The crushing truth wasn't that I stopped being the center of the world at college, but that I had never once been the center of the world in the first place...
Oh...
It's not something anybody can try to work towards. That kind of effortless radiance belonged to others. It belonged to Myeong.
Everyone's eyes were on Myeong. They only wanted her, only liked her...
She was always the main character.
It was like I was walking through life in a spotlight she controlled, only to be an extra . I wasn't born into it, so the only way out was up. So I decided I had to succeed.
I would do anything, no matter what, if it got me there a day faster .
I was determined to force my own narrative. I would make it happen on my own . I'd never show any sort of weakness... and never lean on luck .
But the more determined I was, the more it seemed that the world wasn't on my side...
I remembered the cold fluorescent lights of the Soojin University Department of Theater and Film Student Council office, the sound of laughter and chatter coming from the privileged few. That's where the real power was, the kind that opened doors.
The man's voice, low and dismissive, echoed in my memory: "You'll get the job if you can take it all off."
My heart hammered—a tiny, shocked gasp escaping me . But even as my hands trembled, I saw the discarded clothes—the shoes hitting the floor with a dull drop, drop .
This was the price of a ticket to the center. And I was ready to pay.
...But the more determined I was, the more it seemed that the world wasn't on my side.
I remembered the cold fluorescent lights of the Soojin University Department of Theater and Film Student Council office...
This was the price of a ticket to the center. And I was ready to pay.
I became resentful of the world... and I think I became more alone because of that.
With a GLUG GLUG of the cheap soju bottle, I emptied the drink down my throat, the burn offering a momentary distraction from the cold loneliness seeping into me.
"You'll catch a cold."
The soft voice broke the silence of the street. I looked up, clutching the empty bottle, a rush of shame flooding my cheeks.
"It's a little too chilly to be out here at night, no?"
Another man stood over me. He wasn't one of the 'privileged few' from the council—he seemed gentle.
"But you, Director Woo..."
I watched him approach. He squatted down easily. "Don't drink out here alone. Let's go inside and drink together."
He offered a kind, easy smile. "Oh, my name's Hyeonjae Woo. I'm a returning student this semester."
My mind raced. A returning student? I hadn't seen him before.
"You're a freshman in the Acting Department, right? I've seen you at school a couple of times."
The way he spoke was different. There was no judgment in his voice, no hint of the sneering superiority I had grown used to.
"No—Hyeonjae... You were different."
He smiled warmly. "We've got a new play coming up... I don't know if it's because you're nonjudgmental... or because you're someone who only thinks about art... I think for the role of Viola... hmm..."
He was talking about a play, about art, about a role for me. He looked at me and saw possibility, not a means to an end. It was the first time in a long time I felt truly seen, and not just looked at.
"I think for the role of Viola... hmm..." Hyeonjae paused, looking me over with genuine consideration.
It felt like a miracle when he said, "Maybe I could give it a shot. Not Myeong?"
The girl next to him, surprised, said, "Ooh... I can see that too."
It was the first time I felt it. The shock, the relief, the flush of excitement.
"Yeah. I think I will suit Viola more." Hyeonjae confirmed.
"Then this is my first leading role. Congrats!" My classmates cheered.
"Wow, getting the lead role as a freshman! That's amazing!"
The feeling of being at the center of the world. It wasn't the cynical, forced attention of the Student Council; this was earned.
Hyeonjae smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "You've got this, right?"
My heart swelled with gratitude. "...But you took care of a girl like me, and let me star in the leading role."
He gave me a final, encouraging look. "Whenever you look at me... whether it's in a back alley, the drama room, or the f*cking film set..."
It felt like a promise. He saw the fire in me that others ignored. I had finally found a path that didn't involve sacrificing my dignity.
🥶 The Shadow of Myeong
But the feeling didn't last. The conversation, as it always did, shifted back to her.
"Wow, that's awesome!! No wonder!"
I saw Myeong get in a luxury car with her family.
Someone next to me gasped, holding up a phone with a picture on it. "Myeong, this is your dad?"
"HUH?! WHAT? He's a super famous professor!!!"
Myeong looked down, feigning modesty. "Oh, yeah... he is... heh..."
The revelation landed like a punch. I had earned my spot through sheer desperation and risk, and she had just... been the main character, effortlessly, with famous family connections backing her up. The spotlight I had just managed to snatch felt dim compared to the relentless, inherited glow surrounding Myeong. The familiar knot of resentment and jealousy tightened in my stomach. I was still fighting an uphill battle, and she was still at the summit.
The professor revelation was the final, perfect piece of Myeong's life puzzle. "HUH?! WHAT? He's a super famous professor!!!"
