Chapter Text
Jung Sungchan woke up feeling strangely heavy, his body still half-sunken into sleep as faint noises echoed somewhere nearby. At first, he barely paid attention to them, assuming they were coming from outside his apartment, but the unfamiliar softness beneath him quickly made his brows knit together in confusion. His mattress had never felt like this before. Neither had his blankets. Everything around him felt too comfortable, too expensive, carrying the faint scent of fresh linen and polished wood that lingered in the air like something straight out of a luxury hotel.
Before he could properly open his eyes, he heard movement approaching his bed followed by a careful voice speaking near him: “Young master, breakfast has already been prepared.”
Sungchan's eyes snapped open immediately.
For a moment, he could only stare blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling above him, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. Sunlight spilled through massive windows framed by dark curtains, illuminating an enormous bedroom decorated with elegant furniture he had definitely never owned. The walls were lined with expensive paintings, the floor beneath him gleamed like marble, and standing beside the bed were two people dressed neatly in black and white uniforms, watching him with polite patience.
His mind went completely blank. The servants seemed unsurprised by his silence, moving naturally around the room as if this was a normal morning routine. One of them pulled the curtains open wider while the other placed a tray of neatly folded clothes nearby. Sungchan sat up slowly, his heart beginning to pound harder with every passing second as he looked around in disbelief.
This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t even his house.
“What…” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough from sleep. “Where am I?”
Neither servant reacted to his confusion. If anything, they simply looked mildly concerned by his delayed response, politely urging him to get ready before breakfast got cold. Sungchan stared at them for several long seconds before finally forcing himself out of bed, his legs feeling strangely unstable beneath him. Even the clothes he was wearing felt unfamiliar against his skin, soft silk brushing against his arms as though everything around him had been carefully chosen for someone far wealthier than he could ever imagine being.
His breathing slowly became uneven as he followed the servants out of the room.
The mansion was even worse. Long hallways stretched endlessly before him, illuminated by warm chandeliers hanging from impossibly high ceilings. Every corner looked painfully expensive, from the polished floors to the elaborate decorations placed around the house with perfect precision. Sungchan kept looking around in growing horror, because the more he saw, the more a terrible feeling started creeping into the back of his mind.
This place felt familiar. Not in the way somewhere remembered from childhood would feel familiar, but in the unsettling way fiction sometimes stayed inside your head long after finishing it.
Then suddenly, it clicked.
The mansion. The servants calling him “young master.” The luxurious household belonging to one of the wealthiest families in Seoul.
Sungchan felt his stomach drop so violently it almost made him stop walking altogether. No way. His expression slowly stiffened as memories from the novel he had stayed up rereading the night before flooded back all at once. The story he had obsessed over for months. The tragic revenge plot. The cold and merciless villain everyone in the fandom hated.
The villain he had somehow become.
A quiet curse almost slipped past his lips as panic settled heavily inside his chest. Out of every possible character, why did it have to be him? He knew exactly who this body belonged to, and that knowledge alone was enough to make his head spin. This character wasn’t just disliked in the novel — he was genuinely horrible. Cruel, manipulative, violent. The kind of person readers waited impatiently to see ruined. And worst of all, Sungchan knew exactly who would eventually destroy him.
By the time the servants guided him toward the dining room, his thoughts were a complete mess. He could barely focus on anything around him, too consumed by the horrifying realization that he was no longer simply reading the story from the safety of his phone screen. Somehow, impossibly, he had become part of it. The doors opened quietly before him, revealing a long dining table decorated with an elaborate breakfast that looked far too luxurious for an ordinary morning. Sungchan barely noticed any of it at first as he was guided toward his seat automatically, still struggling to think straight.
But the moment he looked up, his entire body froze. Someone was already sitting across from him.
Sungchan’s breath caught instantly.
Dark hair rested softly against pale skin glowing beneath the morning light pouring through the windows behind him. His posture was calm, composed, almost intimidatingly elegant despite the simple atmosphere of breakfast. Sharp eyes lifted slowly toward Sungchan, unreadable and quiet in a way that immediately sent tension crawling up his spine.
For several long seconds, Sungchan forgot how to function. His mind blanked so completely that he could only stare.
Because there was no mistaking that face.
Wait… Is that really… Wonbin?, he thought. Not someone resembling him. Not a coincidence. It was genuinely Park Wonbin — the Wonbin from the novel.
The realization crashed into Sungchan all at once, leaving him completely speechless as he stared across the table in disbelief. The novel had described Wonbin’s appearance countless times, always emphasizing how beautiful he was, almost unreal compared to everyone around him, but none of it had prepared Sungchan for seeing him in person. If anything, the descriptions suddenly felt embarrassingly insufficient.
He was absurdly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that immediately pulled attention without even trying. The soft light catching against his features almost made him look untouchable, like someone who didn’t fully belong in reality.
Sungchan found himself completely mesmerized for a moment before another horrifying thought abruptly slammed into him. This was the same person his character had spent years abusing. The same person who had suffered endlessly because of him. And judging from the coldness lingering behind Wonbin’s gaze as he looked back at him across the table, Sungchan suddenly realized that whatever relationship these two had before his transmigration… it was already far beyond repair.
In his previous life, Jung Sungchan had been nothing more than an exhausted university intern teacher trying to survive endless lectures, unfinished paperwork, and classrooms full of students who rarely paid attention to him. Yet no matter which class he entered, there was always one thing he noticed almost immediately: students hiding their phones beneath their desks, completely absorbed in the same novel instead of listening to the lecture. At first, Sungchan found it ridiculous. He had lost count of how many times he caught someone scrolling through chapters during class, their expressions shifting between shock, frustration, and tears while pretending to take notes whenever he walked past.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. If everyone was so obsessed with this story, then it had to be worth reading at least once.
That single decision ended up ruining his life. After staying awake all night binge-reading the novel until the very last chapter, Sungchan somehow woke up inside its world the next morning, trapped in the body of the story’s villain. Not a side character. Not someone irrelevant. The actual male lead of the tragedy everyone in the fandom despised.
The original Sungchan came from one of the wealthiest families in South Korea, raised with everything he could ever want and protected by the influence of his powerful father. Meanwhile, Park Wonbin had once lived a life just as privileged. As the only son of a rich family, Wonbin grew up surrounded by luxury until everything collapsed overnight after his parents died unexpectedly. Left alone and vulnerable at a young age, the fortune meant to belong to him was secretly embezzled by the person his father trusted the most: Jung Sungchan’s father.
