Chapter 3. An Independent Woman
“Honestly, I never thought you were completely sane to begin with, but what on earth did you do to make Kim Younghee tear up like that?”
Chulsoo spoke with a sneer, as if he were certain that I was the cause of Younghee’s tears. I almost thought he was being too harsh—but then again, it felt like the natural order of things.
After all, this was a world where Lee Yangah was destined to be the villainess.
“Lee Yangah, care to explain yourself?”
Even Yoo Gong stepped in, frowning as though frustrated. I used to like that expression—so much so that I’d been writing more scenes lately where he got angry just to see it.
Meanwhile, Gaeul stood quietly, biting her lip as if deep in thought.
It was both a painfully familiar picture and a completely alien situation.
What am I supposed to do…?
“Lee Yangah!!”
Chulsoo’s shout, as if demanding where my answer had gone, made me cover my ears instinctively.
“…You’re too loud.”
“I’m not joking right now.”
Chulsoo had always been a clear-cut character—a man who lived and breathed for love.
The kind of man who would be overcome with bliss just by saying Younghee’s name.
To some, he was the male lead who poured out love unconditionally.
To others, a man too fantastical to exist in reality—more like a unicorn belonging to the genre itself.
I just wanted to experience being deeply loved, at least once.
On pleasant days, when a cool breeze blew, when walking quietly along a sunset-lit river…
Those were the moments I used to foolishly imagine such love.
And now, that very embodiment of love stood before me—albeit as an annoyingly righteous knight.
If this truly was inside a drama, then my actions could disrupt the plot. If I interfered carelessly, Writer Oh Jungsook would—
…Ah. Damn this ingrained servitude.
Even here, I’m worrying about the plot and the writer before anything else?
…Wait. The plot? The writer?
Let’s think rationally. A drama has a writer. The actors bring the script to life.
Right. No matter what I do, it will ultimately become part of Writer Oh Jungsook’s design. Every word I speak becomes dialogue. Every action I take becomes a stage direction.
Simple, isn’t it?
All I had to do was act like a proper villainess while searching for a way to return to my original world.
If I were to speak in line with Writer Oh Jungsook’s tastes, it would probably go like this—
“Is that really what matters? I just came back to Korea after ten years.”
Judging by the way everyone’s expressions twisted at once, that must have landed pretty well. This is why writing scripts is fun. I was inwardly celebrating when—
“Everyone out.”
Chulsoo frowned, rubbing the back of his neck with his large, rough hand. I remembered how, on some days, he’d have a cigarette between those fingers.
“As of today, Lee Yangah is expelled from the ‘Orange’ Club.”
“What??”
“Chulsoo…! I’m fine. I was just startled for a moment…!”
Younghee hurriedly tried to stop him.
Expulsion from Orange? Chulsoo saying that word?
I should have been shocked—at least, from a narrative standpoint.
But seeing a group of nearly thirty-year-olds seriously gathering to expel a single “villainess”… I couldn’t help it.
“…Pfft.”
“…Did you just laugh?”
Yoo Gong asked, utterly stunned.
Honestly, what even was the “Orange” Club?
It was just a name I’d thrown together to represent a kind of pyramid—an easy way to categorize these people.
The four gathered here were meant to stand at the very top of any such hierarchy.
In other words, “Orange” was a place that demonstrated how even those born with wealth and power could become worthless the moment they stood at its entrance.
Not that they did anything illegal like drugs—it just needed to be a natural gathering place for the protagonists. Something that looked believable on screen.
Suppressing my laughter, I lifted my head. Yoo Gong, the club’s leader, still looked utterly baffled at how I could laugh in this situation.
“Ah, sorry. It was just too funny. Like an NG?”
Even if it was a social circle I had created, seeing it in reality felt… absurdly serious.
“Get out, I said!!”
Unable to contain his anger, Chulsoo shook off even Younghee’s hand as she tried to hold him back.
“That’s enough. I’m the leader of ‘Orange.’”
I nearly burst out laughing again at Yoo Gong’s line, but judging by the atmosphere, I was supposed to be trembling in fear instead.
Wrapping a worried arm around Younghee’s shoulders, Yoo Gong quickly left the room with Gaeul.
Before I knew it, Chulsoo was leaning against the marble wall, staring at me crookedly.
