Chapter One: The Dutiful Villainess Awakens
Chapter One: The Dutiful Villainess Awakens
Beep—
The sound, once deafening enough to echo through eternity, fell into sudden silence.
A familiar knock followed.
Knock, knock.
“May I come in?”
Hah. So even Grim Reapers these days had the decency to knock before claiming a soul. How courteous.
Yes, come in, O Harbinger of Hell.
I have accepted the consequences of failing to protect my own happiness. My soul is ready.
With solemn grace, Da-in closed her eyes, her heart still beneath the weight of surrender, and calmly asked,
“Which circle of hell am I to fall into?”
“…Excuse me?”
What’s heavier—a sin that brings misfortune upon others, or the sin of abandoning oneself to it?
She wanted to believe the latter was lighter. But could she truly say that with certainty?
“Was my crime… severe? How many years of punishment shall I serve?”
“…”
“You know, there’s a saying that even a dog at a Confucian school can recite poems after three years. Surely you’ve been doing this long enough to guess what awaits me? Come on, a little hint, dear Reaper.”
“The nature of your crime is quite… grave.”
Ah. Of course.
As if thunder had cracked the sky, Da-in swallowed her tears silently.
“You haven’t even touched your dinner! And if you’re going to sleep, at least close the window! You’ll catch a cold like this. You’re the precious daughter of the esteemed Earl MacCary. You need to look healthy before you marry! Are you planning to start coughing the moment you meet the Duke?!”
That voice—nagging, maternal, oddly warm—drifted to her ears.
One word pierced through the haze.
MacCary?
“…Liden MacCary?”
She blinked open her eyes.
What met her sight was not the sterile white ceiling of a hospital or the misty veil of the afterlife, but the rustic wooden beams of an antique chamber.
A middle-aged woman was closing the window.
“Why are you saying your name like it belongs to someone else?”
‘My name…?’
No.
That name belonged to the villainess from the cover novel she had recently worked on.
Her hand flew to the back of her head.
Instead of the dried blood and injury she expected, her fingers sank into a cascade of smooth, long hair.
‘No way… Did I die and… end up inside the novel?’
Liden MacCary—villainess of No Regrets, My Male Lead.
A character cursed to be the living sedative for the male lead’s rampages. The woman he was forced to marry.
She had read the novel not long ago. The details remained vivid.
“Ha…”
The female lead had stumbled upon the male lead during a critical moment and helped him—thus sparking their love.
But the male lead, burdened by his family’s dark legacy, pushed her away. He knew that loving him would only bring her sorrow.
Eventually, he married Liden for political reasons.
The heroine couldn’t bear to leave completely. She watched his wedding from the shadows and stayed close, always orbiting him like a forgotten moon.
And the male lead—he was no better. Despite the marriage, he kept seeking the heroine.
Caught in a twisted dance, he drove both women to the brink.
The heroine suffered—madly in love, yet frozen out.
Liden, convinced that her marriage’s misery was the heroine’s fault, became cruel, vicious… and eventually, broken.
Time passed. The heroine, unable to bear it all, left.
Only then did the male lead realize he could not live without her. He confessed everything—his curse, his impending death. He just wanted to be by her side.
And Liden?
‘She was exposed for her deeds, scorned by her in-laws and husband, then cast out like a shadow.’
Da-in was struck by a storm of unspoken emotions.
She had died the same day she found out her cheating husband had betrayed her, after years of abuse from her in-laws.
And now?
She was in the body of another woman doomed to repeat that exact cycle.
‘Is this a joke?’
Yet—
A flame sparked within her.
Da-in leapt to the window, flung it wide, and inhaled the crisp evening air of this new world.
It filled her lungs like the first breath of life.
‘Welcome.’
This novel-world, this second life—it greeted her like a long-lost friend.
She had no lingering attachments to her old world. She had tried, and failed, to protect the things she loved.
But here? Here, the story hadn’t been written yet.
There were no wicked in-laws—not yet. No unfaithful husband—yet.
But she would change it all.
Liden was still at the inn. It was still early in the plot.
“I’ll close the window, miss. It’s nearly nightfall. We can’t risk malevolent spirits slipping in, now can we?”
The woman’s voice—tender, firm, familiar.
Of course. Corelle.
The veteran nanny who had cared for Liden since childhood.
Da-in turned, regarding her with eyes warm with false innocence.
“Hey, Corelle? Where’s Lady Hern?”
The question made Corelle pause.
“There was only one portion of dinner. Did Lady Hern eat somewhere else?”
In the early chapters, Mary Hern and Liden were traveling to the capital for their debutante season. They had stayed at an inn—this inn.
She remembered them sharing a room.
So where was she?
“Lady Hern?”
Corelle tilted her head, then offered a startling reply.
“She’s returned to the Baron’s estate, my lady. Don’t you remember?”
Da-in froze.
The heroine had… run away?
At the very start of the story?
“That’s… not supposed to happen.”
Hours later, Da-in crept through the dark, clutching a flickering lantern.
‘Why, heroine?!’
Tonight was the night—the fateful encounter where the heroine would save the male lead from himself.
Without her, the story couldn’t begin.
Which meant… She would go. She would save him herself.
It was no ordinary night.
They called it The Night of Devouring—a cursed night where hungry spirits prowled the dark, tearing at the souls of any who dared remain outside.
People smeared animal blood on their gates to ward them off.
And yet, Da-in walked forward, undeterred.
‘The heroine survived. I will too.’
She repeated the mantra like a spell, holding her breath against the fear rising in her chest.
Compared to the terror of letting the male lead die—and with him, the chance to rewrite her fate—these old ghost tales were nothing.
‘He must be terrified.’
Worse still, it was a night of the full moon—the most dangerous time for him.
In the story, his memories would black out.
When he regained awareness, he’d find his dagger in hand.
Blood on the blade.
His lieutenant’s blood.
The loyal man had clutched his wounded side and apologized—for not stopping him. Said he was fine.
But the male lead was not fine.
He had never blacked out before. Not like that.
Afraid he would harm someone dear, he ran into the forest and locked himself away.
There, he was meant to meet the heroine, who had fled from Liden’s cruelty.
Her presence, her chatter, had kept him sane until dawn.
‘Where is he?’
Mist clung to her skin like damp silk.
She had to be close.
‘…!’
A splash.
She spun, raising her lantern.
Beneath her lay a black lake, rippling gently.
“Who… who’s there?”
Her voice trembled like a newborn lamb’s bleat.
She drew a deep breath to steady it.
Ripples widened.
Then—a figure burst from the lake’s surface.
A towering silhouette surged upward.
Da-in froze, her body encased in ice.
As the figure moved closer, the light caught his face.
She gasped.
Under the weight of darkness…
From beneath dripping locks…
Two eyes, sharp as a predator’s, met hers and stared straight through her soul