With nowhere else to go, Wonbin was taken into the Jung household under the guise of being cared for like family.
But the mansion that was supposed to become his home turned into something far worse.
Hidden away from the outside world, isolated inside the house, Wonbin spent years enduring humiliation and abuse under Sungchan’s hands. The original Sungchan treated him less like a person and more like something beneath him entirely, forcing him into obedience while constantly reminding Wonbin that he no longer had anything of his own. In the novel, the servants avoided speaking about what happened behind closed doors, but everyone knew enough to fear the Jung family in silence.
And through all of it, Wonbin endured quietly. Until he didn’t.
By the end of the story, after years spent carefully planning his revenge, Wonbin finally destroyed the Jung family piece by piece before delivering the same cruelty back to the person who had ruined his life. Sungchan still remembered reading those final chapters in horrified disbelief only hours before waking up in this world himself, unable to forget the brutal image of the villain being thrown into the ocean and fed alive to sharks while Wonbin watched without hesitation.
Now, standing inside the same mansion where everything began, Sungchan realizes with growing panic that none of this is fiction anymore. And somewhere inside this house is the person who will eventually kill him.
He could barely hear the servants speaking around him over the sound of his own heartbeat. Even after realizing he had transmigrated into the novel, part of him still felt disconnected from reality, like he would wake up at any moment back in his apartment surrounded by unfinished lecture notes and sleeping students in the back row of his classroom. But the cold marble beneath his shoes, the heavy scent of expensive coffee filling the dining room, and the servants quietly preparing breakfast around him all felt painfully real.
And sitting across from him was Park Wonbin. Sungchan tried not to stare too obviously, but it was almost impossible not to. Wonbin looked even more unreal up close beneath the soft morning light pouring through the windows, his expression calm and detached as he quietly ate breakfast without making unnecessary noise. Every movement felt refined in a way that made Sungchan momentarily forget this was the same person destined to destroy him later.
No, not later. Eventually. The thought alone made his stomach twist.
For several painfully awkward minutes, Sungchan sat there silently trying to remember how the original character acted around Wonbin. The problem was that the novel had mostly skipped over ordinary conversations between them unless they were especially cruel. Most scenes simply implied the original Sungchan treated Wonbin horribly all the time, speaking to him sharply even over insignificant things.
Which left Sungchan with one terrifying question: How the hell was he supposed to act now?
If he suddenly became kind overnight, people would obviously notice something strange. But acting cruel toward someone who looked at him with that quiet caution sitting across the table felt impossible.
The tension became unbearable quickly.
Sungchan picked up his cup just to have something to do with his hands, mentally scrambling for anything normal to say. Unfortunately, his panic only made the silence feel heavier.
Then Wonbin looked up briefly. Their eyes met and Sungchan nearly choked on his drink. Wonbin’s expression shifted subtly the moment he noticed Sungchan staring. Not surprised — wary. Instinctively wary, like he was already preparing himself for whatever unpleasant comment usually came next.
That tiny reaction hit Sungchan far harder than he expected. Because it meant this version of Sungchan had already hurt him enough for fear to become automatic.
The realization made guilt settle uncomfortably in his chest even though none of those actions had been his own.
“You’re being unusually quiet today.", Wonbin’s voice was calm, soft enough that anyone else might have missed the underlying caution beneath it. He kept his gaze lowered again after speaking, attention returning to the untouched food on his plate like he regretted saying anything at all.
Sungchan blinked. For a second, he forgot he was supposed to answer. Then panic immediately rushed through him again.
What would the original Sungchan say here?
Something insulting probably. Something humiliating. Something meant to remind Wonbin of his place inside the house. But Sungchan genuinely couldn’t force himself to do it.
“I’m just tired,” he answered awkwardly after a pause that already felt too long. The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere changed strangely.
Wonbin looked up again immediately, this time with visible confusion flickering across his expression before disappearing just as quickly. Even the servants nearby seemed subtly surprised by the lack of hostility in Sungchan’s tone.
Shit.
Sungchan almost cursed out loud.
Was that too nice? Too normal? Did the original Sungchan never explain himself without sounding cruel?
Trying to recover, Sungchan forced himself to look away and grabbed a piece of toast he had no intention of eating. His brain worked desperately for something colder to say before the silence became suspicious.
But before he could think of anything, one of the servants approached Wonbin carefully.
“Young master Wonbin,” she said quietly, “Chairman Jung requested your presence later this afternoon.”
The moment those words were spoken, Sungchan noticed the subtle change in Wonbin immediately.
His shoulders stiffened. Only slightly, barely enough for anyone else to notice, but Sungchan saw it clearly because he had already been watching him too closely.
And suddenly, memories from the novel started resurfacing all at once. Chairman Jung. The father. The man who stole Wonbin’s inheritance after his parents died.
The same man who allowed the abuse inside this house to continue for years without ever intervening.
Sungchan’s appetite disappeared instantly. More fragmented details from the story began reconnecting in his head rapidly, piecing together the timeline he had been too overwhelmed to think about earlier. The mansion. Wonbin’s age. The way he still reacted visibly sometimes instead of hiding every emotion completely.
And then Sungchan remembered the banquet. His chest tightened violently. He realized with growing horror that it hadn’t happened yet.
The infamous banquet scene — the one readers constantly talked about online because of how brutal it was — would happen only a few months from now. Sungchan remembered it vividly now: the original Sungchan humiliating Wonbin publicly in front of wealthy guests, forcing him onto his knees after falsely blaming him for spilling wine during dinner while everyone watched without helping.
That was the moment everything changed in the novel. After that night, Wonbin stopped hoping anyone inside the mansion would ever treat him like a person again. The narration itself became colder afterward, describing him less like a victim and more like someone quietly becoming dangerous.
And sitting here now, watching Wonbin lower his eyes silently after hearing Chairman Jung’s name, Sungchan suddenly realized something deeply unsettling.
That version of Wonbin didn’t exist yet. Not completely. He was still hurt. Still trapped. Still careful around everyone in this house. But he hadn’t fully become the person driven entirely by revenge yet.
Which meant Sungchan had somehow arrived only months before the point where the story truly destroyed him. The realization made his pulse pound loudly in his ears.
Because for the first time since waking up in this world, Sungchan understood that the plot hadn’t trapped him at the end of the tragedy. It had placed him directly at the beginning of it. And he had to change things somehow.
Not just for his own survival anymore, although the horrifying memory of being fed to sharks still resurfaced every time he thought too long about the novel’s ending. The longer he sat across from Wonbin, the harder it became to stomach the idea of allowing everything to happen exactly the same way again.
