Rain lashed against the windows of the South Korea Red Cross Hospital in Jongno-gu, a steady, gray drumbeat for the event unfolding within. On Thursday, September 4th, 2025, Han Seo (한서) gave birth; her husband Han Min's (한민) hand a limp, perfunctory presence in her own. There were no tears of joy, no whispered words of awe. The atmosphere in the delivery room was one of cold, sober assessment. The pregnancy had not been an act of love, but one of calculated opportunism.
Children had never been part of their plan; they were tiresome, limiting, and expensive. That changed when Min's grandmother, Han Yuri, passed away. Her will had been drafted with stubborn finality: the entirety of the remaining Han fortune, the foundation of their legacy, would bypass Min entirely. It was to be held in trust, bestowed only upon a direct grandchild. Without an heir, every last won would flow irrevocably to a charitable foundation.
The moment their daughter was placed in Seo's arms, the calculation was complete. They saw not a child, but a phenomenon. The infant's beauty was staggering, but it was more than that—she seemed to possess a quiet, otherworldly luminescence. It was a quality they, with their keen eye for value, recognized instantly as a priceless asset.
Wasting no time on sentiment, they named her Han Byeolbit (한별빛)—Starlight. Within hours, Min was expertly filtering a photograph of her serene face, and they posted it online.
The image did not merely trend; it became a national event. A wildfire of adoration swept across the digital landscape. The country, hungry for a symbol of pure, unsullied beauty, was instantly captivated. They anointed her the "Starlight of Korea" (한국의 별빛). But the public did not fall in love with the quiet baby in the crib; they fell for her light, an ethereal glow that made her more icon than infant. The Hans understood the distinction perfectly. It was all the advantage they needed.
The irony was profound. Han Min came from one of Seoul's most prestigious families, yet he and his wife lived a life of decidedly average means. This was not by choice, but by consequence. Years earlier, upon receiving his initial share of the family fortune, Min and his then-girlfriend, Jung Seo, had embarked on a legendary spree of lavish indulgence, squandering over sixty percent of his inheritance in eight dizzying months. The businesses he'd inherited teetered on the brink of collapse under the weight of his terrible decisions.
When the family patriarch, his grandfather Han Lee, discovered the extent of the recklessness, his wrath was swift and absolute. He stripped Min of everything, leaving the couple to navigate a world of luxury they could no longer afford.
But Min and Seo were nothing if not clever and patient. They recognized the patriarch's anger as the flip side of a deep, familial love. For years, they played their parts to perfection: the chastened grandson and his humble wife, who had learned their lesson. They waited. When Han Lee passed in 2020, the final say transferred to his widow, Han Yuri. The rest of the family was unaffected, but for Min and Seo, hope was renewed. They redoubled their performance of penitent humility.
Three years later, in 2023, Han Yuri passed from old age. Her will was the vindication they had spent a decade waiting for. Min would receive nothing. But his future child, his direct heir, would inherit his entire remaining fortune. It was a perfect, maddening, glorious loophole.
In December 2024, they married in a hushed, utilitarian ceremony designed to attract zero suspicion. By September of the following year, they held their key.
The erosion of Han Byeolbit's life for profit began not with a bang, but with a whisper. They started with small, justifiable withdrawals from the trust—funds for diapers, for a nicer crib, for organic formula—that found their way into personal accounts. The withdrawals grew in tandem with their confidence and the donations that began to pour in from a public smitten with their "Starlight."
To maintain the illusion, to feed the machine of adoration that funded their comfort, they installed a live broadcast system. Their daughter's nursery, then her entire world, became a continuous vlog for national consumption. They meticulously controlled the narrative, perfecting their on-camera personas as the doting, humble parents of a national treasure. Off-camera, their hearts grew colder, their pockets grew heavier, and their true intentions remained the one secret they successfully kept from their adoring public.