Chapter 1: I Met My Favorite
I’m extremely confused right now.
If you ask why, I’d have to tell you about the webtoon I’m working on.
I currently work as an assistant to the author of the immensely popular series The Game of Viena. I’m also one of the many fans who rooted for the second male lead, Allen, rather than the main male lead.
Of course, since the story was nearing its end, I knew it was going to be “Eonyamyan”—a coined term meaning “the male lead is Ian anyway.”
Still, even if Allen couldn’t end up with the female lead, I had hoped that at least the two of them could find happiness in a way that even Allen could accept.
But then…
“What is this?”
“What do you mean? It’s the final storyboard. Wrap it up for me, will you?”
The author, grinning like a sly fox, shrugged like he’d fully expected my reaction and played dumb. I stared at the storyboard he handed me—and was utterly horrified.
It was an ending far beyond what I had imagined. And not in a good way. This conclusion shattered not only my hopes but the hopes of every reader.
Here’s a rough summary of the storyboard:
On the day of Ian and Viena’s wedding, despite Allen’s numerous attempts to get in the way of their love, the evil noblewoman Roni—who treated Allen like a pet—secretly handed Viena a poisoned celebratory drink, moved by the sight of Allen’s sadness.
Unaware that it was poisoned, Viena gave it to Ian. Ian drank it without suspicion—and died. Stricken with guilt, Viena took her own life in her room.
But that wasn’t the end. Once Allen realized Roni’s scheme, he strangled her to death and then took his own life.
It was a total mess of a bad ending—complete disaster and tragedy. My hands trembled as I held the storyboard and protested to the author.
“Does this even make sense? Why does everyone suddenly die at the wedding?!”
“Hmm, well, no matter how much I thought about it, a happy ending felt too lukewarm. So I just rewrote the plot according to the flow of my thoughts. I like this version better. You know, Sohee, bad endings are my specialty! Haha!”
This author is insane…
I covered my face with trembling hands and glared at him.
Yes, I already knew. This author loved bad endings. In his previous work, he drove all the characters mad, shocking readers and earning both antis and a ton of attention.
But again? Another bad ending?
And not just any bad ending—everyone dies in the most miserable way!
How is that the author could take a wedding that was supposed to be a joyful finale and turn it into total ruin?
“No, this is too much! The characters are too pitiful. Even if it’s just fiction… this is cruel. I’m shocked—imagine how the readers will feel.”
“I get what you’re saying. Actually, I had a happy ending all planned out. I even plotted it out properly.”
“Then why…?”
“I don’t know. I just kept feeling drawn to the bad ending. Anyway, this is the best conclusion, so please just do the final background coloring.”
I couldn’t understand why he’d throw away a complete plan just to change the ending now. But who am I to understand the mind of an artist?
Besides, I’m just an assistant with no debut of my own, not even one popular work. I had no right to interfere with the author’s story decisions.
Left alone in the studio, I colored while wondering if this ending was really the best. I couldn’t help thinking, If it were up to me, I’d never write it like this.
Even if it’s fiction. Even if it’s the author’s creation. Is it really right to utterly ruin the lives of the characters?
—Knock knock.
Huh? No one should be at the studio at this hour… maybe the author forgot something?
I stopped working and approached the door when I heard the knock.
“Is that you, author?”
There was no reply, but the only person who would come here at this time was the author. I wondered why he didn’t just come in and opened the door without suspicion.
* * *
The sound of a clear stream and the scent of fresh grass tickled my nose.
…Huh? Grass? I was definitely just working overnight in the studio. Where am I? Is this a dream?
I suddenly found myself in a strange place. What I thought was a stream was actually a large lake in the middle of a garden, surrounded by fragrant flowers.
And it felt oddly familiar.
Most unbelievable of all was the boy who appeared to be around thirteen, standing in front of me.