But fixing things wouldn’t be simple.
Sungchan understood almost immediately that changing too much too quickly would only make people suspicious — especially Wonbin. The original Sungchan had spent years treating him horribly. If he suddenly woke up kind overnight, there was no way Wonbin would trust it. Honestly, he would probably think it was some new way of mocking him.
No, whatever change happened had to be slow. Careful. Gradual enough that nobody questioned it.
Sungchan swallowed quietly, forcing himself to stay calm while his thoughts raced endlessly. First, he needed to stop making things worse. That alone would already alter the story more than people realized. The original Sungchan constantly humiliated Wonbin over small things, creating tension even during ordinary moments like meals or passing each other in the hallways. If Sungchan simply avoided acting cruel altogether, maybe the future could already begin shifting little by little.
At the same time, he couldn’t become openly protective either. Not yet. Wonbin already looked confused enough from a single normal response during breakfast.
Sungchan glanced up again almost unconsciously. Wonbin was still quietly eating across from him, posture composed and expression unreadable again, but Sungchan noticed the subtle caution lingering in the way he avoided looking directly at him for too long. Like he was waiting for the real hostility to come eventually.
Sungchan exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself before his expression betrayed too much. He needed to think carefully from now on. Every interaction mattered now in ways he had never considered while reading the novel casually on his phone late at night.
If he wanted to survive this story — if he wanted to stop Wonbin from becoming someone consumed entirely by revenge — then he would have to start changing things little by little from this moment onward. Even if Wonbin never noticed it at first.
Jung Sungchan could feel the servants watching him carefully from the edges of the dining room.
Not directly, of course. Nobody inside the Jung household would ever openly stare at him. But Sungchan still noticed the subtle attention lingering around the table after his strangely calm response earlier. The original Sungchan apparently wasn’t known for quiet breakfasts Which meant he needed to fix this quickly.
The problem was that every time he looked at Park Wonbin sitting across from him, his brain short-circuited between panic and disbelief. Wonbin looked nothing like the terrifyingly cold figure from the end of the novel yet. Right now, he just looked exhausted. Careful. Too quiet for someone his age.
Sungchan’s fingers tightened slightly around his utensils as he forced himself to remember what kind of person the original owner of this body actually was. Cruelty wasn’t occasional for him. It was casual. Normal. Woven into every interaction so naturally that even the servants treated it like background noise.
If Sungchan wanted to survive long enough to change the story properly, he couldn’t act soft immediately.
So when Wonbin finally reached toward one of the dishes near the center of the table, Sungchan acted before he could overthink it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The sharpness in his voice cut through the dining room instantly.
Wonbin’s hand stopped midair. The servants froze almost imperceptibly nearby. Even Sungchan startled himself a little internally, but he forced his expression to remain cold despite the guilt already beginning to build inside his chest.
Wonbin slowly lowered his hand back toward his lap. “I was just—”
“I didn’t ask what you were doing,” Sungchan interrupted immediately.
The words came out harsher this time, closer to how the original character probably sounded. The atmosphere around the table shifted almost instantly afterward, heavy silence settling over the room so quickly it became difficult to breathe. He hated how naturally everyone accepted it.
Wonbin lowered his gaze without arguing further, fingers curling quietly against the fabric of his pants beneath the table. Sungchan noticed the movement immediately because he had already become hyperaware of every small reaction Wonbin had around him.
And the terrifying part was realizing none of this seemed unusual to him. No anger. No surprise. Just immediate submission. And even though that made his stomach twist, he forced himself to continue.
“You’ve been living here long enough to know better,” Sungchan said coldly, setting his utensils down deliberately. “Or do I still need to teach you basic manners?”
One of the servants nearby visibly stiffened at the words. And for the first time since entering the dining room, Sungchan saw a reaction crack through Wonbin’s carefully controlled expression.
Not fear. Humiliation. It was brief, gone almost instantly as Wonbin looked downward again, but Sungchan caught it clearly enough to make guilt hit him like a punch to the ribs.
Across from him, Wonbin quietly pulled his hand away from the untouched food without another word. His posture remained perfectly composed, but Sungchan noticed how his shoulders had subtly drawn inward now, like he was unconsciously trying to make himself smaller.
That tiny detail made something heavy settle in Sungchan’s chest. Because he suddenly understood that the original story wasn’t built from a few dramatic moments of cruelty alone. It was this.
Small humiliations repeated every single day until they became normal. Until someone stopped expecting to be treated gently at all.
And sitting there in the suffocating silence of the dining room, Sungchan realized with growing dread that if he wasn’t careful, even pretending to be the original villain for too long might slowly turn him into one.
By the time breakfast finally ended, the tension lingering in the dining room had become almost unbearable for Jung Sungchan.
Even after forcing himself to imitate the original Sungchan’s behavior, guilt still sat heavily in his chest as he followed the servants upstairs to get ready for school. Every cold word directed at Park Wonbinreplayed uncomfortably in his head while he changed into the expensive black uniform laid out for him.
It felt wrong in a way he couldn’t explain properly.
Not because the comments themselves had been especially terrible compared to what the novel described later, but because Wonbin’s reactions had felt too real. Too practiced. Like someone already accustomed to swallowing humiliation quietly before it could escalate into something worse.
And somehow, that made Sungchan feel even worse than outright anger would have.
The ride to school was painfully quiet.
Sungchan sat inside the backseat of the car trying to organize his thoughts while the city passed outside the windows in blurred gray motion. Across from him, Wonbin remained silent the entire drive, posture straight and expression calm in that same unreadable way that constantly left Sungchan uncertain what he was thinking.
The original Sungchan apparently didn’t like sitting too close to him either, considering the noticeable distance Wonbin kept automatically.
Eventually, the car stopped near the front gates of the school. The moment they stepped outside, Sungchan immediately understood why the novel spent so much time emphasizing the Jungs’ social status. Students surrounding the entrance visibly reacted to their arrival almost instantly, conversations lowering into whispers as people moved aside naturally to let them pass.
Or more specifically, to let Sungchan pass.
Wonbin walked slightly behind him automatically. That detail irritated Sungchan more than it should have.
He remembered now that even at school, the original Sungchan constantly treated Wonbin like someone beneath him despite technically living under the same roof. Rumors about their relationship had spread years ago already, most students assuming Wonbin stayed with the Jungs out of pity after his parents died.
Nobody knew the truth. Or maybe they simply chose not to care enough to question it.
Sungchan was still distracted by those thoughts when it happened. Everything unfolded so quickly he barely had time to react properly.