She looked down, feigning modesty. "Oh, yeah... he is... heh..."
"WOW, THAT'S AWESOME!! NO WONDER!"
The classmate sitting next to me, her eyes wide, continued, "I saw Myeong get in a luxury car with her family one time. Myeong's got it all!"
I stirred my food, trying to swallow the sudden bitterness. She had the effortless radiance, the talent, the looks, and now the famous, well-connected father. Everything I was clawing for was handed to her.
But I had Hyeonjae's words ringing in my ears:
"YEP! ...THE SPOTLIGHT SHINES DOWN... ...AND THAT PLACE BECOMES THE CENTER OF THE WORLD."
And I had found my place. That's how I was able to hold on. The acting studio, the stage, the light—that was my field of battle. That was where I would finally outshine her, not with pedigree, but with skill.
I was immersed in this thought, focusing on the strength Hyeonjae's faith had given me, when my phone vibrated in my hand.
BZZZT. BZZZT.
The screen flashed: Mom.
I picked up the call, my expression hardening instantly, the fragile glow of the spotlight extinguished by reality.
"WHAT."
My classmate watched, momentarily hushed by my tense reaction. I didn't care. Whatever my mother wanted, it always dragged me back down.
"...WHAT!!!!!!"
I shot straight up out of my chair in the cafeteria, the sound of my shout echoing across the tables. The small, private world I had built for myself in the drama department shattered. My mother's voice, frantic and demanding on the other end, was pulling me away from the center stage and back into the chaos I was desperately trying to escape.
"...WHAT!!!!!!"
I shot straight up out of my chair in the cafeteria. The words my mother screamed down the phone line were a fatal blow: a car crash, two police officers at the door, the morgue. My parents were gone.
The cafeteria noise died away, everyone staring at the girl standing alone, phone pressed to her ear. But I barely noticed them. My carefully constructed image—the poised freshman, the lead actress—was collapsing, and I fought desperately to keep the mask in place.
Even in a situation like that, I didn't want anyone to see me being weak.
I forced myself out of the university and into the funeral hall.
I looked at the funeral portraits of my mother and father, my heart replaced by a cold, hard stone of resentment and grief.
"...If you couldn't be rich parents, at the very least, you shouldn't have died early."
The funeral hall was almost empty. A couple of figures in suits sat in the distance. The tragedy felt small, unobserved.
"Why couldn't you have waited until after I got famous to die? Then a ton of people would have come."
The sheer, awful selfishness of the thought was crushing, yet I couldn't stop it. My drive to succeed, to matter, was so primal it even overshadowed this moment of finality.
I collapsed to the floor, my black clothes hiding the trembling of my body. The only words that escaped me were raw and bitter: "Mom, Dad... Sorry."
🧍 The One Person
When I was all alone, unable to call anyone... I thought of one person.
I didn't have any friends. I had only ever pursued success, not companionship. But I had one number, one face that had shown me kindness without asking for a price.
...I thought of one person.
I must have called him. Because he came running over right away... and stayed by my side throughout the entire funeral.
Hyeonjae stood over me, his tall frame a dark, comforting shadow in the stark hall. He was the only one who showed up. The only one who stayed.
I knew... that he looked after me because he pitied me.
The bitterness returned, but this time, it was mixed with a terrifying dependency. The one person who saw my potential also now saw my lowest, weakest, most private failure. And he stayed.
I knew... that he already had someone he was interested in...
But to me... in that moment... it didn't matter whether this place was the center of the world, or the outskirts.
I was huddled on the floor of the funeral hall, the image of my dead parents burning in my mind, and I was weeping. Tears poured down my face—ugly, gasping tears that stripped away every layer of control I had fought so hard to maintain.
My weakness was exposed, yet Hyeonjae didn't leave. He stayed, not because he was romantically obligated, but because he was simply kind. His presence was the anchor I desperately needed.
Later, in the quiet of his apartment, the reality of my situation and the opportunity he presented crystallized into a brutal plan.
I stared at him, my expression one of desperate conviction. "You wanted to know why I chose you? Why do I love you instead of other cooler guys out there? It's because when I'm with you, I feel like the center of the world, no matter what the truth is."
It was a confession, but it was also a strategic proposition. He had given me a role, offered me kindness, and now I was giving him something in return: validation.
He looked surprised, a slight sweat breaking out on his face.
"I told you once before, I'd turn you into an auteur." I leaned in, pushing the stakes higher. "If it's the two of us, we can make that happen. We can turn this place into the center of the world."
Hyeonjae stood, overwhelmed. I stood too, moving closer.
