Where am I…?
Those words slipped from my lips as I slowly opened my eyes. The last thing I remembered was my cold body lying on the floor of a dark alley, my wrist bleeding from the knife, and the scent of blood filling my nose. I had killed myself… I was sure I had. That was supposed to be my final escape—from the gang, from the constant running, from the fear that had become part of my breathing.
But why… why am I opening my eyes now?
The room I found myself in was unfamiliar. It was luxurious, with soft ivory walls and a ceiling painted with interwoven golden patterns. On my left, a wide window with velvet curtains. On my right, a tall cabinet with a glossy surface that gleamed like glass.
I approached with hesitant steps and placed my hand on the cold surface of the table… This is expensive. Extremely expensive furniture.
But the real shock wasn't the furniture. It was the reflection in the large mirror beside the wardrobe. My breath stopped.
Silky chestnut hair flowing over my shoulders. Wide violet eyes staring back at me in disbelief. Pale, smooth skin. A slender, delicate body wrapped in an elegant dress.
This… this isn't my face!
"Lady Yona, it's time for your studies."
I froze. The door opened quietly, and a maid in black and white uniform entered, bowing politely. Her words struck like arrows.
Yona…? I whispered internally, my mind spinning.
Then, memories rushed in like a violent storm. The pages of the novel I had been reading before my death—The Beloved Girl—a Korean story about a radiant heroine adored by five handsome, powerful men. A girl who loves, who laughs, who shines.
And the villainess… the villainess who had no fate except hatred.
Yona Kim. The older sister of the heroine. Arrogant, prideful, ruined… and in the end, killed by one of the heroine's enemies.
My heart pounded violently.
No… no, I can't be… her?
I grabbed my head with both hands.
I remembered Yona's ending clearly—mocked, broken, discarded, and with no escape from death.
So I would die… in my old body by the gang… or in this one by those men.
Was death my only fate?
The maid waited silently. "My lady…?"
Fine… I won't waste this chance. I should go to school.
After she helped me change into the school uniform, she gave me a glance as if wanting to say something—but swallowed her words. I ignored it and took the school bag.
It felt strange…
I, who used to sneak through dark alleyways, who always carried a knife for protection… was now walking out of a mansion surrounded by servants and guards, like a completely different person.
My footsteps echoed on polished marble… unfamiliar.
I wanted to laugh.
Who would've thought I'd live something like a "normal life"… going to school like a regular girl?
I placed my hand on my chest and whispered:
"I'm grateful for this chance… Even if death is waiting for me, I want to taste a normal life, even just once."
The luxurious car brought me to school. The moment I stepped out, eyes turned toward me. Some laughed, others whispered. Sharp looks… clear mockery.
Right… in the original story, Yona was hated. Everyone saw her as selfish and spoiled.
But I am not that Yona.
I raised my chin, inhaled deeply, and walked with steady steps, ignoring the whispers.
Then… my steps stopped.
There she stood.
A girl with long pink hair shining under the sun. Cherry-red eyes filled with warmth that pulled everyone around her. Her laughter was like a music note, and five boys stood near her, looking at her like she was a star in a dark sky.
Arin.
The original heroine.
A heaviness pressed on my chest—not jealousy… but the painful knowledge of what was to come.
It wasn't because of Arin herself… but because of the role I was now forced to play.
In the story… the reason for the hatred between Yona and Arin was simple and yet complicated.
Their father loved Arin more.
Yona grew resentful and tried to destroy her.
Even the brothers hated Yona, believing she caused their mother's death.
I closed my eyes briefly.
So this is the weight I carry. I am not only the villainess doomed to die… but also the child blamed for her mother's death.
I let out a bitter laugh.
"Seriously… why are fathers in novels always awful? How do you blame a child for something she had no control over?"
I whispered, but the pain didn't fade.
When I opened my eyes again, Arin was still glowing in the center of admiration… while I stood alone, surrounded by scorn and pity.
Alright.
The story has begun.
I entered the classroom.
Silence fell instantly.
All eyes on me.
I ignored them and sat.
My first real choice was about to begin.
But before I could breathe—
The door slammed open.
A tall boy with jet-black hair and icy blue eyes stepped inside. His body was tense, his jaw tight.
His gaze swept the classroom—then locked on me.
Silence deepened.
He stormed toward me, grabbed my collar, and dragged me to my feet—voice roaring like a trapped beast:
"Where is the bag?! Don't think we've forgotten! You hired the assassins who tried to kill Arin! How dare you show your face here?!"
Gasps filled the room.
Whispers:
• "It's Eric…"
• "He finally snapped…"
• "He's grabbing Yona in front of everyone—"
I looked at him coldly.
The original Yona would cry, beg, break.
But I wasn't her.
I used to live among criminals. I saw death close, many times.
This? This was child's play.
Calmly, I reached to the desk, took a metal pen, and pressed it to his neck.
I smiled—slow, cold.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
His eyes widened slightly, but he didn't let go.
Whispers turned into panic.
A girl screamed:
"She's holding the pen to his neck—! Oh my god, she's a monster!"
Eric let out a strained laugh, sweat starting to form.
"Are you serious, Yona? Do you want to die that badly?"
I didn't answer.
Instead, I pressed the pen harder.
A thin line of blood slid across his pale skin.
The classroom erupted.
"She drew blood—!"
"She's insane!"
"She really is a monster—"
Eric's name repeated in my mind.
I remembered now.
He too was one of Arin's devoted admirers.
The rich, influential heir of a hotel empire.
Always standing as her shield.
But in front of Yona's family influence… he was nothing.
The teacher entered.
"What is going on here?!"
I didn't look away.
"Don't touch me again, Eric.
Next time, it won't be just a pen."
I whispered it so only he could hear, then pulled the pen away and let it fall.
I sat back down, calm and still.
Eric touched the blood on his neck.
His eyes burned with fury.
"You damned… I'll make sure your ending is hell. I swear it."
Gasps again.
Fear. Disgust. Stares.
And I…
I smiled.