Someone rushing down the stairs near the entrance collided harshly against Wonbin’s shoulder while carrying sports equipment, causing him to lose balance immediately. Sungchan only had enough time to see Wonbin’s expression tighten slightly before his foot slipped awkwardly against the wet pavement left behind from earlier rain.
Then came the awful sound of impact. Several students gasped nearby. Wonbin hit the ground hard enough that the books in his hands scattered across the pavement instantly.
For a second, nobody moved.
Sungchan felt his stomach drop violently as he stared at him sprawled against the ground, one hand bracing himself awkwardly while the other pressed tightly around his ankle.
Pain flashed clearly across Wonbin’s face before disappearing almost immediately beneath forced composure.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly before anyone even asked. But Sungchan could already tell he wasn’t.
The original Sungchan probably would’ve gotten annoyed first. The novel mentioned several scenes where he openly mocked Wonbin for appearing weak or embarrassing him publicly, especially in front of other students. Sungchan remembered one line in particular describing how the original character hated unnecessary attention.
So instinctively, he forced himself to react colder.
“You can’t even walk properly?” Sungchan snapped automatically, louder than intended. “Pathetic.”
The surrounding students immediately fell silent. Wonbin lowered his gaze without arguing back, trying to push himself upright despite the visible pain tightening his expression for half a second too long.
And then Sungchan saw it. The way Wonbin’s leg nearly gave out beneath him again. That was enough.
Before he could stop himself, Sungchan moved forward immediately.
A wave of confusion crossed Wonbin’s face the moment Sungchan grabbed his arm to steady him. The nearby students looked equally shocked as Sungchan crouched slightly beside him, irritation still forced across his expression mostly for appearance’s sake.
“For fuck’s sake,” Sungchan muttered sharply. “If you collapse here, people are going to make it my problem too.”
It was the only excuse his brain managed to produce fast enough. But despite the harsh words, Sungchan still slid one arm around Wonbin carefully before helping him upright.
The silence around them became deafening. Because apparently, the original Sungchan had never helped Wonbin publicly before.
“Young master—” one of the drivers nearby started hesitantly, clearly confused.
“Call the hospital ahead,” Sungchan interrupted immediately.
Wonbin blinked at him in visible disbelief. “It’s not serious,” he said quietly, almost instinctively. “I can still go to class.”
Sungchan looked down at him incredulously. Even injured, his first concern was still avoiding inconvenience.
“You’re limping,” he said flatly. “You’re not going to class like that.”
Without waiting for another argument, Sungchan pulled Wonbin’s arm more securely around his shoulders before guiding him back toward the car. The movement felt awkward mostly because of the stunned silence surrounding them. Students nearby stared openly now, whispering rapidly among themselves while trying to process what they were seeing.
And honestly? Sungchan couldn’t blame them. Even Wonbin still looked completely confused beside him.
Sungchan kept his expression cold the entire time anyway, pretending not to notice the strange looks they received while helping him into the car carefully. Internally, though, his thoughts were a complete mess. Because this definitely wasn’t something the original Sungchan would’ve done.
By the time Jung Sungchan returned to the mansion that afternoon, exhaustion had settled so deeply into his body that even walking upstairs toward his bedroom felt difficult. The entire school day had passed beneath a suffocating atmosphere of whispers and lingering stares, and Sungchan quickly realized that what happened that morning had spread through campus far faster than he expected. Students who normally avoided approaching him entirely suddenly watched him with open curiosity whenever he passed by, conversations lowering into hushed speculation the moment he entered a classroom. Even some teachers looked subtly surprised while speaking to him, as though they had already heard enough rumors to believe something was seriously wrong.
The reason, unfortunately, was simple. Jung Sungchan had helped Wonbin. Not insulted him in public. Not ignored him while he was hurt. Not humiliated him in front of other students the way people apparently expected him to.
He had helped him. The fact alone sounded strange enough to become immediate gossip.
Sungchan spent the entire day painfully aware of every reaction around him, forcing himself to maintain the cold, detached expression expected from the original Sungchan while internally panicking over whether he had already changed the story too much. More than once, he caught students glancing toward him and whispering quietly after noticing Wonbin limping through the hallways later with his ankle wrapped neatly beneath his uniform pants. Some looked confused. Others looked outright suspicious.
But none of those reactions unsettled Sungchan as much as Wonbin’s expression inside the car earlier that morning.
The confusion lingering in his eyes replayed endlessly in Sungchan’s mind no matter how hard he tried to stop thinking about it. Wonbin had not looked grateful when Sungchan helped him. He had looked disturbed. Deeply unsettled in a way that made Sungchan realize just how unnatural simple kindness from him must have seemed after years of cruelty.
That understanding stayed with him for the rest of the day like something heavy pressing constantly against his chest.
By the time classes finally ended, Sungchan felt mentally exhausted enough that even pretending to be someone else had become difficult. He barely spoke during the drive home, leaning silently against the car window while rain clouds slowly gathered across the darkening sky outside. His thoughts remained trapped in an endless cycle, replaying every interaction since waking up inside the novel and analyzing whether he had already made mistakes impossible to fix.
When he finally stepped into his bedroom later that evening, the silence surrounding him felt almost relieving after the overwhelming tension of the entire day. The room was dimly lit beneath the cloudy weather outside, soft rain beginning to tap steadily against the large windows overlooking the estate grounds. For the first time since waking up inside this world, Sungchan allowed his shoulders to loosen slightly.
He was tired. Not ordinary tiredness from school or work, but the kind of exhaustion that settled deep into his mind after spending hours constantly monitoring every word, every reaction, every expression around him. Nothing about living inside the novel felt simple anymore. When he first realized where he was, changing the story had sounded manageable in theory. Avoid the worst mistakes. Treat Wonbin slightly better. Slowly prevent the future from unfolding the same way.
But reality was much more complicated than that. Because the original Sungchan’s cruelty lived inside ordinary interactions. Years of repeated humiliation had shaped every part of their relationship already, and Sungchan was beginning to understand that simply acting different for a few hours would never erase that.
The thought lingered heavily in his chest as he loosened his tie carelessly before collapsing backward onto the bed still dressed in part of his uniform. He intended to rest only briefly, maybe long enough to clear his head before dinner, but the moment his eyes closed, exhaustion pulled him under completely.
When Sungchan woke again, the room was darker. At first, he remained trapped halfway between sleep and consciousness, awareness returning slowly through scattered sensations. The sound of rain falling harder against the windows. The faint warmth pressing against his lower body. The strange feeling of someone breathing too close to him.
