In a dimly lit, worn-out room, in the heart of Gyeong city, a girl lay in an old, creaking bed. The wooden frame groaned under her weight, though she was so tiny, almost as if the bed itself might swallow her whole. She was just 16, in her senior year of high school, yet her body betrayed her youth, sapped of its vitality and strength. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the flickering light from the weak bulb hanging above, casting faint shadows on her delicate features.
Her breaths came in shallow gasps, and suddenly, another coughing fit wracked her fragile body. Each cough seemed to pull from the very core of her being, leaving her trembling, her small hands clutching the thin, threadbare blanket as if to hold on to what little strength she had left.
She had just woken from what felt like an endless slumber, her body so heavy with fatigue that even opening her eyes seemed an unbearable task. Her mind was sluggish, her thoughts tangled in a haze of exhaustion. This wasn't new—sleep claimed her often, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. It was as if her very life force was slowly being drained, piece by piece, with every breath she took.
She blinked, her vision still blurry from sleep, when a sudden, strange sensation made her stiffen. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, a chill running down her spine. Someone was watching her.
She shot her eyes open wide, her heart pounding despite her weakness. Her gaze darted across the room—dusty, cluttered, and dim—but there was no one. The shadows danced eerily in the corners, but they were empty. Still, the feeling persisted, as if an invisible presence lingered just beyond her reach, watching from the void.
Her breaths came faster now, panic mixing with the pain in her chest. She struggled to sit up, her body rebelling with every movement, but she fought against it. She had to know—who was there?
But again, nothing. Only the stillness of the room, the oppressive quiet that suffocated her.
A deep, splitting headache suddenly struck her like a hammer, and she clutched her head, groaning in agony. The pain was unbearable, sharp and searing, as if her skull was about to crack open. Then, without warning, images flashed before her eyes—rapid, disjointed, and overwhelming.
Memories. Faces. Voices.
Her past life came rushing back, flooding her mind all at once, each fragment colliding with the next. She saw herself—once stronger, confident, and filled with hope. But that life had been stolen from her, stripped away by betrayal from those she had trusted. The memories were vivid and painful, showing her the lies, the poison, the cruelty she had endured.
Min-Ho remembered the day everything changed—the day she learned the bitter truth. She had been sitting in the grand living room of her adoptive family's mansion, a place filled with opulence but devoid of real warmth. Mrs. Kang, her adoptive mother, sat across from her, the usual mask of affection slipping, revealing the cold calculation beneath.
"I need to talk to you about your future," Mrs. Kang had said, her voice steady, as if discussing something trivial.
Min-Ho smiled, naively thinking it would be a discussion about her next achievement. She had been home-schooled her whole life, her parents claiming it was due to her weak health. But despite her isolation, she excelled at art, creating beautiful drawings. Yet, she had no contact with the outside world, no opportunity to show her talent.
But something about her mother's tone that day had chilled her to the core.
Mrs. Kang folded her hands in her lap, her eyes piercing into Min-Ho's. "You've been such a good daughter, Min-Ho. You've brought us so much. Your success has brought honor to this family."
Min-Ho's heart leapt in surprise, confused about what success she had achieved from inside the villa. But Mrs. Kang's next words froze her in place.
"And now, it's time for you to step aside."
Min-Ho blinked in confusion. "Step aside? What do you mean?"
Mrs. Kang's lips curved into a thin, emotionless smile. "You've served your purpose. We took you in, nurtured your talent, and in return, your drawings gave us the recognition our family needed. But now, Ji-Yeon, my real daughter, will take her rightful place. Your work has already brought her the fame she needs. She's ready to step into the spotlight."
Min-Ho's breath caught in her throat. "But… they're my drawings. I worked hard for those achievements."
Mrs. Kang sighed, almost pitying. "You were never meant to keep them, Min-Ho. You were simply a stand-in. Kang Ji-Yeon was always destined to be the face of this family. She just needed time to mature, and you filled that gap. Now that she's ready, it's time for you to step aside."
Disbelief turned to horror as Min-Ho realized the depth of the betrayal. "You used me."
Mrs. Kang tilted her head, dismissing her pain as insignificant. "We raised you, provided for you, gave you every opportunity. In return, you helped our family rise. You should be grateful."
"Grateful?" Min-Ho's voice trembled with fury. "I thought I was your daughter! I thought you loved me!"
"Love?" Mrs. Kang's cold laughter echoed in the room. "You were never truly part of this family. You were useful, but that's all. Everything you did, every success—it was always for Ji-Yeon. She'll take credit for everything."
The weight of the betrayal crushed Min-Ho. Years of striving for approval, for love, were all a lie. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Mrs. Kang's gaze hardened. "You were never supposed to know. You were hidden away in the villa not just for your health, but to keep you out of sight—from your real family. They must never find you. You were brought here to serve a purpose, and now that it's done, you're no longer needed."
Min-Ho felt her world crumbling. "My real family?" The words barely escaped her lips, her body paralyzed by shock.
Mrs. Kang stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. "Your health is already failing. You've been ill for a long time, haven't you? The exhaustion, the dizziness… you must've noticed."
Min-Ho's heart raced as the pieces clicked into place—the sudden fatigue, the relentless need for rest. "What did you do to me?" she whispered, fear thickening her voice.
"The poison, dear. You've been ingesting it for years. Slow, subtle, but effective. It won't be long now."
Min-Ho's world spun. "You… poisoned me?"
Mrs. Kang stepped closer, her voice soft yet lethal. "It was necessary. Kang Ji-Yeon needed time to grow into her role. But now that she's ready, your usefulness has come to an end."
Min-Ho's vision blurred with tears, her body trembling from the betrayal and the poison that now coursed through her veins. Every part of her wanted to scream, to fight back, but her strength was fading fast. The world around her spun, the edges of her vision darkening.
Mrs. Kang turned to leave, her heels clicking against the polished floor. "Don't worry, Min-Ho. Your achievements will live on… just not with you."
Tears welled in Min-Ho's eyes, not from physical pain but from the soul-crushing sorrow of betrayal. Her entire life had been a lie, and now, as her strength faded, she faced the cruel truth: she had been hidden away, not for protection, but to ensure her real family never found her.
The memories tore through her mind, unrelenting, until she could bear no more. She collapsed back onto the bed, panting, her chest heaving with the effort.
As her head hit the pillow, she stared up at the cracked ceiling, her vision blurring once more. She was awake now—truly awake—not just from the deep sleep she had been in, but from the illusion of her old life. She knew the truth now. And with that truth came a dark, burning resolve.
I will not die like this again. I will not let them win.
Her eyes, once dull and tired, began to gleam with a new light. A spark of vengeance flickered within her, a spark that would not be easily extinguished.