The following days at the Kang residence appeared normal…at least to outsiders.
But beneath the rhythm of servants' chatter and daily chores, the air felt heavier —colder, quieter, and full of restraint.And everyone knew the reason could be summed up in one name: Lady Im Hwa-jin.
In the sitting room, Hwa-jin sipped her tea gracefully, her face calm as ever.But every word that left her lips carried the quiet weight of control.
"Mi-sun," she said softly to one of the servants. "I heard Han Eun-bi spends quite some time in the back garden?"
Mi-sun quickly bowed. "Yes, my lady. Miss Han often writes or tends to the garden there."
"I see…" Hwa-jin's smile curved slightly. "Starting tomorrow, I'd like her duties to change. She won't need to be in the garden anymore. Move her to the kitchen — the innermost section."
Mi-sun hesitated. "But—""No need for questions," Hwa-jin interrupted gently. "I simply wish for this household to be… more orderly."
And so it happened.The next morning, Han Eun-bi officially became a kitchen maid.
"So now I'm in the kitchen, huh," Eun-bi muttered, holding a wok almost as big as her torso."From script editor to ancient chef. Wow, career downgrade of the century."
Jo-an, who was chopping vegetables beside her, tried not to laugh. "Maybe it's a test, sis.""Yeah, a test from the universe that clearly hates me," Eun-bi said flatly. "I can't even tell the difference between salt and sugar here."
Then, soft footsteps echoed at the doorway.Lady Im appeared, poised and elegant, her smile graceful — but far from kind.
"Oh, you're here," she said sweetly.Eun-bi straightened up immediately. "L-Lady Im! I was just… boiling water!"
"Boiling water?""Yes! Water is essential. Without it, food doesn't exist."
Hwa-jin chuckled faintly. "How philosophical. You find meaning even in boiling water."
Eun-bi grinned awkwardly. "Thank you, my lady. I'm naturally gifted at saying useless things."
Hwa-jin stepped closer, noticing a sheet of paper on the table."And what's this? Writing again?"
"Oh—uh—it's nothing—""So you still enjoy writing, even after your duties have changed."
Her tone was calm, but her gaze was sharp."I hope you remember — some words can change many things… even the ones that should stay the same."
Eun-bi swallowed. "I understand, my lady."
"Good."With a faint smile, Hwa-jin turned and left — her scent of jasmine lingering like a warning.
Not long after, firm footsteps echoed through the main hall.The servants froze; it was rare to hear Lord Kang Jun-yeol raise his voice.
"Who gave the order to move Han Eun-bi to the kitchen?" His tone was low, but cutting.
Everyone bowed quickly. Mi-sun stammered, "L-Lady Im, sir. She said she only wanted the household to be more… proper."
Jun-yeol's eyes darkened. "Proper? Or controlled?"
Without another word, he strode toward the pavilion where Hwa-jin often spent her afternoons.
When he arrived, his voice was firm."Lady Im, we need to talk."
Hwa-jin turned gracefully. "Lord Kang. Is there an issue?"
"I'd like to know why you reassigned Han Eun-bi to the kitchen."
"Why?" she repeated with a calm smile. "I merely believe a servant should serve where she belongs."
"Where she belongs," Jun-yeol replied coolly, "is where she's needed. And she's done her work well."
"Has she?" Hwa-jin's smile faded."I only wish to protect your reputation, Lord Kang. People might misunderstand your… closeness to her. I'm safeguarding the Kang family's name."
Jun-yeol's gaze hardened. "You may be protecting the Kang family's name, but you seem to have forgotten whose house this is."
His voice was calm — but dangerously firm."As long as I lead this household, no one gives orders to my servants without my consent. Not even my fiancée."
Hwa-jin froze, her composure faltering for the first time."So that's it?" she said coldly. "You'd rather defend a servant than your own betrothed's dignity?"
"This isn't about your dignity," Jun-yeol replied sharply. "It's about knowing your place. The Kang household is not governed by jealousy, Lady Im."
His words hung in the air like a strike of thunder.Hwa-jin rose slowly, her expression tightening.
"Very well," she said, voice trembling slightly. "From now on, I'll stay out of your affairs. But don't blame me when people start whispering."
Jun-yeol said nothing. He gave a brief bow and left, his footsteps echoing through the quiet hall.
That night, Eun-bi sat outside the kitchen veranda, gazing at the half-hidden moon.Her hands were stained with soot, but her mind was far messier.
"Why is my life always like a manuscript rewritten without permission…" she sighed.
She took out her small wooden pen — the one that once caused chaos, yet also… small miracles."If I rewrote it again, would I only make things worse?"
"That depends on what you write."
She nearly dropped the pen."T-Tuan Kang?! How long have you been standing there?"
Jun-yeol leaned against a wooden post, his gaze calm but concerned."Since you started talking to yourself about rewriting the world."
Eun-bi quickly hid the pen. "I was just practicing monologues! For… my internal drama."
He said nothing, only glanced at her soot-covered hands."They put you in the kitchen now?"
"Apparently," she said with a forced smile. "Maybe the universe wants me to level up from 'world destroyer' to 'failed cook'."
Jun-yeol looked at her for a long moment. "That wasn't a random decision. Hwa-jin ordered it."
"I know," she replied quietly.
"And you're not angry?"
She shrugged. "What's the point? In this world, I'm just a side note on the page."
Jun-yeol exhaled slowly. "Don't talk like that."
Eun-bi smiled faintly. "Why? Afraid I'll rewrite the script again?"
"No.""Then why?"
His voice dropped — low, steady, sincere."Because I've stopped seeing you as part of the script."
Eun-bi froze.The silence that followed felt like an entire lifetime.
Before she could respond, a servant's voice called from afar,"Lord Kang! Lady Im is looking for you!"
Jun-yeol glanced at her once more, then turned and left.As his footsteps faded, Eun-bi whispered softly to herself,
"A flower that shouldn't have bloomed… sometimes grows even in the coldest soil."
She looked at her wooden pen and wrote on a small scrap of paper:
If this world truly is written… then may I not remain just a footnote this time.