Then something cold touched the side of his throat. Every trace of sleep vanished instantly.
Sungchan’s eyes snapped open as panic surged violently through his chest, his body tensing beneath unfamiliar weight pinning him against the mattress. For one horrifying second, his mind failed to process what he was seeing, adrenaline drowning every coherent thought before reality slowly sharpened into focus.
Someone was sitting on top of him. More specifically, Park Wonbin.
Sungchan froze completely beneath him as shock crashed through his body hard enough to leave him breathless. Wonbin knelt above his waist with one knee pressed into the mattress beside his hip, close enough that Sungchan could feel the warmth radiating through the fabric of their uniforms. His dark hair looked slightly messy now, falling loosely across his forehead as though he had rushed here immediately after returning home, and the white bandages wrapped around his injured ankle stood out sharply beneath the dim lighting of the room.
But none of that terrified Sungchan nearly as much as the pair of scissors trembling faintly in Wonbin’s hand. The sharp metal blade rested directly against the side of Sungchan’s neck.
For several long seconds, neither of them moved.
The only sound filling the room came from the rain outside and the violent pounding of Sungchan’s heartbeat echoing loudly inside his ears. Up close like this, Wonbin looked completely different from the quiet, composed person he pretended to be around the rest of the household. There was anger visible in his expression now, restrained so tightly that it somehow felt more dangerous than shouting ever could. His fingers shook slightly around the scissors despite how hard he was clearly trying to steady them, and Sungchan suddenly understood with terrifying clarity that the future version of Wonbin from the novel already existed somewhere inside him.
Not completely yet. But enough.
“You’re acting strange.” Wonbin’s voice came out soft, though the tension underneath it filled the room immediately. Sungchan swallowed carefully against the cold pressure at his throat, only for the blade to press slightly closer in response. Wonbin noticed every movement instantly.
“You’ve been strange since this morning,” Wonbin continued quietly, his gaze fixed entirely on Sungchan’s face as though trying to search beneath his expression for something hidden there. “At breakfast. At school. Even earlier in the car.”
Sungchan’s thoughts collapsed into panic immediately. His mind scrambled desperately for something believable to say, but every explanation sounded ridiculous before fully forming. He could hardly tell Wonbin the truth. The absurdity of it almost made him dizzy.
Wonbin shifted slightly above him, and Sungchan’s attention dropped instinctively toward the bandages wrapped around his ankle. Seeing the injury up close made guilt twist sharply through his chest all over again. The fact that Wonbin climbed onto his bed injured while holding a weapon somehow unsettled Sungchan more than the scissors themselves.
“Why did you help me?” The question sounded genuine. Not angry at first. Not mocking. Confused. Deeply, painfully confused.
Sungchan opened his mouth uselessly before closing it again, and the hesitation alone made Wonbin’s expression tighten immediately.
“You hate me,” he said softly.
The words carried no emotion. They sounded factual, spoken with the certainty of someone describing something he had accepted long ago.
“You always have.”
Something inside Sungchan twisted painfully hearing that. Wonbin was not accusing him. He was simply stating what experience had already taught him repeatedly inside this house.
The scissors trembled faintly again before Wonbin finally asked the question that made Sungchan’s stomach drop entirely.
“Are you treating me nicely now so you can torture me worse later?” Silence settled heavily through the room afterward.
Sungchan stared up at him speechlessly while something sharp and uncomfortable tightened inside his chest. Because Wonbin sounded completely serious asking it. Like cruelty disguised as kindness genuinely felt more believable to him than simple concern.
And suddenly, Sungchan understood something awful about the original story. The abuse inside this house had already gone far beyond ordinary bullying long before the novel even began. It had damaged Wonbin deeply enough that kindness itself now felt threatening.
Sungchan forced himself to steady his breathing despite the panic clawing beneath his ribs. He needed an explanation quickly before his silence made everything worse.
“You embarrassed me,” he muttered finally, forcing irritation into his voice even while the words tasted bitter leaving his mouth.
Wonbin’s brows furrowed faintly.
“At school,” Sungchan continued quickly. “If you collapsed there in front of everyone, people would start talking about me too.”
The excuse sounded cruel enough to resemble the original Sungchan while still justifying what happened earlier, and Sungchan clung to it desperately.
“You think I suddenly care about you?” he added with a weak scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Again, silence filled the room.
Long enough for Sungchan to notice how exhausted Wonbin actually looked beneath the anger. There were shadows beneath his eyes now that had not been visible earlier, and despite the tension holding his body rigid, something about him still looked strangely fragile sitting there with trembling fingers wrapped around a weapon.
Then finally, slowly, the pressure of the scissors eased away from Sungchan’s throat. Not completely. Just enough for Sungchan to breathe without feeling the sharp edge digging into his skin anymore.
But Wonbin still did not move away. He remained there above him in complete silence, staring down at Sungchan with quiet suspicion lingering heavily inside his expression, like he was still trying to decide whether the person beneath him was lying.
And honestly, Sungchan was no longer entirely sure himself.
For several long seconds after that, neither of them moved.
The rain continued falling steadily outside the windows while silence settled heavily across the darkened bedroom, thick enough that Jung Sungchan could hear the uneven rhythm of his own breathing beneath the lingering adrenaline still rushing through his body. Even though the scissors had lowered slightly away from his throat, Sungchan remained tense beneath Park Wonbin, painfully aware of how close they still were.
Wonbin kept staring at him like he was trying to force meaning out of every expression crossing Sungchan’s face. The suspicion in his eyes had not disappeared entirely, but the sharp edge of hostility had weakened slightly now, replaced by something quieter and far more unsettling.
Uncertainty.
Sungchan hated how relieved that made him feel.
Eventually, Wonbin’s fingers loosened fully around the scissors before he slowly pulled them away from Sungchan’s neck altogether. The cold pressure disappeared from his skin at last, leaving behind only a faint sting where the metal had rested moments earlier.
Then finally, after one last lingering look, Wonbin shifted backward and climbed off the bed.
The sudden absence of weight above him made Sungchan exhale properly for what felt like the first time in several minutes. He pushed himself upright slowly against the headboard while trying unsuccessfully to steady his heartbeat, watching Wonbin carefully as he stepped away from the mattress.
The movement immediately revealed the slight limp in his injured leg again.
Wonbin tried to hide it instinctively, posture straightening the moment he noticed Sungchan looking at him, but the bandaged ankle still forced subtle imbalance into his steps. Even now, after everything that had just happened, he still seemed more concerned with appearing vulnerable in front of Sungchan than with the injury itself.
