It was a house built on silent power plays, buried greed, and strategic marriages.
From his crib in the main nursery, Hyunwoo began observing every person who came and went.
First, there was his father—Jin Sungjoon. The second son of the Chairman, vice president of Jin Construction. Calm, diplomatic, and clearly not as ambitious as his elder brother. Hyunwoo pegged him quickly: a man who preferred stability over risk. A perfect puppet. He was more interested in preserving his peace than making power moves.
Then came his mother, Jin Seoyoon. Elegant, polite, and fiercely protective. She was intelligent—more than she let on. Hyunwoo could sense it in the way she spoke to staff, the subtle deflections in family conversation. She knew how to navigate this snake pit and was playing the long game. She didn't desire the throne, but she wanted her children safe. Hyunwoo respected that. He could work with her.
Next were his siblings.
His older sister, Jin Ara, six years old. A curious girl with sharp eyes. She visited the nursery every afternoon and treated Hyunwoo like a living doll—dressing him up, poking his cheeks, and narrating her kindergarten stories like a royal gossip. But beneath her childish innocence, Hyunwoo saw something dangerous: hunger. She wanted attention, approval. Not from their parents—but from the Chairman.
She would grow into someone he'd need to keep a close eye on.
Then there was his brother, Jin Jinhwan. Also six. Reserved. Already being groomed by the family to succeed the Chairman one day. Tutors came daily, and his schedule was stricter than most adults'. Hyunwoo only saw him in passing. Their interactions were minimal—a glance, a nod, once even a curious stare.
That stare stuck with him.
Jinhwan was aware. Even at six, he had that aura—like he knew this world wasn't made for kindness.
> "We're not so different, you and I," Hyunwoo thought one night, watching his brother read a business magazine upside down just to annoy his tutor.
Besides the immediate family, the estate was crawling with staff. Most were forgettable—nannies, maids, drivers—but a few stood out.
Like Mr. Park, the Chief Butler. A hawk-eyed man who noticed everything but said little. Efficient, loyal to the Chairman, and always watching. Hyunwoo didn't like him. Not because he was cruel, but because he was competent.
Or Nurse Lim, the woman assigned to care for him full-time. She was in her fifties, quiet, but observant. She talked to him as if he understood—which, ironically, made her the most dangerous one here. She already suspected there was something "off" about him. That intuition would need to be redirected.
> "Act more baby-like around her," he decided. "Cry more. Drool a little."
He'd learned in his first life that people ignore what makes them uncomfortable. If someone thought a baby was too smart, they'd talk themselves out of it before they believed the truth.
Everything he did in this early stage had one goal:
Stay underestimated.
The family thought of him as the "extra" child. The cute one. The weak one. Not a threat.
Perfect.
That meant no expectations.
No attention.
No chains.
---
One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the nursery curtains, Jin Ara stormed into the room wearing a tiara and a cape.
"Baby prince!" she declared. "Today, you're my assistant! I have to investigate who's been stealing the cookies from the main kitchen!"
Hyunwoo lay motionless, blinking slowly.
"Don't blink like that! You look like a robot!"
She pulled him into her lap and started whispering about her suspicions—mostly nonsense about the butler's "evil twin" and a possible conspiracy involving the family dog.
But Hyunwoo listened carefully anyway.
Even six-year-olds noticed things adults missed.
"Mom said Grandma isn't allowed to visit anymore because she made a scene at dinner," Ara muttered under her breath. "Do you think she's crazy, baby prince?"
Ah. Internal conflict.
He made a mental note.
The grandmother—Chairman's wife—was being silenced or pushed out. Another power play.
Every little crack in the family armor mattered. If he could trace those cracks and deepen them at the right time…
> "Divide and conquer. That's how you take down a dynasty."
He let Ara place a blanket over his head and call him her "Baby Detective," pretending to drool on cue.
The staff watching smiled.
"Little Hyunwoo is so well-behaved," one said.
"Such a peaceful child," said another.
Exactly as planned.