"If you're with me, I can make that happen. Myeong couldn't."
The name tasted like victory. I offered him the prestige and the success that his talent deserved, and I offered him the promise of outshining Myeong's effortless, inherited fame.
He didn't have to look at me with pity anymore. I was giving him a purpose, and he was giving me the means to secure my future.
I offered a slight, knowing SMIRK. The moment was sealed not by love, but by ambition.
"...Well..." I knew that this candid talk... was just the exchange of two people who saw a path to power together. We were partners, bound by a shared desire for the spotlight.
I grabbed the collar of Hyeonjae's shirt, pulling him in close. "But you, Director Woo… I know you were taken with Myeong's acting. But I can give you more."
I released his collar and zipped up my jacket, a decision made, a final compromise with my own dark ambition. I was stepping into the center stage now, not for art, but for power. My ambition would have no choice but to love me.
"Because you don't know anything besides movies." I challenged him, offering him the chance to be more than just a director—to be an auteur.
Our first joint project, a short film called Girl, was a brutal, beautiful masterpiece. Hyeonjae's direction was intense and singular, and my performance as the protagonist was visceral. I didn't act—I bled out my loneliness, my fury, and my desperation into the camera.
When the premiere ended, I found Hyeonjae again, the buzz of the crowd loud in my ears. I felt invincible.
I gave him a seductive, dangerous smile. "Didn't my performance in Girl turn you on a little bit?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. The recognition was immediate, overwhelming, and utterly different from Myeong's popular charm. My fame was sharp, controversial, and impossible to ignore.
💥 The Price of Defeat
The news broke quickly. Not about the film's success, but about the fallout.
I was sitting in my car—a nice car, one I had bought with my first major fee—when I saw her. Myeong.
She looked stunned, holding her phone. Her manager—a silver-haired man—was talking to her, his expression tight with concern.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Myeong looked up at him, her usual composure utterly shattered. "There's a scandal—I mean, an article, but the photo…"
I didn't need to see the article. It wasn't a scandal about me; it was about the original film director, the one I had seduced in the student council room. His reputation was in tatters, the truth of his predatory behavior finally exposed. The article must have used the photo, the evidence I secured that day.
I had destroyed his career to secure my first footing on the center stage. It was the price I paid, and the price I made my enemies pay.
I watched Myeong's face crumple. She hadn't seen me coming. She was the one born to the spotlight, but I was the one willing to commit any sin to seize it. And now, the light was shifting. It was turning toward me.
The moment the credits rolled on Girl, I knew we had won. The audience was stunned, unsettled, yet captivated. I didn't act; I simply stripped away every defense and let the camera consume me.
I found Hyeonjae backstage, the energy in the room still electric. I smiled, a hint of genuine excitement mixed with cynical triumph. "Didn't my performance in Girl turn you on a little bit?"
He looked nervous, sweaty. I knew I had to remind him of the stakes. I unzipped my jacket and let it drop to the floor. DROP. I was giving him everything he wanted—art, fame, and me—to get what I wanted.
"I know you were taken with Myeong's acting," I challenged him, cutting straight to the heart of his artistic interest. "But Myeong is a muse. I am a weapon."
I let the silent dare hang between us, the confidence in my performance radiating from me. I had delivered the masterpiece he needed, and now he was mine.
💥 The Price of Defeat
The next day, sitting in the luxurious black car I now owned, I saw Myeong.
She was visibly upset, clutching her phone. Her manager, a tall man with silver hair, was leaning in, worry etched on his face.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Her eyes were wide with shock, her hand clamped over her mouth. ! "There's a scandal—I mean, an article, but the photo…"
I knew exactly what photo it was. The one I secured the night I went to the old director's office, the evidence of his predatory ways. I had been planning my revenge for a long time, and my parents' death had only accelerated the execution.
My eyes narrowed as I watched her. Myeong was stunned that a student council scandal could erupt and take down a powerful figure. She didn't realize the source of the bomb was me.
I looked at her, and then at the article photo: the Director caught in the act. The image was grainy, damning. It wasn't just a scandal—it was a public lynching, orchestrated to clear the path for Hyeonjae and me.
I was getting revenge for my past pain and simultaneously clearing the competitive field.
My focus returned to Myeong's manager. "I feel like this is a chance."
The silver-haired man looked at the article, then back at his distressed star.
I knew he was weighing the risk. Myeong was his investment, his meal ticket. With the industry momentarily shaken, he couldn't afford a scandal of his own. His reputation was all he had.
The price of standing against me was just delivered to Myeong's doorstep. I smiled to myself, the scent of fresh victory sweeter than any perfume.