Wonbin reached for the bedroom door without another word, clearly intending to leave before the atmosphere between them could become any stranger than it already was.
That was when Sungchan spoke again.
“Also…” His own voice sounded rougher than expected after the tension moments earlier.
Wonbin paused immediately near the door, shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly before he glanced back over his shoulder.
Sungchan hesitated for half a second before forcing the words out as casually as possible.
“Don’t go back to the shed tonight.”
Silence. Wonbin stared at him blankly for a moment like he genuinely thought he misheard.
The reaction made Sungchan realize belatedly how absurd the sentence probably sounded coming from him.
In the original story, Wonbin had not been given a proper room inside the mansion despite technically living with the Jung family. After moving into the estate following his parents’ deaths, he had gradually been pushed further and further out of the main house until eventually sleeping alone inside one of the old storage sheds near the gardens became normal.
Sungchan remembered reading that detail in the novel and feeling disturbed by it even back then. Now it just felt worse seeing the disbelief directly on Wonbin’s face.
“You’re hurt,” Sungchan added quickly when the silence dragged on too long. “You can sleep in one of the guest rooms instead.”
Wonbin’s expression shifted subtly again. Confusion appeared first. Then caution. Then something far more guarded.
For a second, Sungchan almost regretted saying anything at all because he could practically see Wonbin trying to understand where the hidden cruelty behind the offer was supposed to be.
But unlike earlier, he didn’t question it aloud this time. He simply stood there quietly near the door, fingers tightening faintly around the scissors still hanging at his side while unreadable thoughts flickered behind his eyes.
And suddenly, Sungchan understood that the worst part of all this wasn’t Wonbin’s hatred. It was his inability to trust kindness anymore.
Even now, part of him clearly believed this was leading toward something painful later.
Finally, after several long seconds, Wonbin lowered his gaze slightly. “…Thank you,” he said softly.
The words sounded careful, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t used to saying them sincerely inside this house.
Then after another small pause, Wonbin added quietly, “I’ll make sure to return the favor.”
Something warm immediately flared inside Sungchan’s chest at the words. Not because of the favor itself, but because hearing genuine gratitude from Wonbin after everything felt strangely unfairly rewarding. Sungchan had barely done anything decent yet compared to the years of suffering the original owner of this body caused him, and still Wonbin thanked him like this.
Worse, Sungchan realized with sudden embarrassment that he actually found the sincerity in Wonbin’s voice ridiculously endearing. Which was dangerous. Very dangerous. So naturally, Sungchan’s first instinct was to cover it up immediately.
He clicked his tongue softly and looked away before the expression on his face could betray him.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he muttered sharply, forcing irritation back into his tone. “I’m only saying it because if your ankle gets worse, people in the house will complain about having to deal with you.”
The harshness sounded weaker than before, but Sungchan hoped it was enough to resemble the original Sungchan at least somewhat.
Wonbin remained quiet for a moment.
Then, unexpectedly, Sungchan noticed the faintest change in his expression. Not a smile exactly. Just something softer around the edges of his face for half a second before it disappeared again.
“I understand,” Wonbin answered calmly.
But somehow, the way he said it made Sungchan feel like he didn’t believe the excuse at all anymore.
The moment he finally stepped out of the bedroom, the door closing softly behind him, Jung Sungchan immediately collapsed backward against the bed with a long, exhausted groan.
For several seconds, he simply stared blankly at the ceiling while trying to process everything that had just happened. His heartbeat was only beginning to calm now that Wonbin was no longer sitting on top of him holding scissors against his throat, but tension still lingered stubbornly through his entire body. The side of his neck continued tingling faintly where the cold metal had pressed earlier, and every time Sungchan thought about how close that blade actually was, another wave of delayed panic crawled unpleasantly through his chest.
Honestly, the fact that he survived that conversation at all felt like a miracle.
Sungchan dragged one hand down his face tiredly before letting out another heavy sigh into the empty room. The rain outside had softened slightly now, leaving only a steady rhythmic tapping against the windows while darkness settled deeper across the mansion.
Everything was becoming far more complicated than he expected.
When he first woke up inside the novel, part of him genuinely thought pretending to be the original Sungchan would be easy enough. After all, villains in stories always seemed simple from an outside perspective. Cruel. Arrogant. Unreasonable. The kind of characters readers loved hating because their actions felt exaggerated and straightforward.
But actually living as one was exhausting. He let his arm fall back across his eyes with another exhausted groan.
“Being a villain is way harder than I thought,” he muttered quietly to himself. The words sounded ridiculous out loud, but they were painfully true.
Trying to balance everything felt impossible sometimes. If he acted too kind too quickly, Wonbin became suspicious immediately. If he acted cruel the way the original Sungchan would have, Sungchan ended up feeling guilty afterward because the reactions were too real, too instinctive to ignore.
And somehow, the most frustrating part was that Wonbin noticed every tiny inconsistency immediately. Of course he did.
Someone who survived years inside this household probably learned how to read mood changes faster than breathing.
Sungchan lowered his arm slowly before staring toward the closed bedroom door again, his thoughts drifting back unwillingly to the expression Wonbin made earlier after being offered one of the guest rooms.
That brief softness in his face. The quiet “thank you.” The way he promised to return the favor so sincerely despite still believing Sungchan might hurt him later.
Something strange twisted again inside Sungchan’s chest remembering it. He hated how affected he already was.
This was supposed to be survival. Damage control. An attempt to prevent his horrifying death at the end of the novel. So why did every interaction with Wonbin suddenly feel so personal?
The mansion was unusually loud that evening. Jung Sungchan noticed it almost immediately after leaving his bedroom again, the noise echoing faintly through the otherwise quiet halls while rain continued falling steadily outside. At first, Sungchan assumed the servants were simply busy preparing dinner downstairs, but the further he walked through the second floor corridor, the clearer it became that the commotion was coming from somewhere much closer.
More specifically, from the guest rooms.
Sungchan frowned instinctively as another sharp voice carried through the hallway ahead.
“You’re acting like a child.”
“If the swelling gets worse later, don’t blame us.”
“Stop making everyone’s work harder than it already is.”
The irritation in the servants’ voices immediately made something tighten unpleasantly in Sungchan’s chest. The atmosphere sounded wrong even before he fully reached the room itself. By the time he approached the half-open doorway, he could already feel tension radiating from inside strongly enough to make him slow down slightly before entering.
The scene waiting for him made his expression darken instantly.