“Lee Yangah, I found it suspicious the moment you said you came back to Korea after ten years. What do you want?”
To return to reality and strengthen Yoo Gong’s character. The sound of ‘power imbalance’ would be music to my ears.
“What, still holding a grudge?”
“A grudge?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. Breaking off our engagement—going against our families’ arrangement. Does it hurt your pride that I chose Kim Younghee in the end?”
Ah. A cliché broken engagement setup.
Typical of Writer Oh Jungsook. I shouldn’t have asked.
Villainess roles always used love—it was the easiest tool.
I nodded slightly without realizing it. Chulsoo must have taken it as agreement, because he looked at me calmly, without the slightest agitation.
Then, in a quieter voice, he asked,
“Can’t you at least congratulate us? Kim Younghee is your friend too.”
“Yeah. A friend…”
Chulsoo slowly stepped closer.
For some reason, like Pavlov’s dog, the faint smell of Lee Seongtan’s cigarette brushed past my nose.
“If she’s your friend… then act like one.”
“Then act like a proper assistant.”
“…What?”
“I said, if she’s your friend, act like one.”
Why did that line come out?
And why with Lee Seongtan’s face?
Because Lee Yangah is the villainess?
Because I’ve possessed her?
Or because this world itself is like this?
Even if the villainess serves as a catalyst for the main couple’s love…
Even if she remains a supporting character, sowing seeds of conflict everywhere…
Does anyone really have the right to dictate how I should act?
Where did I hear that?
My life, my universe—no matter how small—its protagonist is myself.
Of course, there are lives that feel like supporting roles.
I knew that better than anyone.
Struggling as an assistant writer, barely making ends meet, while pretending I was part of the drama world.
There were moments I couldn’t endure without clinging to that illusion.
When my mother called to ask when I’d debut.
When friends asked when my drama would air.
When my ex wondered how to even introduce me to his parents.
I lived each day accepting my life as it was.
Some might call it self-justification—but it was how I survived.
Even if everything was an act.
But this…
This isn’t right.
It felt like a curse.
You will live your whole life as a supporting character.
As if it were a fate decreed by God.
“Act like a friend? What does that even mean?”
“That means—”
“Getting in the way just enough to strengthen your love, and then leaving for abroad again? As if that’s my rightful place?”
“Lee Yangah.”
“Don’t call me so casually.”
“…What?”
“I have no intention of playing along with your ‘Orange’ nonsense, so don’t get the wrong idea.”
“Wrong idea…?”
“You think I’ll pine after you forever? Drop that ridiculous arrogance. And leave while I’m still asking nicely.”
Chulsoo let out a small sigh, as if deciding this conversation was pointless, and turned to leave.
Just as I thought he would go quietly, he grabbed the doorknob and added a warning disguised as a request.
“Tonight. Come to the welcome party. Everyone’s gathered because of you.”
“A welcome party?”
Right. It wouldn’t feel complete without one.
A party entirely for me.
Was I getting immersed in the role already?
For a moment, I found myself curious about how I would perform as Lee Yangah in this world.
“I’ll think about it.
They called it a welcome party—but even a medieval ball couldn’t be this extravagant.
So this was the taste of capital?
It made any concern about Writer Oh Jungsook’s budget seem laughable.
Even though it was a set, it looked like a real venue—money had clearly been poured into it.
Leaning against the railing, I sipped an unnamed champagne while observing the scene below.
As expected, the four main leads stood at the center, dressed in tuxedos and gowns.
What is this, an awards ceremony?
But mocking it felt pointless when I, too, was wearing a lavish lace dress.
Before I could even register how tight it felt, I mentally prepared myself.
This was a drama world.
If this much money had been spent, it meant this was an important scene.
And a welcome party? The perfect setup for an incident.
Staying alert, I scanned the room—when Younghee suddenly approached and stood beside me.
That’s… not a good sign.
“Yangah, everyone’s waiting.”
“Well…”
“I’ll apologize for earlier. I was flustered. You said such strange things all of a sudden…”
That’s because I thought this was a dream. If you were in my place, you would’ve reacted the same way…
As I felt a bit wronged, Younghee continued, as if following a prepared script.
“I kept thinking about how to ease your feelings.”