He looked at me with pleading eyes, like he was begging for mercy. His silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, gently swaying in the breeze. Hidden beneath the strands were deep violet eyes, trembling.
So beautiful—so unreal it was almost hard to believe someone could be this good-looking. But I knew that face. It was far too familiar.
There’s no way I wouldn’t remember someone this handsome. I’ve drawn that face hundreds of times over the years!
No way…
“…Allen?”
At the sound of his name, Allen flinched and lowered his head, as if bracing to be hit. Like a wet puppy, he trembled in fear.
No, don’t do that. Why are you scared?
Now that I looked closely, I saw small wounds on the back of Allen’s hands. I reached out to him, concerned, but then Allen spoke in a tearful voice.
“Ah… Roni, please don’t kill Sasha… I’m begging you, Roni… I was wrong…”
At the name “Roni” coming from Allen’s mouth, I finally understood why he was so afraid.
Allen was calling me Roni.
Wait, what? Me, Roni?!
Before I could even react to that shock, I realized I was holding a black cat in my hands—whimpering.
That familiar cat was Sasha. And my hands were gripping Sasha like I was about to kill it.
Startled, I quickly returned Sasha to Allen. Only then did he seem to relax, cradling the cat in his arms and wiping away his tears.
As far as I knew, Sasha was the beloved cat Allen had raised like family as a child.
This was too vivid to be a dream. Everything felt real—my senses, my thoughts. Could this be a prank from the heavens because I complained about the ending?
I rushed to the lake to check my reflection.
The woman in the water wasn’t me.
Shiny black hair, deep dark-blue eyes—together, it was like staring into the night sky. A beauty that felt cold and piercing.
It was her—Roni Sharligan, the character I hated most. Allen’s childhood friend and the person who destroyed his self-esteem.
No way. Not the heroine, but the villainess?!
I clawed at—no, Roni’s hair—and screamed inside. God, you can’t do this to me.
Roni was the one who tormented Allen, treating him like a toy. The one who planted seeds of obsession and sadism in him.
Before eventually being killed by Allen, she was the biggest tormentor of my favorite character.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
While I was still panicking, Allen came up beside me.
He knelt down politely and said with a trembling voice, as if worried about my expression.
“Roni… Are you forgiving me…?”
Dear God, I could die right now without regrets. Is this what they call a fan’s ultimate reward? To meet your favorite in real life…
If this was such a vivid dream, I figured it couldn’t hurt to enjoy it for a bit longer.
But in that moment, memories that weren’t mine—Roni’s memories—flashed through my mind. I found myself stroking Allen’s head and, for some reason, felt a strange sense of satisfaction.
Something was off. These weren’t my emotions. If this was just a dream, I shouldn’t be feeling things like Roni would.
Through those seeping memories, I realized what had just happened: Roni had been hurling insults and tormenting Allen right before I took over.
And the scene felt familiar. I’d drawn it before—it was from a storyboard where Allen remembered his childhood. The only difference was that in the storyboard, Roni had actually killed Sasha.
She had coldly told Allen, “Sasha died because of you.” He’d cried uncontrollably, furious at his own helplessness.
That trauma, along with five years of abuse, led to the birth of Allen’s second, twisted persona.
This couldn’t be a dream. The events were too vivid, the memories too real.
Did I… get possessed by Roni? Just like that?!
My mind was spinning. I didn’t know how to process this situation.
If I had to guess, I’d been thrown into the timeline five years into Allen and Roni’s relationship—right when Roni started to really warp Allen’s personality.
Why this point in time, of all times?
I felt a sudden surge of frustration. As my expression worsened, Allen started to cry again.
That’s when I realized—he was terrified of me. He was still so young.
And considering Allen’s tragic family background and five years of constant abuse by Roni, it made sense that he would have developed anxiety.
Even for a fictional story, Allen’s upbringing was far too miserable. Feeling sorry for him, I gently patted his back and said:
“No, this isn’t your fault.”
