After completing CSAT, I walked out of the hall like a king who just conquered an empire.
My parents were waiting outside, sipping their afternoon coffee like it was some kind of ritual. I waved my hand to them, the cold November wind brushing against my hair as if nature itself was bowing to me.
Why? Because Kang Joon-Woo's dream of entering Seoul Big University was now one step closer.
I walked toward them, chest out, imagining flower petals floating around me. (Okay, fine, it was just dead leaves, but let me have my moment!)
They were warming their cold hands on their coffee cups, eyes burning with curiosity.
My mom looked at me, her voice shaking a little:
"How did it go?"
I grinned, tilted my chin like some K-drama lead, and said,
"Don't worry. I'm going to get rank 1. Exam went great. Let's go home—because I made Korean beef steak just for you."
Tears instantly welled up in my mom's eyes. She clutched the cup tighter.
"My boy… did really great."
Dad nodded proudly, but also in that Korean dad way that still looked like he wanted to challenge me to an arm-wrestling match.
"Let's go home. Rest up. You earned it."
We started walking, the wind blowing again, carrying with it a soft blossom petal that floated down in slow motion. I was convinced it was a cinematic moment—until suddenly…
BANG!
A strange sound echoed, shattering the scene.
Mom froze.
"Yobo… did you hear that?"
I blinked. "No?"
Dad scratched his head. "No… wait. Actually… yes. I think I did hear something."
And then it came again, louder this time, right behind us:
'From Chapter 1 to Chapter 6, you're hogging all the spotlight! It's about time my story starts too!'
We all turned in unison, and… there she was.
Park Ae-cha.
Standing at the edge of the 4th wall, arms crossed, cheeks puffed up in a pout.
I, Kang Joon-Woo, the legendary CSAT conqueror, dropped my jaw.
"You always want everyone to look at you! My story was going flawless—now you want to start your story?"
She pointed at me. "Exactly! You can't just run the whole narrative! Readers need balance. It's necessary."
Phoenix Hart (yes, me—the narrator who is supposed to stay invisible but clearly can't):
"Hmm. She's right. We should hear her story too. It's important for deciding who confesses first."
Both Joon-Woo and Ae-cha whipped their heads toward me in sync.
"What?!"
I flustered. "I-I mean… her side of the story. Otherwise, readers will get bored. They need other spices too, not just Joon-Woo's kimchi flavor!"
Park Ae-cha smirked, grabbing her bag.
"Exactly. My turn. Let's start."
Before I could stop her, she snapped her fingers, and the scene warped.
The backdrop shifted. Suddenly we weren't outside the CSAT hall anymore, but standing in front of a large mansion.
The camera panned dramatically over a giant iron gate, then through a flower-filled garden so huge it could make Versailles jealous.
And there—amid all the blooms—was young Ae-cha, sitting gracefully, picking flowers like some fairy out of a folktale.
Then, from behind her, came a firm voice:
"Dinner is ready."
She turned, long wavy red hair catching the evening sun, brown eyes sparkling, and her lips curling into a bright smile.
"Coming, Mother!" she called.
And just like that—her story began.
To be continued…