She flushed slightly, shy about revealing her plan.
“I’ll get engaged to Chulsoo as soon as possible and show you how happy we are!”
…Of course.
Right now, When the Evening Primrose Blooms was at the peak of Chulsoo and Younghee’s romance.
“I thought that might make you feel better…”
“Younghee. Are you getting engaged to make me feel better?”
“…Huh?”
Caught off guard, Younghee couldn’t hide her confusion.
She probably thought I was being sarcastic.
“…Never mind. Go ahead. I support you.”
“What…? Really?”
I looked at her calmly as she stared at me with wide, rabbit-like eyes.
She clearly didn’t understand what I meant.
“Because we’re friends.”
“…Huh?”
“There are things you can say because you’re friends. I’m planning to say them now. Since someone told me to.”
There had always been criticism about Younghee’s character.
A dated, overly passive “Candy-type” heroine.
It was Writer Oh Jungsook’s style.
I had tried to change it—but it never worked.
People felt sympathy for passive women, apparently.
Maybe that was partly true.
But watching Younghee move like a chess piece, following directions…
I felt an inexplicable guilt.
“You’re the daughter of a shaman. How long can you endure? Didn’t the spirits say something?”
Her spiritual affliction was meant to be her flaw.
I never understood why.
But as a mere assistant writer, whose ideas were often stolen, I had no power.
“They said when life becomes unbearable and you’re crying your eyes out, a prince on a white horse will appear. From that moment on, you’ll lose your independence. Don’t you realize how sad that is?”
“Yangah, what’s gotten into you…?”
As Younghee stepped closer to grab my arm, a scene flashed in my mind.
The edge of a railing.
A chandelier below.
The heroine and the suddenly appearing villainess.
In melodrama, there’s an unchanging rule:
A villainess must act like one.
She must torment the heroine—or cause her harm.
If that’s what this elaborate set was meant for—
I instinctively grabbed Younghee by the waist and pulled her toward me.
At that exact moment, her high heel twisted—as if it had been waiting for its cue.
If I hadn’t caught her, she would’ve fallen backward down the stairs.
And after that… it didn’t need explaining.
“Yangah! You…?”
“Your heels are too high. You have flat feet.”
I felt nauseated.
This obvious cliché.
What should I do, Writer Oh Jungsook?
But I know a thing or two about clichés myself.
“How did you know… I have flat feet?”
“Younghee, there’s nothing about you I don’t know.”
The episode where she wore cheap heels on her first date with Chulsoo, got exposed for having flat feet, and ended up being carried through the streets?
I wrote that.
So as long as you’re a character I created—
In this world, I’m practically a god.
But maybe I was standing too close.
A hand suddenly grabbed my arm roughly, pulling me away.
The glass I had been holding flew from my hand and shattered loudly.
A shard grazed the top of my foot, and blood quickly welled up.
But Chulsoo didn’t spare it a glance.
“Lee Yangah, what kind of stunt are you pulling?”
“Chulsoo! Yangah’s foot—!”
“Kim Younghee, stay still.”
…Is this what it means to be a villainess?
No one cared whether my foot was cut—or even broken—except Younghee.
But so what?
I had almost become someone who pushed another person off a railing.
Even if I’m a villainess, does everything have to be that predictable?
Feeling all eyes on me, I made a decision.
Here, I wouldn’t follow Writer Oh Jungsook.
I would become my own version of a villainess.
“Younghee, do you understand now?”
“Huh…?”
“Live independently. Do what you want. No matter what anyone says. You’re my female lead.”
It was the beginning.
I brushed past Chulsoo’s sharp glare and walked confidently through the stunned crowd.
Maybe it was just reckless courage fueled by the moment.
Part of me thought—Who am I to be a villainess?
But another part answered—If it’s me, I can pull it off.
Sometimes hypocritical.
Sometimes deliberately wicked.
But if it’s a path I choose myself… isn’t it worth walking?
Words like freedom and liberation struck deep within my chest.
If Lee Yangah is a villainess, then shaping her into something solid—that’s my role.
Just like always.
As I reached that conclusion, the pain in my foot finally registered.
Blood had already soaked into my shoe.
A villainess wearing bloodstained heels.
I didn’t know what it signified—
But it felt like a powerful beginning.