Several servants crowded around the bed speaking over one another while the older housekeeper attempted unsuccessfully to calm the situation down from the side. Medicine bottles, bandages, and a tray of water sat messily atop the bedside table, the entire room carrying the chaotic feeling of something that had already escalated far beyond what should have been a simple medical treatment.
And in the middle of all of it sat Park Wonbin.
Sungchan blinked faintly in surprise because for the first time since arriving inside this world, Wonbin didn’t look quiet or detached or carefully emotionless the way he normally did around the rest of the household.
He looked angry. Actually angry.
His dark hair had fallen slightly messily across his forehead, and the white bandages wrapped around his injured ankle stood out sharply against the blankets beneath him. One leg remained stretched awkwardly atop the bed while his fingers gripped the edge of the mattress tightly enough for his knuckles to pale. The calm composure he usually carried so carefully had cracked enough for genuine frustration to show clearly across his face now.
“There’s no point taking it,” Wonbin snapped sharply as one of the servants attempted again to hand him medication. “It’s just painkillers.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” another servant argued back immediately with growing impatience. “The doctor prescribed it, so stop being difficult.”
Wonbin let out a short humorless laugh beneath his breath before looking away toward the rain-covered windows.
“Right,” he muttered quietly. “Because everyone here suddenly cares so much about my health." The bitterness underneath the words silenced the room briefly.
Sungchan noticed immediately how uncomfortable several servants looked afterward, though not because they felt guilty. If anything, they simply seemed irritated that Wonbin was resisting them at all.
Then one of the younger servants scoffed openly from near the bed. “You should just be grateful young master Sungchan even let you stay in the main house tonight.”
Something subtle changed in Wonbin’s expression the moment those words were spoken. The anger visible moments earlier disappeared almost instantly beneath something colder and more distant. His grip against the blankets loosened slightly as his gaze lowered toward his lap again, but Sungchan could still see the tension settling heavily through his shoulders.
And suddenly, Sungchan understood exactly what was happening. Wonbin thought all of this was punishment. The guest room. The medicine. The servants crowding around him.
From his perspective, this probably felt less like concern and more like another situation where the Jung family controlled what happened to him whether he wanted it or not.
Before Sungchan could think any further, one of the servants stepped closer again with visible annoyance.
“You’re being ridiculous for no reason,” the servant muttered before grabbing Wonbin’s wrist abruptly. “Just take the medicine already.”
Everything in the room changed immediately after that.
Wonbin jerked his arm away harshly enough that the tray beside the bed tipped over completely. A glass of water crashed against the floor while one of the medicine bottles slipped from the servant’s hand and shattered loudly across the hardwood, small white pills scattering messily through the spilled water beneath everyone’s feet.
The sudden noise echoed violently through the room. For one sharp second, nobody moved.
Then Sungchan finally stepped fully into the doorway. “What the hell is all this noise?”
His voice cut through the room so sharply that every servant froze instantly.
The younger servant who grabbed Wonbin’s wrist earlier stepped backward immediately, his face paling the moment he noticed Sungchan standing there with clear irritation darkening his expression. Even the housekeeper visibly stiffened before quickly lowering her head respectfully.
Silence fell over the room so suddenly it became suffocating.
Sungchan’s gaze moved slowly across the servants crowding around the bed before finally landing on Wonbin himself.
Their eyes met briefly. Wonbin’s expression immediately closed off again the moment he noticed Sungchan there, the earlier anger disappearing beneath familiar caution so quickly it made something uncomfortable twist inside Sungchan’s chest.
“What’s happening?” Sungchan asked coldly but nobody answered right away.
The servants exchanged nervous glances before the housekeeper finally stepped forward carefully.
“Young master Wonbin refused to take his medication,” she explained cautiously. “We were only trying to help him, but things became… difficult.”
Her voice trailed off awkwardly as Sungchan’s gaze lowered toward the shattered medicine bottle still scattered across the floor.
The sight irritated him more than it should have. Not because of the mess itself. Because of the atmosphere surrounding it.
Nobody inside this room actually looked worried about Wonbin. The servants seemed frustrated, inconvenienced, annoyed at having their work interrupted. Even the way they spoke to him felt less like concern and more like handling a problem they wished would disappear quietly.
And judging by the look on Wonbin’s face now, he noticed it too. Sungchan exhaled slowly through his nose before speaking again.
“Everyone leave.”
The room went completely silent. Several servants visibly startled at the order, confusion flickering openly across their expressions before they quickly hid it again. Apparently, the idea of Sungchan voluntarily staying alone with Wonbin sounded concerning to everyone present for entirely different reasons.
Sungchan’s expression hardened immediately when nobody moved fast enough.
“I said leave,” he repeated colder this time. “I’ll deal with it myself.” That finally forced everyone into motion.
The servants immediately began filing toward the door in hurried silence while avoiding eye contact entirely. The younger servant who grabbed Wonbin earlier looked especially nervous passing by Sungchan, bowing his head quickly before disappearing into the hallway.
Only the housekeeper hesitated briefly near the doorway.
Sungchan glanced again toward the shattered medicine bottle on the floor. “Have someone clean this up,” he ordered flatly. “And bring another bottle.”
“Yes, young master.” Then finally, she left too. The bedroom door closing softly behind her.
The silence lingering between Jung Sungchan and Park Wonbin after the servants left the room felt painfully unnatural.
For several long moments, neither of them spoke. The earlier noise and arguing had vanished completely now, leaving behind only the soft sound of rain tapping steadily against the windows and the distant muffled echoes of movement elsewhere inside the mansion. Sungchan remained standing awkwardly near the doorway while trying unsuccessfully to decide what exactly he was supposed to do next.
Because honestly, he still had no idea how to handle situations like this.
The original Sungchan would have probably forced Wonbin to take the medicine through threats alone. There would have been no hesitation, no awkward silence, no uncertainty about what to say next. Cruelty came naturally to the person whose body Sungchan now occupied.
But to Sungchan himself, everything about this felt complicated in ways he never expected.
Across the room, Wonbin sat against the headboard with one leg stretched carefully atop the blankets, his injured ankle still wrapped neatly beneath clean white bandages. The anger he showed earlier around the servants had disappeared already, hidden once again beneath that calm, unreadable expression Sungchan was beginning to hate more and more.
Because the calmer Wonbin looked, the easier it became to forget how much distrust and resentment actually existed underneath.
And Sungchan had already learned today that those emotions were very much still there.
Wonbin avoided looking directly at him now, his gaze fixed somewhere toward the rain-covered windows instead. Still, Sungchan noticed how tense his posture remained despite the quiet room around them. Like he was waiting for something unpleasant to happen next.