Night had fallen across Seoul. The Jin estate, once bustling with silent servants and polite footsteps, now sat in stillness under the weight of moonlight.
In the nursery, the lights were dimmed. The faint hum of a lullaby played from a silver music box near the crib.
Jin Hyunwoo stared up at the spinning mobile—stars and moons slowly circling like planets in a miniature solar system. To anyone watching, he was just a baby getting sleepy.
But inside, he was racing.
> "Step one: completed. I've learned the structure. The players. The weaknesses."
He now had a rough mental map of the Jin household hierarchy. At the top was the Chairman, proud and ruthless. Below him, his sons—Hyunwoo's father and uncle—one passive, the other distant and dangerous. The children? He'd be keeping an eye on his brother and sister closely.
But what he needed next… was freedom.
Even as a baby, he was a prisoner in soft cotton. A crib was still a cage.
He needed autonomy.
A way to move, listen, gather data—without raising suspicion.
> "Crawling. Step one. That's my next target."
He began practicing in secret—subtle at first. Shifting weight from his belly to his knees. Testing his tiny arms. Wobbling in place like a helpless infant just learning his first motion. He had to pretend to struggle more than he really did.
A few times, he overdid it and Nurse Lim started making concerned notes in her little medical diary.
Good. Let her think he was slow. That bought him more time.
> "The world loves an underdog. But it forgets the one who plays dead."
---
Around midnight, he heard them.
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Not his father. Not a servant. These shoes were polished leather. The way they stopped and hesitated near the door told him everything:
The Chairman.
The door opened quietly. A tall shadow slipped into the nursery.
Hyunwoo didn't move.
The old man stood silently near the crib, watching him.
Breathing in the scent of power. Looking for something.
"Hmm," the Chairman murmured under his breath. "Too quiet."
Hyunwoo let out a slow breath through his nose and made the faintest twitch—just enough to mimic disturbed sleep.
The Chairman watched for another full minute, then turned to go.
Just before leaving, he spoke so low it was barely a whisper:
"You'll have to pick a side someday, little one."
Then he left.
Hyunwoo's eyes opened fully the second the door shut.
> "Wrong. I won't pick a side. I'll build my own."
---
Three weeks passed.
Hyunwoo began crawling—slowly, at first, then with increasing ease. He only did it when alone or with his mother. Around staff, he made sure to fall or hesitate just enough to be "within average development."
His mother praised him constantly.
"You're such a clever boy," she beamed, recording a short video on her flip phone. "So fast already! Just like your brother!"
The comparison was intentional. She was playing politics too. Trying to balance pride without inciting competition.
Smart woman.
During these days, Hyunwoo began to explore his environment. His targets weren't toys, but objects with reflection—mirrors, windows, polished furniture.
He was studying his face.
The new one.
> "Round cheeks. Pale skin. Big black eyes. Small mouth. No scars. No lines."
A clean slate.
In this life, he wasn't a worn-down, bitter man in his forties who'd been betrayed, used, and tossed aside by the world. He was new. Soft. Pretty, even.
He smirked at the mirror.
> "They'll never see it coming."
---
On a rainy afternoon, as thunder rolled in the distance, Jin Jinhwan finally approached him alone.
The older brother had been cautious until now—reserved, indifferent. But something had shifted.
Hyunwoo was sitting in his crib, playing with a wooden ring when the boy came in without a word. He stood there, looking at him with cool eyes.
Then, finally, he asked:
"…Why do you always look like you understand us?"
Hyunwoo froze for a heartbeat.
But then—he dropped the toy, tilted his head like a confused puppy, and made a soft, clumsy laugh.
Jinhwan blinked.
"…Weird baby," he muttered and turned to leave.
But Hyunwoo watched him go with a hidden grin.
> "I'll have to keep an eye on you too, little prince."
---
That night, for the first time since his rebirth, Jin Hyunwoo smiled to himself—not as a baby, but as a man reborn.
A cruel, knowing smile. The kind only someone who had lost everything once before could wear with such quiet certainty.
> "It begins."