That realization left another uncomfortable heaviness settling in Sungchan’s chest.
A soft knock finally interrupted the silence several minutes later before one of the servants stepped carefully into the room carrying another tray. A new bottle of medicine rested beside a clean glass of water this time, replacing the one shattered earlier during the argument.
The servant placed everything carefully atop the bedside table without speaking much, though Sungchan noticed the brief nervous glance they sent toward Wonbin before lowering their head again quickly.
Then they left. The door clicked shut softly behind them. Silence immediately returned afterward.
Sungchan stared down at the medicine bottle for a few seconds before finally exhaling quietly through his nose. The swelling around Wonbin’s ankle still looked painful even beneath the bandages, and despite how stubbornly he tried hiding discomfort, Sungchan could tell the injury was bothering him more than he admitted.
Honestly, refusing medication over something this simple made no sense to him.
Finally, Sungchan picked up the bottle and held it out toward him. “Drink it.”
Wonbin didn’t move. Not even slightly. His eyes flickered briefly toward the medicine before shifting away again immediately.
Sungchan blinked once in disbelief. “…You’re seriously still refusing?”
Again, no answer.
The silence itself started irritating Sungchan almost instantly. Not because Wonbin was disobeying him specifically, but because the atmosphere between them felt exhausting. Every small interaction somehow turned tense no matter what Sungchan did.
Then suddenly, the realization hit him. “…Wait.”
Sungchan stared at him incredulously for another second before letting out a disbelieving laugh beneath his breath.
“Do you think it’s poisoned?”
That finally made Wonbin glance toward him properly.
Sungchan watched his expression carefully, and the moment Wonbin failed to deny it immediately, Sungchan already understood the answer.
“You can’t be serious,” he said.
Wonbin’s gaze remained completely steady. “I do, actually.” The response came so calmly that Sungchan physically paused.
For several seconds, he could only stare at him while something strange twisted uncomfortably inside his chest. There was no sarcasm in Wonbin’s voice. No dramatic accusation. He genuinely believed Sungchan could poison him.
And the worst part was realizing that, considering everything the original Sungchan had done already, the suspicion probably wasn’t even unreasonable.
Still, hearing it out loud made Sungchan feel weirdly frustrated anyway.
“Oh my god,” he groaned tiredly before dragging one hand down his face. “You seriously think I’m that evil?”
Wonbin stayed silent. Which honestly felt like confirmation enough. Sungchan stared at the medicine bottle again before muttering something annoyed under his breath and twisting the cap open himself.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Watch carefully then.”
Before Wonbin could react properly, Sungchan lifted the bottle toward his own mouth and swallowed a mouthful directly from it.
The bitterness hit immediately. His entire face twisted in horror before he could stop himself. The medicine tasted absolutely awful.
Sungchan nearly coughed while lowering the bottle again, his brows pulling together tightly as the bitter aftertaste spread across his tongue.
“What the hell,” he muttered in genuine disgust. “Why is it this bitter?”
The reaction escaped him completely naturally. And apparently, that made the entire situation even more shocking for Wonbin somehow.
For the first time since Sungchan entered the room earlier, Wonbin looked genuinely startled instead of guarded. His eyes widened faintly while staring at Sungchan with visible disbelief, like he still couldn’t fully process what he had just witnessed.
Because Jung Sungchan was not supposed to drink suspicious medicine just to reassure him. He was not supposed to grimace afterward like an idiot either.
Sungchan noticed the stunned look immediately and suddenly felt irrationally embarrassed. Trying to recover some dignity, he shoved the medicine bottle back toward Wonbin with visible annoyance still lingering across his expression.
“See?” he muttered. “It’s obviously not poisoned. Drink it now.”
Wonbin accepted the bottle slowly this time. Still hesitant, but no longer outright refusing.
Sungchan watched him awkwardly for another second before remembering something stuffed carelessly inside the pocket of his blazer. He reached inside before pulling out a small wrapped candy he had bought absentmindedly near school earlier that day.
Without thinking too much about it, he tossed it lightly onto the blankets beside Wonbin.
“The medicine’s bitter,” Sungchan said while trying to sound arrogant again despite the fact his own face still looked slightly traumatized from the taste. “Take that afterward since you’re obviously not strong enough to handle it like me.”
The attempt at sounding cocky would have worked far better if Sungchan himself hadn’t looked moments away from complaining again.
Wonbin slowly glanced down toward the candy resting beside him. Then back toward Sungchan. The side-eye he gave him afterward was so obvious that Sungchan almost felt personally attacked by it.
“What?” Sungchan asked immediately, defensive without realizing it. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Wonbin stared at him silently for another second before finally looking away again. “…Nothing.”
But somehow, the answer only made Sungchan feel even more awkward.
The atmosphere inside the room had changed subtly again without him understanding how. Not comfortable exactly, because too much history still existed between them for that, but softer in a way Sungchan couldn’t explain properly.
And honestly, that unfamiliar softness made him nervous.
Eventually, after making sure Wonbin at least held the medicine now, Sungchan stepped away from the bed with another exhausted sigh.
“Just take it properly this time,” he muttered while heading toward the door. “I’m not coming back if you make another scene.”
Wonbin stayed silent behind him. Sungchan hesitated briefly near the doorway before finally leaving the room altogether.
The moment the door shut behind him, silence settled heavily across the guest room once again.
Wonbin remained motionless for several long seconds afterward, the medicine bottle still resting quietly between his fingers while rain continued falling outside beyond the windows. His gaze drifted slowly toward the candy laying atop the blankets beside him.
Then unwillingly, his thoughts replayed the earlier scene again.
Sungchan drinking the medicine himself without hesitation. The immediate grimace afterward. The irritated complaint about the bitter taste. The stupid arrogant comment about being stronger.
None of it felt familiar. None of it sounded like the Sungchan Wonbin knew. And that was exactly why he couldn’t trust it.
People inside the Jung household never acted kindly without reason. Every small kindness eventually became leverage later. Every moment of softness hid something cruel waiting underneath.
Years inside this mansion had taught Wonbin that lesson far too well already.
No matter how strangely Sungchan acted today, no matter how different he suddenly seemed, trusting him still felt dangerous. Especially trusting him.
Slowly, Wonbin lowered his eyes back toward the medicine bottle in his hands.
Then after several more seconds of silence, he carefully pushed himself off the bed despite the pain in his ankle before limping quietly toward the connected bathroom.
Without hesitation, he uncapped the bottle once more and poured the medicine directly down the sink.